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“Look, we can’t help you,” he said heavily. “I don’t know why you ever thought we could.”
I could feel my face flush with anger, or embarrassment, or hopelessness. Maybe a combination of all three.
“To liberate the oppressed,” I said flatly.
The guys looked at each other uncomfortably for a moment, then back at me.
“That’s what your tattoos say, anyway. Or are they just for show?”
“You readLatin?” asked Silas.
“You’re ignoring the question,” I shot back. “A deadly knife. Crossed arrows. A fancy saying in a dead language.” I scoffed. “Does itmeananything to you anymore? Or is it all just a bunch of faded ink now?”
I’d taken the gamble, hoping it would pay off. By the looks in their faces however, I could tell I’d pushed too far.
Especially with one of them.
“You think you know all about this?” Santiago snapped, tapping the tattoo in question. “Just because you cantranslateit?”
His teeth were bared now, like a wolf or a bear. They were big and white and made him look fearsome.
“You don’t know the half of what we’ve seen,” he snarled, nodding toward Silas. “The places we’ve been. The suffering. The sacrifices…”
Little by little his voice was no longer angry. He was lost in memory, living in the past. His expression was stoic. Somber.
Silas on the other hand, looked a lot more uncomfortable. Maybe even a little apologetic.
“Now…” Santiago said, pointing slowly toward the door. “Get out.”
