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“And you’re the life of the party,” I say, smiling in spite of the fact that I shouldn’t like him simply because of who he is.
“He’s the house fool,” Montero throws our way. “That’s his role here. If you need a laugh, you know where to go.”
“Ignore him,” Damian says. “The stick up his ass makes him surly.” Then he leans close and whispers, “Maybe a good fuck would dislodge it.”
Montero drops our plates in front of us, startling us both. I peer down at the enchiladas he managed to produce so quickly, licking my lips in anticipation.
“Thanks,” I say, my eyes meeting his momentarily before they stray to the Diablos tattoo on his neck. “Did that hurt?”
“Yours probably hurt more.”
“I wouldn’t know. Amnesia, remember?” I point to my head.
His lips pull tightly as his eyes flick to Damian. “I remember.”
A knot suddenly forms in my throat, and I find it near impossible to keep the tears at bay as I cut my food into pieces. It’s the severe sense of loss. I’ve lost so much throughout the years, but at least I had my father. My rock. Now, not only is he gone, but in a way, I am too.
I’m lost and alone.
I bring the first bite to my lips but can’t bring myself to eat.
“It’s not poisoned,” Montero says.
“Even if it is, it’s a good way to go,” Damian mumbles through at large bite of food.
Just then, Santos enters the kitchen, and it all becomes too much. I drop my fork onto the porcelain plate and stand. “And now I’ve lost my appetite.”
“What did I do?” Santos asks innocently.
I step up to him, letting my anger come to the surface so that he can see it clearly. “You know what you did,” I snarl, poking him in the chest. “And I’ll never forgive you for it.”
