Wiping my hands on a square of muslin, I toss it into the designated laundry basket and break out into the hallway. Instead of going back to reception, I wander further into the warren of corridors. His distinct fluid accent draws me closer to Jackson’s office. It is destruction anointed as seduction.
“That’s two lives taken care of. I’m sure that will send a message to the other two motherfuckers.”
“How did this one respond to justice?” Jackson’s blue-blooded baritone is more friendly than thuggish.
Dante sneers. “The loser thought it was his lucky fucking year. We set up a trap in a swanky hotel room. We invited him to a VIP party, which turned out to be a party for two. He was bitterly disgruntled when the lines of cocaine were toxic, and the hookers were knuckle dusters. The prick ruined my life for tits and grams. He aimed for the high life, and I gifted him a ticket to an early grave instead.” He laughs coldly. “My guy secured his wrists with a thin wire and roughed him up. As evidence, he filmed the asshole in a puddle of blood, his own blood, choking like a gutted fish. Putting a bullet in his tiny brain was a satisfactory conclusion to the fucker’s pathetic life.”
Horror scurries under my skin like an infestation of insects ready to mutate. The beast in Dante is real, whether or not I choose to ignore it.
“I can’t believe our guest had no information.” A sigh follows a rattle of metal.
“What a waste of time. He didn’t know who gave Miguel the order to come after me.”
“There is one option, Dante.”
“And that is?”
“Bring him here. Find out for yourself.”
There’s an eerie hush. “I don’t know if I could let him live long enough to dig into the truth.”
“What other choice do you have?”
“I don’t. But . . . here?”
“He’s going to die, either here or out there.”
“I guess it would be more pleasurable to deal with him up close and personal. It has a better ring of retribution to it. I just swore I’d never have the fucker anywhere near my home.”
“It’s the only way, now that you’ve hit a brick wall with the investigation. What about the girl?”
I suck in and bite my lip in anticipation. There’s a heartbeat of silence before Dante clears his throat. “Her wound is healing nicely.”
My heart thuds. I lean my shoulder into the doorjamb for support. Waiting for his answer shows how damn feeble I’ve become. How insanely jinxed this oasis has made me. My need to hear the answer drowns me in shame.
“That’s not what I mean, Dante, and you know it.”
“What do you want me to say? We both know there’s no place for her here.” Tin clanks and a drawer slams shut. “Especially if Miguel crosses over onto my territory.”
“Then why is she still here?”
“Because I’m not ready to let her go.”
“Not ready or don’t want to?”
“I’ve got six months to figure it out.”
I roll my spine into the wall and swallow a muted sob. My shirt collar tightens around my throat, and the scent of sterile cleaning solution turns sickly. He’s right. There is no place for me in his world. Not when he’s associated with organized crime and brutal murders.
The ruthless man treats me like a caged bird. Yet that same guy retrieved my journal, of all the things he could salvage, and kept it safe before handing it back. He left me alone at my request.
Space is a valuable commodity. However, this time, it’s acerbated an itch and has turned into a forbidden appetite. After learning of his violent tendencies, free from remorse, I’m not entirely sure I’d like to explore that side of him. I pause for a second, letting the tremors do their worst until I can move again. Exhaustion wears me down as I stumble away.
We have six long months to respect each other's boundaries. Six tedious months to withstand this snarl of emotion. Six grueling months before I fly back to the Scottish Highlands and try to put this behind me.
“Iris.” Sal peers over his shoulder when my footsteps echo to the ceiling. “Can you drop off these meds to cabin thirteen on your way? It’s the newest guest. He’s complaining of a migraine, which will be his sixth in the past few days. I’m guessing he’s enjoying these way too much.” He rattles a brown bottle of pills. “I’m restricting his allowance. One is more than sufficient. We’ll ween him off them slowly.” He shakes out a smooth orange torpedo-shaped capsule and drops it into a clear pouch. “Drop it and leave immediately. Okay. I’m sure he’ll be out for the count. He won’t even know you’re there.”
I choose to not share my inner anxieties with anyone, not even Sal. Perhaps popping one pill would take the edge off my own spiraling mood.
