Page 35 of When Lies Unfold

Straightening, I lift my hands, palms facing up as I stare down at them. I’ve successfully done what was needed—and with my non-dominant hand, no less. But it wasn’t easy.

The entire time, my left hand twitched with the constant longing to join in.

Shifting my focus from one of the most painful chapters of my past, I tug out my hair tie. I gather my hair in place and quickly resecure my ponytail. I wish I had a spare shirt to cover myself, but I don’t, so I’ll have to make do with what I’m wearing.

My sports bra used to be gray, but now it’s so bloodstained, it appears more of a reddish-purple shade. My dark blue leggings venture closer to purple in certain spots where Andro’s blood soaked in.

As I glance down at myself, a weak, humorless laugh attempts to burst free. Half-dressed. Bloodstained clothes. Rubber boots. I’m a fucking mess. What I want the most right now is to go home, shower, and decompress.

But I can’t.

Santiago brought me here for some reason. If I’ve come to know anything about the man, there’s no way he’ll let me leave without us having the talk we never got to start.

Aside from that, now I wonder if I’ll get to leave at all. I just fought off his nephew and am the reason the asshole practically filleted himself, so there are bound to be repercussions.

Dragging in a deep breath, I straighten my shoulders and open the bathroom door, anticipating finding one of Santiago’s men lurking nearby. Instead, I find myself going rigid at the person waiting for me.

“Uh…hello.” My greeting comes out hesitant, because out of everything I would’ve expected to encounter in Santiago Hernández’s compound, it wasn’t the presence of a small child.

A little girl who can’t be more than five or six years old stares up at me with wide, brown eyes. A smear of what looks like chocolate decorates her right cheek.

Hair the color of midnight falls messily around her face and shoulders in tight ringlet curls. Barefoot and dressed in pink shorts, she wears a purple shirt with a unicorn on the front.

She scans me in an almost methodical manner before casually asking, “Did you have to kill somebody?”

“No. I had to help someone who was hurt.” This poor child’s nonchalance is horrifying. “Killing people’s bad.”

She blinks. “Unless they deserve it ’cause they did really bad things.”

My mouth parts because holy shit. That’s decidedly not the response I was expecting from her.

“Did that person”—she gestures to the blood staining my clothing—“die?”

“No.”

“Is that a bad person’s blood?”

I hesitate, and she suggests in an unsettlingly calm way, “Was it Andro? ’Cause Daddy’s been sayin’ Andro’s got shit for brains.”

Before I can respond, she wrinkles her cute little nose and continues with, “Andro’s a jerk. He makes fun of me ’cause I don’t wanna talk.” With a barely there pause for a breath, she rushes on with, “Are you a friend of my dad’s?”

OhdearGod. Please tell me her father isn’t who I think it is… “Who’s your dad?”

Pride infused in her answer, she lifts her chin proudly and declares, “Santiago Hernández.”

Ohhhh fuck. I’m rendered speechless, but thankfully, she doesn’t register my lack of response. Of course, Santiago’s kid is blasé about killing people. I’m not the least bit surprised, but?—

Wait. Is Santiago married? Maybe he got a woman pregnant. Yes, that’s more likely. Men like him don’t tend to be monogamous unless it comes to their weapon of choice.

“So, is it”—she surveys my bloodstained clothes once again—“a bad person’s blood?”

I clear my throat before bending my knees and bringing myself to her eye level. “Let’s just say that someone made a bad mistake today and that’s why his blood is on me.”

“My mom did lots of bad things.” She holds up a hand and starts ticking off her fingers. “She did drugs, did gross things with smelly guys, she almost let some of ’em touch me in no-no places, and then she died ’cause she did too many drugs.”

“That sounds…” It takes a concentrated effort to keep the horror from showing on my face. “Terrible.”

She drops her hands at her sides and shrugs as if she’s unbothered by it. “I’m better off without ’er.” A smile transforms her face as she tells me proudly, “’Cause of my daddy.”

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