Page 99 of When Lies Unfold

It’s my fault that she’s dead.

Santiago thought he was sparing me from having a stained soul, but he doesn’t know that my soul is already stained in the worst way.

But for some reason, this—witnessing Belleza’s death—has tipped me over the edge.

“Give and take, amor. That’s what life is.” My abuelita often said this. She’d remind me that death was inevitable, but that it wasn’t something to be afraid of. She told me that no one should allow grief to overtake their life. That death meant a rebirth.

But right now, in this moment, I don’t know how not to let grief overtake me. Especially when it should be me in that grave.

“Lola.”

I ignore Santiago and close my eyes. Strong hands land at my waist before I’m gently lifted and cradled in his arms. Face drenched, it’s impossible to decipher between the torrential downpour of rain and my incessant tears.

Grief and heartache have suffocated any fight I might’ve had left in me, so I let myself be carried away.

42

SANTIAGO

I’ve faced down cold-blooded killers, addicts with nothin’ to lose, and downright motherfuckin’ bastards before without blinkin’ an eye.

I’d rather deal with all of those over this any goddamn day.

Havin’ a limp Lola Arias in my arms feels like I’ve taken a round of ammo straight in my gut. ’Cause this isn’t her. I may not have known her for years, but this sure as hell isn’t the ballbuster who’s stood up to me time and again.

This is a mere shell of the brave and beautiful woman who made my daughter fall in love with her almost instantaneously.

Once I step inside the house, my wet shoes squelch with each step. Rain-soaked, our clothes stick to us like a second skin.

Head liftin’ from where it’s been slumped against my shoulder, her voice is painfully hoarse. “I can walk.”

“Didn’t say you couldn’t.”

When I turn down the opposite hall, she protests again, and a part of me is grateful it’s spurred on some of her innate feistiness. She twists in my hold. “My room’s the other way.” When she attempts another escape move, her immediate wince tells me all I need to know.

“Gordo!”

“Boss?” he calls out from behind me.

“Where the hell’s Doc?”

“Should be gettin’ here any minute now.”

“Check.” My curt tone is demandin’, but I don’t fuckin’ care.

Muttered words drift from behind me as I near my bedroom door, then Gordo says, “Doc just arrived at the gate.”

“Send him right in.”

I carry Lola directly into my en suite bathroom, the sensor lights turnin’ on with our presence, and gently ease her onto the large granite vanity.

The downpour of rain has washed away most of the remainin’ traces of the animal’s blood. With her hair matted against her cheeks and the back of her neck, no way in hell should she still look beautiful. But she does. The only thing that detracts from it is the desolate look in her eyes.

She shivers, and I grab a clean towel, carefully wrappin’ it around her, mindful of her injury.

“Gotta get you outta that shirt and get a look at your shoulder.”

“I’ll be fine.”

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