Page 71 of Sin of Love
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Gideonand I finished the Giant’s Causeway puzzle last night, so the three of us convene at the kitchen table. I think about offering Liam something to drink, but Gideon doesn’t, and frankly, I don’t give a shit whether the Irishman is parched. I don’t like him in our cottage. Sitting in our chair. Invading our space.
I don’t feel threatened—not with Gideon sitting beside me—but I don’t know this man beyond the bare facts. He has shady connections in multiple countries, his skills cost serious bank, and if Gideon weren’t rich, I’d be dead right now.
I want him gone.
Apparently my unspoken cues are loud, because Liam starts with, “I’m guessing you’d both prefer to skip the small talk?”
“Please,” answers Gideon. I just nod.
Liam lifts his beat-up leather messenger bag from the floor. Three manila envelopes come out. Two of them slide toward Gideon, and the final one slides to me.
Liam tells Gideon, “Papers for each of you,” and then says to me, “Brace yourself.”
I barely register the odd remark as I flip open the folder. Inside are three news articles, in Spanish, from local papers in and around Playa del Carmen.
I read each of the articles carefully. They’re virtually the same, identical facts presented in varying order by different writers.
Sentences float apart and swim to dark spaces in my mind, where they settle and throb. More poison, or possibly an antidote.
I don’t know.
…thirty-eight-year-old Hispanic male has been identified as Marco Julius Lazcano, heir to La Familia Lazcano… long-suspected in several local murders as well as in the disappearance of more than fifteen women… Autopsy confirms cause of death as morphine overdose… Eye-witnesses saw a dark-haired woman flee the scene… Sinaloa Cartel is taking credit…
One article, the longest, includes speculation about a different murder.
Unidentified Asian female, mid-twenties, found strangled on resort beach. No witnesses have come forward, and no missing persons reports fit her description. Is she another victim of senseless violence in the area, or the expendable tool used by the Sinaloa Cartel to eliminate Marco Lazcano? We might never know…
I do. I know.
They’re dead because of me.
* * *
The soundof a ceramic figurine shattering against the wall of the bedroom isn’t satisfying. Not what I want—need. Crave.
Pressure. So much pressure inside me. Sizzling in my bones, crackling in my veins. I want to burn the world down. Explode. Implode. Something. This feeling, I can’t stand it. It’s too much.
Screaming, I throw a wooden footstool at the wall. It bounces off and knocks into a freestanding lamp, which wobbles but doesn’t fall. I attack the lamp, tearing the shade off and stomping on it until it’s a bent mess, then yanking the cord from the wall and swinging the base at a solid oak dresser. The light bulb shatters, a delicate eruption. Not loud enough, violent enough. Just not enough.
“Tell me what to do,” Gideon begs from outside the locked door.
“Go away!” I yell, my voice hoarse from screaming. I’ve barely stopped since Liam left, and that was hours ago. I think. Or minutes?
Time and I… we have serious baggage.
The urge to sob chokes me, but I’m terrified if I give in to that need, I’ll never stop. Never, never stop. I’d rather burn until I turn to ash. Anger is easy. So bright and warm. If I give in to the other, I’ll sink into the dark and drown.
I begin tearing out the pages of Dune, cursing Frank Herbert for using so many fucking wordsand having so many characters I couldn’t keep their names straight and what the fuck with the sandworms—
“Are you cussing out Frank Herbert?” asks Gideon, voice tangled between worry and something too bright for this moment.
“This isn’t funny, asshole!” I scream, chucking the mostly empty spine at the door. “You’re not fucking funny!”
“Oh, I don’t know. I think I have my moments. Remember when I found that ticklish spot on your side that made you laugh so hard you peed your pants? No?”
Pause.
