Shoving the sleeves of my hoodie up to my elbows, I back up to the chipped-paint iron railing and lower my torso so that my shoulder is level with the dead bolt.
And then I launch myself against it.
The shitty, aging piece of wood splinters and flies open on impact, smacking the wall behind it as it swings open, and I stumble across the threshold.
Dust and particles are flying around in the air, and I wave my hand in front of my face as I get my bearings. When I do, I notice that the room is dark aside from the dusky sunlight pouring in from the collapsed door. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust, and I scan the room from right to left in search of Natalia.
There’s a single, full-sized bed made up like nobody’s slept in it today, next to that is a small, rectangular table with an old lamp on top and a cloudy mirror hanging from the wall above it, and then a squatty, wooden chest of drawers with a tube TV positioned in one corner. Beyond that is a small niche that has a closet on one side and what appears to be the bathroom door on the other side.
Dead center in the middle of this little niche, tucked away in one corner of the grimy motel room, is my wife.
Half-hidden in darkness, with her smokey-blue eyes trained on me, Natalia is holding a pistol, raised at the ready and aimed right at my head.
TWENTY-ONE
JOAQUIN
I LIFT MY PALMS on pure reflex. “Querida… Natalia.” I swallow thickly because the look in her eyes makes it seem like continuing to hold me at gunpoint right now isn’t an accident. “Put the gun down,amor. It’s just me. I’m going to take you to—”
“No, you’re going to get the fuck out of here.” Her voice is husky and low like I’ve never heard before. Her slender shoulder muscles and triceps are cut and popping as she points the pistol at me and leans her weight forward into it. She looks like a friggin’ sniper, or a marksman, or like she’s in the military or something, despite being dressed in jeans and a tank top that are so big that they look like they’re swallowing her up. She also looks like my words might as well have gone in one ear and out the other, and she has no problem killing me. “I told you not to come after me. Get the hell out of here.”
It occurs to me as we’re standing across from each other like this in some kind of surreal face-off, that maybe she thinks I’m here to turn her over to the police or something after I read her confession. Maybe she didn’t listen to any of my voicemails and doesn’t realize that, every time I left one, I was one step away from bawling like a baby over how much I love her and miss her.
“Natalia,” I attempt, my voice even and calm, “I’m not mad at you, baby doll. I read the whole letter, and I’m not mad at you about any of it. In fact, I—”
“Then you’re not a sane man,” she deadpans, her voice robotic. “If you were sane, you would leave right now because you have no business associating with an enemy of your father. If youaresane, you brought the police with you. In either case, there is likely about to be a firefight, and I’d rather not kill you, Joaquin.” She takes another step closer. “But I will if I have to.”
I scoff lightly. “You will not. You’re not going to kill me, Natalia.”
“I have already killed twelve men.” She briefly tips up the barrel of the gun in a gesture at me. “You were to be number thirteen.” She takes one more meticulous step toward me and lifts the gun slightly higher as though making up for my height that towers above her. “If you have brought the police here, if you have come here in an attempt to get in the way of my plan, you will be number thirteen after all.”
Something flashes in her smoky-blue eyes, and it triggers the same pang in my chest that I’ve felt the whole time I’ve known her. And it makes me wonder about fate. It makes me wonder if, despite how fucked up this situation is, despite the fact that we went into this thing completely saturated with lies and deceit, that we were just meant to be together. I wonder if that persistent pang is a soulish pull connecting me to her now that I’ve finally found her, and also a warning that I will be nothing butmiserablewithout her.
Which, of course, means I can’t and won’t leave here without her.
“I won’t, Natalia,” I say matter-of-factly as I drop my arms to my sides. “I’m not gonna be number thirteen, because you’re not going to kill me, because you love me. Because you’re not a low-life, piece of shit monster like my cousin is. Because even though you’ve been tangled up with all those pieces of shit, you’re not one of them. And I know you’re not one of them because you told me you’re going after them. And I’m not going to let you go after them alone because I love you.”
She makes no reaction to that. She doesn’t even blink.
I take a single step toward her. “I love you, Natalia. I’m going to help you with this. We’re both in over our heads right now, and we’re going to deal with this together.”
“Likefuckwe’re going to deal with thistogether,” she hisses, a growl low in her throat punctuating each word. “I’mgoing to deal with this myself, and you’re going to get the fuck out of here. Youneedto get the fuck out of here because I have no idea if Xavier’s got people watching me right now, which means they’re watching you, too, and you should’ve stayed away like I fuckingtold you to.”
I cock my head. “He’s got people watching you right now?”
“I have no idea.” Her knuckles are white around the pistol grip, and the tense irritation is practically rolling off of her small frame. “Which is why you need togo.”
“I’m not going, Natalia.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Not without you, and then you and me are going to the police. If you try to do this alone, you’re going to get yourself killed. There’s no way you can take down all of those—”
“I will gladly die trying!” The subtlest hitch of desperation clambers at the back of her throat. “I will walk through a firestorm of gunpowder and lead before I go quietly to the police and let them attempt to exact the pathetic excuse for justice I know they’re capable of. Xavier deserves to die choking on his own blood from bullet holes I put in his body, while I stand over him andwatch.”
Three quick, silent strides carry her toward me, closing the distance between us, and she wedges the pistol under my chin. If she were anyone else, I could and would easily snap her wrist in a way that would force the gun out of her hand. But I wouldn’t do that toherat all. And on top of that, up close like this, the sheen on her eyes is evident. The desperation in her voice shows itself as hollow brokenness, as does the luminescent pools of smoky-blue of her eyes. The knit of her brow and the subtle tremble of her bottom lip speak volumes about all kinds of shit, but the most obvious is that I’ve already called her bluff and she knows it.
“Amor.”
“Don’t fuckingtest me, Joaquin!” She wedges the pistol harder against my throat, and I swallow again. She’s only a breath away from my face, and the rims of her eyes are tinged red. “You don’t know what he has done. You don’t know what it’s like to be someone’s prisoner. You don’t know what it’s like to be aslaveto someone else’s sick fucking power trip. You didn’t see what they did to mymother. You don’t know, you don’t know, you don’t know.”
She’s subtly shaking her head while the tiny muscle in her delicate jaw pulses, and I know her well enough at this point to know she’s faltering. Her bristly facade is cracking. She’s a wolf with her leg caught in a trap, and she’ll sink her teeth into my flesh as I’m working to set her free. But she won’t pull that trigger.
