The Hustle (Irreparable 4)

“Are you?” Eduardo asks.

“I’m sorry . . . Am I what?”

“Are you sure you’re prepared to go into business with me?”

“Are you?” I counter immediately and with the hint of a threat in my tone.

“Maria, take the boy inside. I need to speak with Mr. Hunter privately.”

She immediately obeys her lover and takes Javier out of the room. How can she stand living as nothing more than a pet?

With his elbows on the table, Eduardo tents his fingers and glares at me in a way that I assume is supposed to be intimidating. It’s hard to feel anything other than hatred as I watch him use his tongue to suck food from his teeth. The hissing sounds and his overall lack of manners simply remind me that he’s nothing more than an animal.

“I want what Mr. Torrente was planning,” he says, taking me by surprise.

“To escape?” I ask and he nods. “Then why did you take over for him?”

“It was the only way to save my life,” he admits, leaning back in the chair. His usual arrogance all but evaporates and I see how weak he really is.

“How so?”

He sighs as he taps the table with the side of his thumb. I was right. Eduardo is nothing more than a scared thug in way over his head. “I’d discovered who Maria’s father was. I knew it was only a matter of time before he found her, especially after her relationship with you went public. I built relationships with a few of the rival cartels and swayed them to my side, convinced them that when Torrente was ready to leave, I was the man who should replace him. When Torrente summoned me to Mexico, I called in a few favors, knowing he intended to kill me.”

I may have been right about his fears, but I didn’t give his intellect enough credit and in a small show of useful camaraderie, I let him know. “Leverage . . . that was smart.”

He nods agreement and the pride shining in his eyes causes the hairs on my neck to rise. Maybe I was wrong again. What I thought was fear might be ego. “If Mr. Torrente had killed me, the other cartels would have killed his family, including Maria and Javier.”

His statement throws me off. I can’t read him when he’s so manic. It’s difficult to decipher if the ploy was about saving his own skin, or somewhere deep down, he actually cares for Maria and Javier. I choose to believe he’s too narcissistic to care about anyone but himself. That saving them was a charade to acquire the life he thinks he deserves.

“So you have everything you want?” I ask, knowing he doesn’t or I wouldn’t be seated at his dinner table.

“I have what I thought I wanted, but now . . . I want out. I’ve been trying to contrive a plan, and then you showed up at my door.”

The crease between his brows digs deep, and I know his wanting out is about more than the responsibility that comes with his role. “Why?”

“I never wanted a child, but now that I have Javier, I will do anything to protect him.”

While his answer surprises me, I understand it. But I’m terrified of what Javier needs protecting from. “Is he in danger?”

“I’ve done some things that may catch up with me.” He leans toward me as his voice lowers. “If they do . . . It doesn’t matter. I want out. I need to disappear.”

Now, I have leverage, but he wants my help to disappear with the boy I had come to consider my son. The fucking irony. He’ll get my help, but I’ll never let him escape.

We wrap up our conversation and he tells me to see myself out before disappearing into his office.

When I reach for the door, I hear her voice, “Don’t do this.”

My eyes come to rest on her left shoulder marked with a new tattoo; a colorful hot air balloon. I read the letters scrolled down the side; always watch the sunset. The room is suddenly stifling and I can’t catch a full breath. She was wearing a light sweater at dinner. Did she remove it on purpose so I would see the tattoo?

The memory of our ride in the balloon taunts me. She didn’t have the tattoo when she left me. What does it mean? And why does it make me angry? Her eyes go wide as I step into her space and grip her left arm. I yank her close, snarling. “What the hell is this?”

She rips her arm away and flees. I watch her climb the spiral staircase until she disappears. Why would a woman who hustled me permanently mark her body with one of our most intimate moments? She either wasn’t hustling me or she’s far more twisted than I ever realized.

The fear that flashed in her eyes before she left lingers in my thoughts as I drive to the airport. I want to find hope in the tattoo, but I can’t get past the pain that has haunted me since she left.

There is no hope.

She made her choice and I’ve made mine.