I choked and gagged. Tears streamed down my face.
It’d been a trap.
The whole time, it’d been a trap. My father never trusted me and gave me false information from the start. He’d suspected, like I knew he would eventually, and I fell for it like a total moron. I should’ve seen it coming and warned Mal, but we were too busy fucking and fighting and feeling horrible about what we felt, and I wanted to see what my dad was doing.
And now it was too late.
Dad leaned down, grinning. “That’s right, you little piece of garbage. I killed Mal. Right now, my men are out burying him in the desert, and when they come back, I’ll have them finish you and bury you too. What use is a traitor to me?”
I gagged. “You’d know,” I managed.
He punched me again and released his knee. I coughed, gasping for air, my throat burning with pain and my head throbbing from the punches. I’d be a mess after this, but it wouldn’t kill me.
I wanted it to.
Mal. My Mal was dead. I got him killed, all because I was too stupid. I never should’ve pushed my dad for information. I never should’ve gotten so brazen.
And yet I did, and now Mal paid the price.
Mal was gone, and I was nothing. I was worthless.
Dad grabbed my hair and dragged me into the hall.
I kicked and screamed. I didn’t try to stop him anymore. It didn’t matter. With Mal dead, I had no reason to keep living. I only wanted my end to come fast and painless so that if there was something beyond death’s veil, I could be with Mal and Carmine again, and maybe find some happiness.
I knew I wouldn’t get that wish. The fast and painless part, at least.
Dad would make me suffer.
Because he knew something about traitors. He was a traitor himself, and he knew how disloyalty could fester and spread through the ranks of his people. If they heard his own daughter tried to take him down then some of them might get ideas in their heads.
Delusions of grandeur.
He couldn’t have that.
So he dragged me. He made a spectacle of it. I bumped down the steps and cried out. He took me through the house, to the basement, and into the dank, horrible room. It stank like mildew and body odor and I wondered if someone else had occupied it since I was last imprisoned. He threw me against the mattress and left me curled up on the floor. He stood over me like a monster, staring down.
“You will stay in your room and think about what you’ve done.” His voice was a quiet rasp. He breathed hard. “You’ll stay in here, alone, unloved, unmissed, worthless and pathetic until I decide it’s time for you to die. You’ll waste away and your mind will break, and I will feel nothing. You’re not my daughter anymore. You’re a traitor.” He spit on the floor and stepped back to the door. “Nobody will mourn over your unmarked grave.”
He left, shutting the door hard behind him.
I stared at the ceiling and let the tears come hard.
God, Mal. He was gone. The only person I ever loved—really loved—was dead and gone. I couldn’t believe I’d come so close to having something good with him but all that stupid crap got in the way. We screwed it up with our worrying and grief and shame, and now I’d never taste him again, never feel his hands on my hips, his lips wrapped around my nipples, his laughter, his smile, his teasing playfulness. I’d never have him again.
Because I’d gotten him killed.
That was two men I cared about. Dead and gone because of me.
I sobbed. Wrecked and ruined. My chest hurt and my throat burned and I still cried until there was nothing left. Until I was emptied out.
I deserved this.
This room, this beating. This prison. The nightmare. I deserved it for my crimes. For Mal and Carmine.
I stared at the sheets and wondered if the threadbare pieces of fabric could hold the weight of my body once I wrapped them around my neck.
Chapter 27
Mal
I woke up in a bed. Uncomfortable mattress. All springs and no cushion. I grunted and rolled onto my side. The whole thing shook. I had a splitting headache.
It was hot as hell. I sat up and wished I hadn’t. I felt my skull and there were big, ugly welts. I had bumps from getting smacked around. I remembered the gas station—the ambush—Rolando—
Not much else. It was all a blur.
“Capri,” I whispered, staring at the cracked ceiling.
I stayed like that for a few minutes before I finally got to my feet. It wasn’t easy. But thinking about Cap made me get going. I couldn’t lay around.
Bad shit might be happening.
If they ambushed me, that meant someone knew. Someone gave her bad information. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to think, but it was like wading through sludge.