“She rammed an iron abattoir hook through Scorpions throat and hung him up by it.”
“Okay…” He stares at me like he’s waiting for me to explain where the problem is here.
I roll my eyes. “That’s not her, Rafe. Her kills are clean, quick…humane.”
“Yes, but she’s not trying to kill like a master assassin, avecita. She’s killing like the cartel.”
“Is that how you would have killed him?”
“You have to understand, death is more than a punishment or a side effect of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Death is a tool. Kill a man in such a way that it scares others, and his death in actuality will save others.”
“Is that what you tell yourself?”
“That’s the cartel. It’s worked for many years, and it won’t change anytime soon. That’s why you hesitated? The brutality?”
“No. He was a sheriff.”
Rafael lets out a low growl, cursing in Spanish. “Go on…”
“I’d already shot him in the leg. He wasn’t a threat. She told me to kill him, and I just…froze.”
“This is war. Survivors and mercy are a luxury.”
“I know.”
“Don’t feel bad for him, avecita. He sealed his fate the moment he decided to take Scorpion’s money.”
“I don’t feel bad for him. I’m just angry at myself for being weak.”
His lips twitch. “Ah, little warrior. You are many things, but never weak. You are light in the darkness.”
“The light is never infinite, Rafe. Sooner or later the darkness will consume it.”
“And I will forever be fighting that.”
“Is that why you sent me to New York?”
“A man can only try.” His fingers sweep over my cheek and the way he looks at me… it’s like nothing else exists.
“What if…what if I need to become that person? What if you need me to become that person?” I’m confessing my deepest niggling fears, the whispers that plague me in the night when all else is silent.
“I don’t.”
“But you sentme away. You didn’t think I could survive your war.”
“Anna…”
“I don’t want your protection. I need to be able to pull the trigger and not hesitate just because the person on the receiving end might not be so bad.”
Leaning in, his lips touch my forehead, and his exhaled breath stirs my hair. “It’s late. You need to sleep.”
He’s cutting me off, ending the conversation. Honestly, I’m tired. For the last few months, my mind has been a constant minefield of what if’s and maybe’s. I want to just stop thinking, stop planning, stop dreaming.
I feel as though I’m trying to immerse myself in the very darkness he’s tried so hard to save me from, and it’s contradicting everything that comes naturally to me. Perhaps it was always a losing battle, and I was always destined to become this person, constantly at war with myself. Two halves of the whole. And Rafael…the man who should be dragging me deeper is the life raft keeping my head just above those black waters. Where will we be when this war is over? When all the blood has truly soaked into my hands and tainted me? Will he still want me? Will I still recognize myself?
Rafael stubs out his cigar in the ashtray and stands, taking my hand. He pulls me out of the office and leads me to a bedroom. The scent of him surrounds me the moment I step inside, and my muscles relax as though I’ve just taken a shot of hard liquor. There’s a simple double bed in the middle of the room and a chest of drawers. An open door reveals a bathroom. It’s not much better than the room I was staying in, except it’s just us. And that thought has a nervous knot forming in my stomach.
“This is a little different from the villa.” I secretly like the simplicity of it. I never quite managed to feel at home in the lavish surroundings of Rafael’s expensive houses. It was always a stark reminder of the power he had, and the absolute lack that I possessed in turn. This is simple, stripped down, industrial. This is closer to what I’m used to, and I’m comfortable with it in a morbid kind of way.
“In times of war…”
“Sacrifices must be made,” I finish.
“Right now, this doesn’t feel like a sacrifice.” he says as he stalks towards me.
I hold my breath as he reaches out and grabs the hem of my shirt, lifting it. I hesitate before I raise my arms, allowing him to remove it.
“Rafe…”
Turning away, he opens a drawer and takes out one of his shirts, placing it over my head. His eyes never leave mine as I slip my arms, never stray to my bare breasts.
“You stay here, avecita.” He walks into the bathroom. The door closes, and the shower starts.
I stand there for a second, trying to argue with myself all the reasons why I should walk out of here, but my own protests are weak. No part of me really wants to leave this room. Rafael might have sent me away at a point, but I know his reasons. No one could deny that the man loves me, and right now, I need that love. So, I shimmy out of my jeans and get under the comforter. I fight sleep, but eventually, I give up and allow exhaustion to pull me under.