Page 5 of Scarred Souls

“You should message Enrique.” Mari shot me a knowing grin. “I’m sure he’ll keep you company until closing and drive you home after.”

Enrique was one of the village’s most eligible bachelors. Handsome, kind, had a solid job. He could have any girl in town but had made it clear he was interested in me. I wasn’t sure why. Not with my…disfigurement.

I scrunched my nose. “I don’t want to bother him.”

Enrique was nice enough, but nothing could ever happen between us. If my past caught up with me, everyone in this village would be in danger, and if I had a boyfriend, he’d be the first to be executed. An uncomfortable knot lodged in my throat. There was already too much blood on my hands. I couldn’t handle any more.

I drew in a steadying breath and glanced toward the palm-fringed bay, where moonlight reflected off the waves. Briny air filled my lungs, calming me in a way only the ocean could.

Since it was the offseason, there were hardly any tourists around, so the two other beachfront restaurants were closed. A few pangas—the small colorful boats the fishermen used—remained parked on the sand, but most were at sea, collecting the night’s catch.

Mari’s latest boyfriend, Luis, kicked sand off his feet and walked through the beachside door. My friend squealed and ran to him before jumping into his arms and wrapping her legs around his waist.

They might seem all loved up, but I was willing to bet this week’s paycheck that she’d move on to someone new within a month. I loved Mari, but she suffered from a bad case of dick FOMO and wouldn’t be happy until she’d ridden every available twentysomething guy in the village. Since she was gorgeous, she had her pick of the local talent.

Something pinched inside my chest at the freedom Mari took for granted. In one way or another, I’d been imprisoned my whole life. Hiding in New Jersey. Hiding in Playa de la Palmera. It was a sucky way to live, but what options did I have?

“Pretty please.” Mari unfolded herself from Luis and gave me puppy-dog eyes. “I promise to make it up to you.”

“Fine. Shoo.” I gestured toward the door with a flick of my wrist.

“You’re the best!” She loosened the apron from around her waist and tossed it behind the bar.

I shook my head as the pair made their way onto the beach to walk along the shore. They were probably headed to the Cove, a secluded spot roughly a half mile from here where couples went for privacy. Not that I knew from firsthand experience. I’d never been there with a man.

Mari was right about this place being dead tonight. The only people remaining were old Isaac, sitting red-eyed and stoic at the end of the bar, the same way he had every night since his wife had passed nine months ago, and twins Nina and Nora who were finishing up their dinner and drinks at a table with a view of the beach.

I’d been working at Javi’s long enough that the open-air restaurant felt like my second home. I loved the resort vibe that the thatched roof and colonial hurricane shutters gave it. We served cold beer and fresh local food. The restaurant made better money during the tourist season, but I preferred the quiet off-peak months when there were fewer strangers.

As I busied myself slicing limes, a gentle ocean breeze blew my long hair behind my shoulders. Out of habit, I rearranged a few locks to cover the burn scars on the left side of my face.

There was no denying it: they were hideous. But my scars served as a constant reminder of what I’d gone through to survive, and if I were to have to experience that grueling pain all over again to make it here, I would.

My injuries should’ve killed me. It made no sense why I’d been spared when so many around me had fallen. Guilt remained a constant, heavy companion I’d never be able to shake. How was it fair that I got to live in this peaceful village, surrounded by the love of found family and friends, when I’d let so many people down?

I waved off the last of the customers with a genuine smile because their departure meant I could close up early. Time to wipe the tables, mop the floor, then head home.

Just as I turned toward the supply closet, I glimpsed a shadow by the street-side door. Only it wasn’t a shadow; it was a huge man dressed in dark clothing.

I got a clearer look at him as he stepped through the doorway. Everything about him screamed trouble. The dangerous kind. From the sinister-looking tattoos up his corded neck and along the backs of his large hands, to his all-black ensemble of jeans, heavy boots, and a long-sleeve Henley that stretched tightly across bulky shoulders. With his jet-black hair and short-trimmed beard, all he needed was a cloak and a scythe and he’d be the grim reaper in the flesh.

Thankfully, none of his ink looked cartel affiliated. That didn’t stop the hairs on the back of my neck from standing on end.

Was he a tourist? Unlikely. He didn’t look like the travelers who occasionally wandered into our tiny village during the offseason. No flip-flops, linen shirt, or fanny pack.

Who was this stranger, and what was he doing here?

“Hola,” I said, coming to my senses and remembering it was polite to greet customers, no matter how unapproachable they might appear.

Grim stared at me for an uncomfortable beat as his gaze roamed the scarred side of my face. People did that all the time, and I should be used to it by now, but it never failed to make me self-conscious.

What disturbed me more was his lack of manners, because he didn’t bother acknowledging my greeting at all. He just strutted through the restaurant on long tree-trunk legs like he owned the damn place. Then he sat at a table overlooking the beach and carelessly propped one big black boot on the chair diagonal to him.

Goddamn you for bailing on me, Mari.

This guy made me nervous, and I didn’t like being stuck here on my own with him. What I wanted was to close the restaurant and go home so I could curl up on the sofa with a good book and a steaming cup of cocoa. I should’ve told Grim we were closed as soon as he’d walked in the door, but I’d been too busy trying to maintain my composure. Maybe it wasn’t too late to send him on his way.

I wiped my sweaty hands on my apron and approached Grim’s table. He paid me no mind while he scrolled through his phone.

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