Page 21 of Bitter Spirits

“It’s possible,” she agreed reluctantly.

He gave her a quick look. “You said you didn’t see who gave him the pills.”

“I didn’t,” she shot back. “But drugs are kind of part and parcel of these things, so it would make logical sense if this was where he got them from.”

He made a noncommittal hum then let a beat of silence pass before switching gears. “Who are you and Des worried about?”

His question landed in her gut like a soft punch, leaving her off balance. She took a moment to shove her churning anxiety into a box and lock it. “His name is Angel Herrera.” Proud of how steady her voice sounded, despite her pounding pulse, she finished coolly, “And he’s the head of Idyl Devils.”

“And who is he to you?”

My nightmare and the man who tore my family from me. Neither of those were answers she was willing to share, so she gave the one she could. “My stepbrother.”

Instead of being shocked, Locke was surprisingly unfazed. “I take it you two aren’t close.”

Her laugh was bitter. “Not even a little bit.”

Strangely, he didn’t go through the opening she’d given him and instead asked, “Which parent goes to whom?”

Her brain stumbled over the question then found its footing. “My father met his mother, Pilar, when I was fourteen and he was nineteen. They married when I was sixteen.”

“And your mom?”

The twinge was an old ache easily ignored. “Out of the picture—had been for years.” Realizing her fingers were numb, she flexed her hands in her lap, feeling the blood rush back into them. “Pilar was good for Papá.”

“And you?”

“For a little while,” she said softly.

Just admitting that let the memories seep in. Papá dancing with Pilar in the small kitchen of the older, ranch-style home, their laughter filling the air. Pilar holding out a hand to Isa in an invitation to join them, her dark-brown eyes sparking with a warmth that Isa’s teenage heart desperately soaked up. Sun-drenched afternoons when Pilar patiently taught her how to make albóndigas, a Mexican meatball soup with hearty vegetables and savory broth that was all about love. Pilar behind her, braiding her hair into a beautiful pattern she could never accomplish on her own. Then later, after Angel played his games, those same dark eyes had gone cold and cutting while Papá’s disappointment sliced her heart to ribbons.

She waited for his inevitable question about what had happened, but it didn’t come. Instead, he asked, “What do I need to know about Angel?”

She grabbed his offering with both metaphorical hands and held on tight. “He’s a Harvester, so you need to lock your emotions down tight. Otherwise, he’ll use them against you.” Harvesters were masters at siphoning emotions, good or bad, to supercharge their personal power.

“How strong are we talking?”

“Strong.” She thought of all the times Angel had bent the truth until even she wondered if she was the selfish, deceitful person he said she was. The twisted game had taken her years to escape. “He likes mind games. The more you let him under your skin, the deeper he gets, and once he has a hold on you, he doesn’t like to let go.”

“Sounds like a typical asshole,” he said in a hard voice.

Oh, Angel is far from typical. At best, he’s narcissistic. At worst? He’s pathologically evil.

“If we’re lucky, he won’t be there,” she said.

“And the chance of that…?”

With her luck, probably slim to none, but a girl could hope. “Depends on what’s really happening there tonight. If it’s just a party, I doubt he’d waste his time, but if it’s cover for something else…” She shrugged.

“You got a picture you can share? That way, I know who I’m looking for.”

She dug her phone out and pulled up a web browser. In seconds, she had his image on her screen. “Here.” Ignoring the shudder quivering under her skin, she handed her phone to Locke.

He held it so he could see the screen and the road. “Streetwise Talent?”

“He heads up a commercial talent agency.”

Locke handed back her phone. “When’s the last time you saw him?”