“Coño,” I whisper, grabbing her back. “Careful, mami. I’m dramatic, not dead.”
A broken laugh tears out of her.
Then she sobs.
That does me in more than the kidnapping did.
I squeeze my eyes shut and hold her with my ruined wrists screaming against her back. She smells like the hospital still and Diablo’s leather. She feels real.
“I told you not to make it your fault,” I say into her hair.
“I didn’t listen.”
“I know. You never do.”
“Neither do you.”
“Yeah, well, look where that got me.”
She pulls back and touches my face so gently I almost flinch. Her eyes move over my split lip, my cheek, the marks on my wrists. Then her gaze goes past me to Shady, and something cold crosses her face.
Darling knows.
The ground under me shifts, even though I’m standing still.
Boca’s bloody grin flashes behind my eyes.
Ask him about Cherry’s baby.
Shady freezing.
That one breath.
Men think betrayal is always loud. A slammed door. A woman screaming. A bed still warm from the wrong body. They don’t understand the smallest pause can gut you clean.
Darling’s hand slides into mine.
“Come inside,” she says.
“I’m not going upstairs.”
“I know.”
“I’m not being locked in a room.”
“I know.”
“I’m not letting prospects babysit me like I’m a club purse somebody has to guard.”
A bird screams from inside the clubhouse.
“¡Dale! ¡Pendejo!”
I blink.
Darling closes her eyes. “Disco.”
Another screech. “¡No roses! ¡Dale! ¡No roses!”
