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I know he’s going to try and get me out of here. Whether he likes it or not, I’m staying.
When he suggests we go for a drive, I deliberately leave my bag. We end up arguing as he starts trying to book me on the next flight out of Corpus Christi.
In the end, Diego backs down. I don’t know whether he gets it he’s not winning in this, or he couldn’t get a flight until midday tomorrow, and I don’t care.
I’m hungry.
Hungry to spend time with him, to get to know him. We might be going separate ways when this is done, but the hunger doesn’t. It never will. When he left before I wasn’t able to forget what he does to me. When it comes to Diego, I can’t hoard every moment and nugget of information like some kind of crazy person.
Because I’m going to, and he’s taking me with him, whether he wants to or not.
I get it, I do. Diego wants me safe. I’m being stupid, but I’m also willing to risk it to spend time with him.
His hands are loose on the wheel of my car, and he’s way too big for it. “Y’know, Longstocking, pretty slick fuckin’ move with the bag.”
“I booked all the flights too.”
He cuts his eyes to me. “When I said slick, I meant dumb.”
“I know what you meant,” I say, watching him in the dash light as we head through and to the other side of town.
“You think you’re fuckin’ smart, but you ever think about the danger you’re putting yourself in?”
“And here I thought I had a big, strong man to protect me.”
Diego snorts a laugh. It’s easy to fall back into old banter, better now I’m older.
“I should ffeed you to the wolves.”
“Are there any? Human wolves here?”
“Nadie.” He turns the radio on, and I turn it off. A muscle works in his jaw. “You know what’s going on. Of course, there are. I just don’t know who the most dangerous ones are yet. So, I should tie you up and leave you in the trunk. Post you.”
“Sail me?”
“To Dallas? That’s a roundabout way. Besides, what about sharks? Pirates?” He stops. “I don’t know who is doing what here. Someone’s running the gangs and crews. And I’d feel better if you were safer.”
It’s fair, and he makes sense. “This is my town, Diego. And I’m with you. Where are we going.”
“You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me, Longstocking.”
“I have faith in you,” I say quietly, tracing a non-existent line down the front of my jeans I put on for the class. One that now feels a million miles ago. “How long were you outside the church?”
“From the moment you pulled up. What was up with you, the mini-you, and the gang guys? If they’d touched you or the kid, I’d have killed them.”
I take a shaky breath, squeezing my toes in my kicks. Thrilled isn’t really something that should be running through me at that, but it does. “I don’t think Sadie, the little girl, would have liked that.” I meet his gaze as he lifts it from the road for a second. “One of them was her brother.”
“You can’t fix the world,” he says, clearly putting two and two together about me needing to be here.
“Neither can you.”
And we’re stalemate again.
He pulls up to a place called The Clam Shack a few miles out of town, bordering the next. I don’t know it, but it’s not until we enter the place I get why.
Girls writhe and dance on poles. A few shake all their moneymakers in lap dances, and topless servers sling drinks.
The men are heavily tattooed, muscled, and wear denim and leather. Most are in dire need of a good shave. The vibe is sleaze on steroids with a side serve of seedy.
