Page 97 of Sin of Love
No.
NO.
I don’t realize I’ve screamed the word until my ears ring with it. “If you think I’m going to buy into that shit, you can add stupid to crazy! You killing innocent women has nothing to do with me. And if La Familia Lazcano really controls the media, why did those articles mention the fifteen-plus women you’ve tortured and brutalized?” I feel him stiffen. “Uh-huh, that’s what I thought. I think your father let the cat out of the bag because he’s sick of his insane son.”
“Keep talking, Deirdre, and see what happens.”
I couldn’t stop if I wanted to. I’m sick of the fear, the powerlessness, of being his victim.
I’m done.
“You’re a disgrace to La Familia!” I yell, bowing against his grip. “Your men don’t respect you, your father wishes you hadn’t survived that overdose, and I can’t imagine how horrified and embarrassed your mother is. In fact, your parents probably put a bounty on your head, and that’s the reason you’re here with no backup plan.”
That does it. His rage boils over, an electric storm of malevolence on my back. With an animal roar that lifts every hair on my body, he flips me so I’m facing him. The gun barrel hits my forehead and dark eyes, full madness, land on my face.
“Shut up! Shut your lying mouth before I cut out your tongue!”
And finally, for the first time, I feel no fear when I look at him. He can’t touch me anymore.
I’m not dying today.
The conviction flows through me, soft and assured. I don’t know where it comes from, whether it’s shock or denial or fantasy, but I embrace it with everything I am.
“I finally figured out why you prefer me on my knees,” I grind out. “You’re insecure about your height, aren’t you? What are you, five foot seven, maybe eight? Anyone who says size doesn’t matter is lying.”
Real pain flashes in his eyes. “Was it ever real for you? Did you ever love me?”
“No. Fuck no.”
Gideon is real. Our love is real.
I meet Julep’s crazed eyes. Tears roll down his cheeks, his devastation clear. And I realize I must have hit close to the mark—whatever ground he gained with El Jefe was undone my final night in Playa del Carmen. The fact that he doesn’t have any men with him, that he looks like he hasn’t changed clothes or bathed in days…
He’s not planning to live through the night.
“You were the closest to perfect I ever found. If I can’t have you, no one will.”
“How cliché.”
I hear the click as a bullet drops into the chamber—and still… I feel no fear.
From across the gallery, a woman shouts, “No!” Then more softly, as she walks toward us, “I don’t want to miss this.”
One of her arms is in a sling; the other hand cradles a gun. She walks with a limp, and her face…
“I told you to wait in the car,” hisses Julep.
Maggie’s gaze finally veers from my shocked expression. “The cops are a minute out. It’s time to finish and leave.” She pauses, head tilting as she surveys us. “Only, you aren’t planning on leaving, are you?”
When he doesn’t deny it, Maggie lifts her chin and cackles. The sound hurts to hear, thick with suffering far beyond the normal human threshold. I’m not sure she’s sane anymore, and I can’t blame her for it.
“You were right, Deirdre,” she rasps, eyes finding mine, their darkness stark with remorse and determination. “I wasn’t a perfect doll like you.”
Maggie, oh Maggie.
One pale cheek is bisected by a fresh scar, long and red and raised from imperfect stitches. The opposite eye is red and weeping, the socket misshapen, and her jawline is lumpy and discolored. Her voice is changed, too, lisping from knocked-out teeth.
I have no idea how she survived such abuse, and the brutality of it takes my breath away. Tears of sympathy and sorrow stream down my face. No one, no one, deserves what he’s done to her.
