Page 54 of No Darker Temptation

Alejandro leans down and whispers in the man’s ear, so detached it hardly sounds like the words have left his lips at all. “Who gave the order, Salcedo?”

My eyes drop to the man on the floor. I don’t recognize him but it’d be impossible to do so anyway. Both of his eyes are bloodshot and bulging, his nose is broken in three places, and when he spits a mouthful of blood at Dimitrio’s feet, white chunks come out. I count at least three.

He lost three teeth.

The man refuses to speak. Alejandro blows air from his lips and the errant strands of dark hair around his face shift with the movement. “How long has he been down here?”

Dimitrio circles them, arms crossed as he examines the battered body on the floor. “I’ve had him since last night. Hasn’t uttered a word.”

“Fuck you,” the man struggles to catch his breath. “Fuck you both.”

Alejandro’s shoulders deflate with a hint of annoyance as he grimaces. I’ve seen him wear that same expression when the flame is too high on the stove and he accidentally almost burns whatever he’s making.

Not seconds before he takes another man’s life.

It happens quickly.

Alejandro bends down, hooks one arm around the man’s neck with his freehand pressed against his temple. He makes a quick, sharp movement, with enough force behind it to brutally snap the man’s neck in half and I can’t help it.

I gasp.

Alejandro and Dimitrio whip around but I don’t wait for them to see me. I run down the hall and back through the cellar, tripping and falling halfway up the stairs but that doesn’t stop me. I keep going until I’m back at the bar and seated at a stool, staring at the glass of water Joni served me no less than five minutes ago. With trembling hands, I reach behind the bar and fill the glass with more ice and water. By the time I sit back, Alejandro is rounding the corner of the bar. He must’ve come upstairs some other way because I didn’t hear him behind me and he exited through the kitchen doors instead.

Neither of us speaks. What is there to say?

My grip tightens on the glass in my hands. Condensation wets my already sweaty palms and every breath I take rattles my insides. My shoulders are trembling and my chest tightens but neither of us says anything. Almost like we fear it so much that we’d rather pretend it doesn’t exist.

He ventures a step closer, slowly, before taking another. “Dahlia…”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “Joni thought you might be in the cellar and I went down to look for you but no one was there and I was going to leave except I tripped over a crate and knocked over a wine bottle⁠—”

Each word bleeds into the next before I can take a breath to steady myself.

Alejandro reaches for me. “It’s all right⁠—”

I want to scream.

I almost fall off the stool and the words tumble free before I’ve had the chance to lock them away. “You’re covered in blood,” I rasp, high-pitched and trembling.

He stops.

I swear the whole world stops. In the seconds it takes for him to realize he almost touched me with bloodstained hands is also about as long as it takes for the horror of what I’ve witnessed to finally sink in.

Every time I get close to forgetting who and what he truly is, something happens and I remember. I remember Ron and Callie Wesley, the men at Moises and Bertha’s, Jean Beauchamp. Memories seared into my mind that can no sooner be forgotten than my own name. When we’re together, that isn’t him. It’s merely a version of himself that’s safe for my digestion and comfortable enough for him to hide behind in the real world.

But it isn’t his true nature. Who he is now, covered in another man’s blood—innocent or otherwise—that is who he truly is. With or without me.

And now that I’ve been reminded once more, I fear this time I’ll never forget.

“I’m…I’m sorry.”

He steps forward and I trip over the leg of the stool knocking it over. The glass I was holding slips from my grasp and tumbles over the edge of the bar, shattering in a million pieces as it hits the floor.

His entire body goes rigid.

I know I need to say something, anything but I am so thoroughly terrified that all language evades me. Instead, I confess the secret I’ve been holding in since yesterday at the worst possible moment.

“Yesterday, Regina sent a letter to the house and asked me to meet her in El Raval, at a vacant apartment just off of La Rambla and I went without telling anyone. I know I shouldn’t have but she threatened to hurt Karina if I didn’t go and I panicked. I wasn’t thinking…” I tell him, unable to look him in the eye. I dig into my pocket for the phone number she gave me and leave it on the bar. “She said you wouldn’t trust a warning coming from her but you would from me. If you wanted to reach her, to call that number. I’m sorry I lied and I’m sorry I went to La Rambla after you told me not to.”