The Wrong Kind of Love

I kiss the top of her head, breathing in the fruity scent of her shampoo. Had she left, it would have broken part of me, and as much as I’m glad she’s demanded she stay, I’m worried what’s going to happen now. Because Tom will come for me.

She said she came back because she wants her life back, but the moment we give in to whatever fucked up form of lust this is, there will be no coming back.

Not for me. Not for her.

She’ll be an angel bound to a devil, a blip of light in an unending pit of darkness. And that life she wants will be far from her reach.

***

The downstairs is empty when I come in the next morning and drop an armful of Wal-E-Mart bags to the kitchen floor. Tor’s probably still trying to sleep off her hangover.

I unpack the groceries. Sandwich meat. Frozen pizzas. Yogurt and salad–that’s all Tor. Then I pull out the box of hair dye and place it on the counter. Chocolate Cherry. Tor’s probably going to lose her shit about this, but I’m sure as hell not ever leaving her alone which means, sometimes, she’ll have to go out with me.

I put the groceries away, then take the box of hair color upstairs.

When I open my bedroom door, Tor stumbles out of the bathroom, dragging a hand over her face. She takes one look at me and groans. Then climbs into the bed and pulls the blanket over her head.

“Still pissed I didn’t fuck you?”

Her head pops out and glares. “Fucking would have been way less mortifying than… that.”

It would have definitely been preferable. I shoot a smartass grin at her, then chuck the dye on the mattress.

She scowls at the box. “No.”

And Tor doesn’t disappoint. I knew this wouldn’t go over without some kind of argument. “Yes.”

“I am not dying my hair, Jude. That color is…” She flicks the box away. “Cherry dogshit.”

I fight the laugh my lungs want to release. “If you ever want to be able to leave the house, you’re gonna dye your hair cherry dogshit.” I say, then turn to leave. And just as I expect, the second the door closes behind me, I hear the box hit it.

I’m halfway to the kitchen when my phone rings. A number I don’t recognize flashes over the screen, and if it weren’t from Juarez, Mexico, I would ignore it. I round the corner and can barely make out Gabe’s voice over the ruckus in the background.

“Ese. Is it you?”

“How are you out of jail, Gabe? I thought you had ten years?”

“I piss on the ten years.” Gunshots ring out in the background, followed by a round of hoots. “Camilla pulled strings. Had a few men killed.” If Gabe is insane, his sister Camilla is a raging lunatic. “I heard you cut a deal with Garcia. What the fuck, ese? His old cleaner is not happy.”

Like Gabe can get mad at me over it. It’s his fault. I take a glass from the cabinet and fill it with water. “All thanks to you popping off at the mouth, trying to brag about having your money cleaned. It’s your fault he came after me, you dickhead.”

I hear him spit, which indicates he’s really annoyed. “I hate Garcia and his shitty cartel, and the minute you can fuck that bastard, you do it. You fuck him, and you tell him I’m waiting to piss on his dead body.”

“Sure thing…”

“By the way. His old cleaner is going to try to kill you.”

At this point, nothing surprises me anymore, but Jesus-fucking-Christ. It’s just shit on top of shit. Hostages. Cartels. “Great. Thanks for the warning.”

“I’ll send my guys to try to cut their jugulars first. Don’t worry.” Another round of gunfire sounds, followed by Gabe rattling off something in angry Spanish before the line clicks.

I toss the phone to the counter, then chug my water. Tor moves into the kitchen and sets the box of hair dye on the counter before removing the bottle. Then she stares right at me as she pours it down the sink. “If I can’t stay blonde, the least you could do is make me a redhead.”

And this is a whole new level of– I don’t even know what the hell this is. But if she wants to give it out, then… Smiling, I pick up the box, staring at the girl on the cover. “I like brunettes.” I only say it to get a rise because I like her angry.

I glance up just as her jaw clenches. She did not like that comment. “Go and fucking find one then.” She tosses the empty bottle in the sink with a little too much force.

I snatch her just before she skirts around me. “And now who sounds jealous?”

“Fuck you, Jude.”