Page 48 of Sin of Love
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CAPTIVITY - DAY 84
Who knew Paulo had a heart?
I certainly didn’t, not after weeks of him being an indifferent witness to Julep’s dangerous care, a stoic nurse when there was no one else around, and the efficient manager of my opioid addiction.
Who fucking knew.
“Does Paulo have a family?” I ask into the limo’s hushed interior.
Seated beside me, Julep looks up from his phone. “Yes. Wife and a few daughters, I believe.”
“Ah.”
“Why?”
I shrug. “Just wondered.”
He tucks away his phone and takes my hand, drawing it into his lap. “Deirdre, look at me.”
I do. “Yes?”
Night has fallen; his face is a patchwork of shadow. “I know you’ve never said the words, but I want you to know that I feel it.” He puts his free hand over his heart. “Here.”
I simply nod. What use is there in denying it? For Julep, this warped, diseased thing between us is love.
Long ago, I was confused enough to wonder if it was. But back then, Marco was around, too. When Julep grew tired of me, it was Marco who tended my wounds, so I rarely scarred. Marco made sure Nate and I had ample time to rest between appointments. And in the insanity of it all, the emotional blur and the wrongness, it was Marco I loved and needed.
“I think it’s time to reduce your medication,” Julep says with a squeeze of my hand. “You haven’t been yourself lately.”
I just nod. “Okay.”
“Are you nervous to meet my father?”
“Not particularly. He’s just another client, isn’t he?”
I’m overstepping, flirting with fire, but can’t stop myself. All I feel is chaos within and without. The excess tea Paulo gave me is tucked inside my bra, but it might as well be in a ditch on the side of the road. I don’t think I’ll make it long enough to run.
My wrist throbs, the pain just enough to pull threads of time back into place. I gasp, looking down at Julep’s fingers on my arm, digging between delicate bones.
“This dinner is very important to me,” he says, voice a velvet contrast to his ire. “Do I need to tell you what happens if you fuck this up?”
Ignoring the pain in my wrist, I ask, “Are you going to kill me? How boring. Does your father know I used to be a whore for the cartel?”
“It doesn’t matter. What matters is presenting a united front for our new enterprise.” With an aggravated groan, he releases me to drag a hand through his hair. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re more trouble than you’re worth. Maybe I should have listened to Margaret.”
I ignore the jibe; it’s not the first time he’s said it. Crossing my arms, I poke at my tender wrist to make sure it isn’t broken. With the amount of opiates swimming in my blood, I probably wouldn’t notice otherwise. Already, bruises bloom beneath my skin, tiny ovals where his fingers pressed. Hazards of malnutrition.
Staring out the window, I watch lights from the resort grow nearer and brighter and think of Maggie’s final words to me. Tonight is your last and only chance. Tick tock, time’s up.
I have no idea what she meant, unless like Paulo, she thinks this is my one chance to escape. But the threat in her last words could mean anything—maybe she knows I did my damnedest to turn the girls against them, or she searched my room and found the tea stashed in the toilet tank, or she’s going to kill me herself…
Sighing at the pointlessness of my thoughts, I ask the window, “Why do you keep Maggie around, if you don’t make money off her?”
“Maggie…” He sighs. “When mamá gave her to me, she was a stray dog. Now she’s a loyal pet.”
I swallow my disgust. “How lovely.”
