It isn’t just the freshness of an annulment maiming my heart or the coldness Rico is directing at me; it’s the desolate look I saw in the eyes of the unnamed man bound to the chair shortly before his untimely death. He looked broken and defeated, similar to how I'm feeling now.
My eyes move away from the architectural wonder of Vegas when the Escalade suddenly comes to a stop at the side of the highway. Cars roar past the stationary vehicle, rattling the heavily tinted windows, and motorists beep their horns and yell out obscenities, completely oblivious to who they are unleashing their vicious road rage on.
I bounce my dilated gaze between Erik and Rico when Rico demands he leave immediately.
Shocked and frozen in place, my brows hit my hairline when Erik exits the Escalade without a single protest. Warm, muggy air blasts into the car when he steps onto the road surface, adding to the outrage swirling my stomach.
"It's a busy highway in the middle of a desert," I protest on Erik's behalf, my high voice conveying my utter disbelief. I won’t witness another untimely death without citing an objection.
Either not hearing a word I said—or continuing to ignore me—Rico signals for the driver to continue with our journey. With my heart walloping my chest, I crank my neck back to Erik. He’s standing at the side of the blistering asphalt with a cell phone attached to his ear and a complacent look on his face. Unlike me, he doesn’t seem the slightest bit bothered by the one hundred plus degree temperature beaming down on him. Obviously, this is nothing new for him.
“One of my fleet drivers will collect him,” Rico explains to my appalled expression, his tone deep and heart-clutching. He turns his blank eyes to me. “Why are you crying, Kitten?”
The simplicity of his question causes a fresh batch of tears to trickle from my eyes. At a guess, I’d say he's a similar age to me: in his mid-twenties. So it makes me wonder how much darkness has he witnessed in his short life that knowing a man was killed has no effect on him whatsoever? Rico is no doubt a handsome man, but as he's sitting before me now, he's hideously ugly. There's nothing uglier than a human being without compassion.
“Did that man have children like he said?” My words are brittle like cracked glass.
Rico adjusts his position so he faces me front on. His thigh muscle twitches in sync with his jaw. "Does it matter?"
I nod. “Yes. He was a human being, Rico! How can you be so callous? You sit here demanding a woman you hardly know to take your money, but you can’t have sympathy for a man who lost his life!”
His dark eyes glare into mine, his gaze an odd mix of anger and interest. "I know you," he cites without a snick of hesitation. "And he was not a man. He was an errant coward who had to pay for his actions.” His angry tone exposes a slight twang of a Russian accent.
“By death?” I blubber out.
He holds my gaze, his stern composure unyielding. “Yes. By any means I saw fit.”
I balk, both flabbergasted and disgusted. “Who made you judge, jury, and executioner?”
“My birth right, my title, and my morals.” His voice gets louder with every word he speaks. “You're trialing me, judging me, and sending me to execution all to defend a man you don’t even know.”
I run my hands across my cheeks, angrily removing the tears tracking down my face. Even knowing I'm waging a war against a man who clearly has no morals, I can't holster my campaign. I would have never married a soulless man, drunk or not, so I know there's more to this man than what I’ve witnessed this morning. My moral compass would have never blown so far off course.
"Nothing deserves a death sentence." I stare him deadset in the eyes. "Nothing."
My breathing shallows to a wheezy pant when he asks, “Not even a child molester?”
My mouth falls open as a brutal pain hits the middle of my chest. “W-what?” The tremor of my heart echoes in my voice.
"Or what about a murderer? Or the man who laced his drugs with cheap chemicals, resulting in the death of fourteen teens in one night? What punishment would you give them, Kitten? A slap on the wrist? A stern talking to?"
I return his perceptive stare, but I don’t speak a word. I'm silenced by my heart sitting in my throat. I honestly don’t know how to reply. I’ve never been one to believe in the death penalty, but that was easy for me to preach when I wasn’t confronted with a flurry of heinous crimes. Child molesters and murderers are the lowest of the low, but how does that give Rico the right to deliver justice?
“Two wrongs don’t make a right.” My low words point to the uncertainty of my reply. I’m at a loss on which direction I want to take our conversation.
“No, it doesn’t. But justice isn’t about what's right or wrong. It's about equitableness.”
Our conversation comes to a shrieking halt when the Escalade pulls onto the curb of McCarran International Airport. When the driver exits the vehicle, Rico closes the small gap between us. Just like when we were together in the dingy bedroom, a vibrant, electric current fires between us. But it doesn’t heal the damage my heart sustained in our volatile discussion. This man is technically a stranger; I’ve only known him for hours, but something deeper in my soul is telling me this isn’t true.
The muscles in my cheek twitch when Rico brushes away the tears sliding down my face with his finger. His gentle touch and the cloud of sorrow in his eyes are a vast contradiction to the man debating who has the right to deliver justice mere seconds ago. It's like he is two completely different people. In front of others, he's a callous cold-hearted monster who can dish out cruel punishments, but when he's with me alone, he's a man who appears caring—almost loving.
Once all my tearstains have been removed, Rico connects his dark gaze with mine. “I'm the son of a monster, Kitten. Not a monster myself,” he mutters, like he can hear my internal dialogue.
My chance to reply is lost when the driver of the Escalade gathers my suitcase from the trunk and opens my door. Hot, muggy air streams into the cabin of the car, adding to the giddiness of my swishy stomach. The blaring desert heat of Las Vegas will always be stifling, but it's nothing compared to the roasting temperature building between Rico and me.
I commence curling out of the vehicle before my queasy stomach decides to act. My fast exit halts when a warm hand curls around mine. I sink deeper into my seat before swinging my eyes to Rico, discounting the way his simplest touch caused a shiver of euphoria to run the length of my spine.
The stern mask Rico was wearing earlier has slipped back into place, and his jaw is tense, but his eyes are still carrying the heaviness of remorse.
