Tomás might think I belong to him, but he’s wrong. What we did in the shower has toughened my wings with an armor of forged steel. I’m a phoenix rising from the ashes of a tormented past. He can’t break what’s already broken.
I hold my hands up and admit how I hadwantedhim. His violence set like the rays of the western sun, and I loved every disturbed second of it.
And as much as I surrendered to him, Tomás conceded to me. The only question I need to answer is whether it’s only him—or would another man offer me the same escape?
Regardless of what we just shared; I know it won’t last. Tomorrow I could be on the firing line again. I’m living on borrowed time, which means I should run away at any opportunity.
6
TOMÁS
My teeth ache from clenching them so fucking hard. Walking away from her had felt like the tug of stitches hacked out of a deep knife wound—excruciating.
It was necessary. Brutal. And the way it will always be with me.
Sniper sniffs my ankles and sits on the floor by my dripping legs, his proud head high, expecting his master's touch. I’m stretched out on the sofa, hair wet, a towel slung low, and my mood contemplative. Far off lights beyond the vast floor to ceiling windows glimmer as if the earth is truly breathing. I prefer to keep the lights off and spy on the world while I’m cloaked in a comfortable darkness.
Shadows move on the terrace as armed soldiers roam the compound, dutifully doing the night watch. They don’t make a sound, but every now and again I see the orange glow of a cigarette. It’s not uncommon to have guards patrolling my territory. However, after tonight’s massacre, I’ve tripled the men.
Hung on the wall near the liquor cabinet is the one and only photograph I have of my uncle and me. As the years passed, the colors have faded. I had a local artist duplicate the image of my hero wrapping his arm around my neck, his usual stern expression relaxed with a rare smile. A smile he only offered me.
I guess that was the last time I felt true happiness. Even though the portrait had turned out like a carbon copy, I still prefer the original, time tarnished snapshot.
In need of a hard drink, I swig a large measure of scotch and let my head fall back onto supple leather, taking a moment to settle in the quiet aftermath. My mobile phone sits on the coffee table beside the newly opened bottle of liquor. I need a few drinks before I call Mamá and offload the bad news. It still hasn’t sunk in.
“What a night.” Shane wanders through the open plan lounge, his face shaded in shadows. “Do you need anything?”
“I’m fine.” I keep my gaze fixed on the amber liquid.
If only he knew I’d just had a hit far superior to drugs or alcohol, something that's reconfigured my manic thirst for bloodshed and given me a degree of control. It shouldn't be such a buzz to know I’m the only guy who’s had Carina’s tight little pussy, but that feeling is mind-blowing. I could have let her fuck me to death.
Right there, in the shower, I self-divided, splitting torment with pleasure. She fascinates me in a way that scares me. With the life I’ve led, nothing fucking scares me anymore. Not even the afterlife.
And still doesn’t now my father and uncle are waiting on their fiery thrones in Hell, saving a seat for me when my time is up. Which could be anytime in this business. That's the risk we take. The rules we play by. The life we lead.
I shiver, exhausted by the night's macabre events. Every slow sip composes the tremors of an aftershock. My adrenaline levels are well and truly spent. All my limbs ache and although my wrathful thoughts have somewhat eroded, they’re still distorted.
My father is dead.
I can’t find his ring.
And the little liar upstairs in my bed gave me freedom from myself.
I cock my head on Shane’s approach and raise my glass. “Someone wanted Papá dead. I won’t rest until I find out who ordered the hit. And when I do, I’ll teach the motherfucker a lesson that Colombia won’t forget. What have you got for me?”
“Tommy.” Shane grabs the bottle and unscrews the cap. “I’m sorry the guys failed to protect him.” He pours himself a double, straight up, no ice. “But I swear to you, we’ll find the bastard who did this. Our men are working on it as we speak… shaking a few trees to see who falls out.”
My eyes settle on him, devoid of warmth. “Start with that traitor Morales. He had every reason to seek revenge. Flavio was his best lieutenant.”
Shane sits at the far end of the couch, sips the amber liquid, and closes his eyes briefly, obviously needing it as much as I do. “It wasn’t him.”
“How can you be so certain?”
“He lost a lot of men tonight. They were slaughtered in the street alongside our guys. If you need more proof, he was shot. Whoever took out Elias went for him too.”
Brutus covers the marble flooring; his nails tap with leisurely strides until he reaches us. He doesn't settle next to me, which isn’t a surprise. His nose sniffs the length of my shin and, rather than curl up by my feet, he saunters to the window and points his nose toward the view.
The rescued German Shepherd is a true soldier, insanely faithful and terrifyingly hostile when required. A year ago, I found him by the side of the road, grossly emaciated and mutilated with no tail. The poor guy was beyond abused—broken.