Page 20 of Ink
“The club will handle it,” he assured me as he walked me out of Devil’s Ink.
And I believed him.
I believed he would handle the mess–and the dead bodies–I left on the floor of his shop.
Chapter Eight
Xiomara
Ibarelyrememberedtheride on the back of Ink’s bike. I only knew the wind on my face and the blur of buildings and cornfields as we sped across the highway. When he finally stopped, that numb state had almost completely dissipated and in its place was shame.
I thought I was done with that.
The rage.
The kind that morphed me into a different person entirely and made me black out and forget myself, like someone who’d shot back too much tequila. There were blank spaces for a while until memories rushed back in flashes.
Of my hands closing around a bat and striking heads. Of the pain of being struck, kicked, beaten, only to get back up again and give them what they deserved.
But this time, I’d gone too far.
I tried to see if guilt would settle, and I think that was what shamed me most of all. It didn’t exist. I didn’t give a fuck that I’d killed those men. They deserved it.
Was I a broken human because of it? Would Ink recoil from me now?
He didn’t. He took my hand and pulled me towards a two story home behind a stone wall with electric wire circling the top. I barely glanced at the place. Even as he took me inside.
Even as I heard a small gasp and Ink’s reply, “Go back to sleep, ma. She’s fine.”
And then I was being pushed to a seat.
I reacted, taking in a breath and looking around. I was obviously in Ink’s room. If the dark decor was of any indication.
He moved about with confidence and determination before he kneeled in front of me between my open legs.
Silently, he took my hands and swept a wet cloth over my split knuckles. I didn’t even wince at the sting.
“Fuck, Xiomara,” Ink rumbled. “What happened?”
It was spoken like an order. A command.
He wanted the truth, and he’d get it. One way or another.
I waited until he finished wiping the blood clean from one hand and started on the other before I spoke.
“They came in looking to leave you a message through me.”
His grip tightened on my hand at those words.
“So I defended myself.”
This earned me a chuckle, one I was surprised to hear come from his lips. “I can see that…”
“The bodies…I can’t go to jail. My mamá needs me. She needs money. She’s getting on in years.”
“You aren’t going to jail, Xiomara.”
I stared doubtfully at him. “Last time I checked, killing someone–let alone three someones–lands you in prison.”
