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Chest expanding with a deep breath, he sighs. “Val was … beautiful and smart, like you, but bolder. Sometimes foolish because of it.”
“I’m not foolish?” I ask, surprised that he wouldn’t think so.
“Sometimes.” At that, I do sit up and smack him on the arm, and he laughs, pulling me back against him. “You’re more calculated. You know when to lie quiet and wait.”
“She was impulsive, then?”
“Yes. And Isabella was the opposite.” His thumb traces over my shoulder, and he leans forward to kiss me there. “She was patient and wise. And so very strong. My fighter.”
“I’m so sorry they were taken from you.”
“I’ve made peace with that. And now, I’m just trying to make things right.”
“Why Val, though? Why did El Cabro kill her?” I know I’m walking on eggshells, but I have to know.
“She was privy to my father’s dealings. And in the world of crime, where knowledge is power, she was a threat. And threats are eliminated without question.”
“Why didn’t they kill you?”
“There’s an etiquette to murder. Killing Val was business. Killing me would have ignited a war with my father.”
“And Isabella?”
His brows flicker with the inclusion of her name. “An innocent casualty.”
I don’t want to admit that I had a conversation with Sergio about El Cabro, but the nagging thought that he would so willingly kill children, like Sergio’s brother and Isabella, tells me he’d never spare Damon, if it came to that. “You don’t have to do this, you know? We could leave this place and never come back.”
“We could.” The slightest smile stretches his lips, but disappears with the tight knit of his brows. “The night before they died, Isabella had woken up from a terrible nightmare. As I tucked her back into bed and sat with her, she asked me what I would’ve done if she’d died of cancer. I spent so many months pushing that thought away that I never really thought about it until right then. There was only ever a black void. I told her I didn’t know.” Exhaling a long breath, he folds his arm beneath his head, staring off at nothing. “With cancer, there’s only the emptiness after. No one to be angry with, except maybe God. And whether you forgive, or drown in that anger, the cancer just keeps on, killing one child after the next. All you can do is move on. But murder … now that’s something else.” His eyes are lost to the words, holding a level of fascination that’s unfitting for who he was only weeks ago. “I can’t walk away, Ivy. Since Calvin, I’ve had these lucid dreams of Isabella, reminding me how young and innocent she was. It’s not right, the way she fought so hard to survive, only to be ripped out of this world by some greedy bastard.”
“Why does it have to be you, though? This isn’t like going after Calvin. This is a cartel.”
“And I’m only after one person.”
“Yeah. The big boss. And I don’t need to read about your body ending up in an oil drum for it.”
“I’m a priest, Ivy. I’m sure they’d be a bit more respectful in my disposal. Maybe bury me alive in concrete, or something.”
“Do you even have a plan? I mean, you came down here on a whim to take out a cartel. That’s a little irresponsible, to be honest.”
“My plan is to figure out who ordered the murder of my family. I’ll figure it out from there.”
The lack of information stirs my frustration, promising more weeks in this lonely place. Yes, I volunteered to come with him. Yes, I understood the consequences. And yes, I recognize going after a drug lord isn’t something a man rushes into, to spare his girlfriend the boredom of spending weeks in a motel. It still pisses me off. “You worry so much about something happening to me. But what if something happens to you, Damon? Did it ever occur to you that I might go apeshit, too?”
“You and apeshit don’t belong in the same sentence, but yes, it has occurred to me. Which is why I’ve told you repeatedly now: having you here isn’t a good idea.”
Groaning, I push up from him, and at the grip of my arm, I bat him away. “You know what I wish? I wish I would have gotten a pair of handcuffs, because I’d cuff you to the bed right now, and keep you cuffed until you grew some sense!” Throwing the blanket off of me, I shoot out of bed, my frustration at it’s height. “Putain! Fais chier! Merde! Ferme ta gueule!”
“I have no idea what you just said, but I have to admit, it’s quite a turn on.”
“I curse in French when I’m beyond pissed!”
The smile stretching his lips only goads my anger. “Va te faire foutre!”
“What was that?”
“Fuck off.”
The dimples in his cheeks betray his shitty attempt to hide his smile, as he pushes up from the bed. “Ivy, come here.”
