They killed Marco and Javier, and although I hate them for it, those details aren’t unknown to me. What is unknown is what happened to Jose. He was just a boy, barely eighteen, and couldn’t have been a true threat to them the way Marco and Javier were.
So why did they kill him? And what did they do with his body?
Desperation bleeds into the corners of my mind—I have to find something, anything. Finding nothing, though, I slam the last drawer closed, the items on the desk rattling.
One of the books stacked on the desk falls to the floor, the pages fluttering open, and I pick it up, returning it to its place atop the stack. As I do, though, I notice one of the pages, full of scribblings.
I open the book, noting the date at the top was only a few weeks ago.A journal?He keeps a fucking journal?
I read the entry:
Flipping through, I find years’ worth of notes, similar in nature, all addressed to Augustus. I feel a deep-rooted pang of sadness. These are the words of a regretful man, but that doesn’t line up with the bitter, angry one I’ve come to know.
The words all seem too similar to something I’d write to my own little brother, full of regret and wishes past, and even though I hate him, I also appreciate him.Just a little.
I slide the journal back into its place and quickly back out of the room, closing the door behind me. There’s no answers here.
The answers lie with those who keep them. I just have to figure out a way inside.
“That’ll be twenty-two dollars.” I begrudgingly hand over the tattered bills, watching the witch behind the counter chew her gum like her life depends on it.
This is admittedly one of my more stupid ideas, but after finding nothing at the house, and the lingering feeling of being left out just wouldn’t leave me, I decided a masked night on the town was too good of an opportunity to pass up.
I haven’t been able to show my face in Moztecha for fear of running into Adalene or her…friend? No, that’s not right. Faith said they’re living together.
I smile at the thought. She found her way out of the darkness and into her happily ever after.
Good for her.
I’ve nothing against Valentina’s brother—I know now he had nothing to do with my brother’s deaths, and I want only good things for Adalene.
It’s a small ray of sunshine in an otherwise bleak world.
As I walk through the gathered crowd flooding the normally dead main street of Moztecha, I look for the bright red flag that is Valentina Reyes.
Will she be glad to see me?
My jaw pops as I grind my teeth.Again, why do I fucking care?
Still, when I see her tight little ass weaving through the throng of people, more than one set of eyes admiring her, a pang of something akin to lightning burns through me.
Hatred.It has to be.The other option is jealousy, and that would mean I’m dead. Because I refuse to feel jealous in any realm Valentina Reyes exists in.
Still, when a man approaches her, I become painfully aware she’s alone, McCrae and Faith nowhere to be seen. I remain distant, straining to hear what he’s saying, but when he puts his meaty hand on her ass, I see red.
It’s instinctualand has nothing to do with Valentina—I wouldn’t allow any man to grope an unwilling woman. Not anymore—I refuse to stand by while others get hurt.
Cutting through the crowd, I allow my anger to fuel my steps, each one eating up more of the space between us until I’m directly behind Valentina and the man dressed as a beer can, whose hand still grips Valentina’s ass like he owns it.
“I said, get your fucking hands off me.” Valentina’s voice shakes, and whatever restraint I may have held on tosnaps.
“Baby, there you are!” I slide an arm over Valentina’s shoulders, and she stiffens as her eyes whip to mine, confusion consuming her powerful features a second before recognition dawns in her eyes. She tips her head, her hand reaching out to touch the skeleton mask over the top half of my face before it drops.
“Hey,” she whispers. It’s a sad, weak sound, and for a split second, I want to burn the world for her.
“Hey man, get your nasty hand off my woman’s ass.” I look around Valentina’s shoulder to the drunken idiot who hasn’t moved beyond tipping his glassy eyes up to meet mine. There’s challenge there, and I get giddy at the thought of a good fight.
I need to get the feelings currently swelling in my chest out somehow.
