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Santos
By the time the elevator arrives downstairs, Caius is waiting for me. Four soldiers enter the building. They’re dressed in dark suits to blend in, but they still stand out. It’s the look in their eyes, or maybe it’s the energy they give off.
“What’s going on?” Caius asks me as I direct the men to enter the ballroom.
“Marnix De Léon. He still in there?”
“Oh yeah. Guzzling down whiskey like a fucking champ. Remind me again, it’s not on our tab, right?”
I’m barely able to see straight through my rage. My fury at her father. Fury at myself. Because how many times can I let this happen? How many fathers will beat their daughters while I stand by like an impotent fool? How many will do worse?
And the cuts. That I don’t understand. I file that fact away for now.
“Santos?” Caius puts a hand on my shoulder to stop me just outside the entrance of the ballroom.
I blink hard. I need to stay here, in the present moment. I’m in time. She’s not dead. Just fucking covered in welts.
“Brother,” Caius says again, getting in my face this time to make me look at him. My brother’s eyes are sky blue, like our mom’s, and they can look so very different from mine. The darkness inside him—because there is darkness inside him—he’s better at keeping hidden.
“He beat her.” The words are raw and taut with fury.
Caius’s forehead creases.
“Her thighs are covered in welts. Fresh welts.” I don’t mention what I saw beneath those welts. If I’d looked closer, if I’d stripped her bare and scrutinized every inch of skin, what would I have found? More scars? More cuts? And the welts, how far did he go? I only saw her thighs.
“Her father?” he asks.
I nod once.
He knows what I’m thinking about. He understands my reaction. Caius knows me well, better than anyone in the world.
“Let’s go get the son of a bitch,” he says.
Again, I nod, because I’m too furious to speak. My brother and I enter the ballroom together, and heads turn. Just like the soldiers, I’m sure we’re giving off a particular energy.
One of aggression.
Of violence walking.
It takes all I have to unclench my hands, and I have to keep my arms stiff at my sides as if a marching soldier as I scan the room and find him. Marnix De Léon. He’s in the same place he was earlier—holding fucking court, laughing. Drunk.
His boy, Odin, sees us first. He doesn’t make a move to warn his father, or maybe he just doesn’t have time. When we get to their circle, our soldiers close in enough to make an impression but not so tight that we draw too much attention.
“Excuse us,” I say. My eyes are locked on Marnix, but I’m speaking to the people gathered around him.
“He needs a word with his future father-in-law. Just hammering out some wedding details. Bridezilla and all,” Caius says in that way of his like he’s relaxed and so casual. So charming.
“What’s this about?” Odin asks as Marnix swallows the whiskey in his glass.
The group dissipates.
I don’t look at Odin. I don’t take my eyes off Marnix. “You and me have something to discuss.”
“I don’t think we have anything to discuss—”
“Let’s go.” I gesture to the soldiers, one of whom knocks into Marnix from behind to nudge him.
“I’m guessing we’ll need some privacy,” Caius says to me. “I know where we can go.”
