Page 171 of When Lies Unfold

Lola

With the metallic-blue feather pinched in my fingers, my vision grows blurry as I’m bombarded by everythin’ all at once.

Holy fuck. It was her all along. Lola was a woman I’d felt connected to in a way I could never describe.

It all falls into place. Why I couldn’t pull that trigger from the start. What had been holdin’ me back. There was always an invisible tether joinin’ us.

Fate brought us together twice, and I still fucked it up. I should’ve fought harder against lettin’ her do this.

The phantom sensation of someone tearin’ open my ribs and rippin’ out my heart makes it impossible to breathe. ’Cause I never told her how I feel about her. She doesn’t realize there’s no fuckin’ way I can live without her.

Blinkin’ away the unshed tears, I focus on the feather while my mind travels back to that night.

79

SANTIAGO

Barranquilla Carnival

Colombia

12 years earlier

I shouldn’t be here, but somethin’ about this drew me in. For one night, I wanna be inconspicuous.

I should be revelin’ in what I’ve already accomplished, but some days, it feels like I’ve taken on more than I can handle.

It’s why I’m here wearin’ a stupid mask coverin’ my face from below my nose up to my hairline while I’m surrounded by an ass-ton of people who don’t know me and sure as hell won’t recognize me.

People in my line of work don’t tend to mingle or do shit like this. But I figure it’s safe ’cause I’m never predictable and these people are too busy celebratin’ and havin’ the time of their lives.

It’s a foreign kind of sensation, bein’ around so many people who’re carefree and lettin’ loose. People who have no idea about the bloodbath that took place a few hours ago. They’re clueless about the recon my men and I’ve been doin’.

I’m torn by a fraction of envy that they’re able to let loose like this while the other fraction is flat-out irritated with myself.

I’ve got shit to do, and I’m screwin’ off by bein’ here. I’m about to say fuck it and just turn around and leave.

Then I see her.

It doesn’t seem possible with how crowded it is, but our eyes lock and hold. I can only see her from the shoulders up, and she’s positively fuckin’ breathtakin’.

With blonde, chin-length hair, her face is concealed by a blue sequined mask extending to her upper lip. The rest of her face and body is painted black with streaks of metallic blue, and large blue feathery wings fan out from her back.

An eagerness I’m not used to propels me forward, and I venture closer, dodgin’ and weavin’ through the thick crowd. Once I’m in front of her, she peers up at me with eyes so blue they must be colored contacts.

Her costume is a strapless, form-fittin’ bodysuit that molds to her perfect curves, and I realize now that she’s dressed as a butterfly. Specifically a blue morpho, which is common in my home country of Costa Rica.

It’s impossible to hear anythin’ above the cacophony of music and overall revelry, let alone have a conversation, so I offer her an upturned palm.

It’s a silent question I have no right to ask—to expect this beautiful woman to walk farther away from the carnival with me—but I’m driven by a strange sense of urgency.

She hesitates long enough that I’m about to let my hand drop. But before I do, she slips her delicate one in mine.

I swear to Christ, somethin’s wrong with me, ’cause this just…feels right. Like she’s supposed to be mine or some shit. Which is fuckin’ ridiculous, ’cause I know better than to entertain delusions like that. I knew goin’ into this life that it’d be a solo venture.

I’m not built that way, regardless.

But when she blinks up at me with innocent eyes, I’m tempted to say fuck it and throw away all common sense for her.

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