Page 7 of Scarred Souls

Oh, now he wanted to be chatty?

I held my arms out wide, then let them drop to my sides. “Here.”

“No. I mean where did you grow up? Your accent is strange.”

He had a good ear. Even though I’d been born in Mexico, after spending so many years living in America, my Spanish no longer sounded as authentic as the locals’. I’d tried to correct it. Apparently, not hard enough.

I shrugged, feigning nonchalance, although I really didn’t like the direction of his questioning. “So is yours.”

“Mom’s Colombian and Dad’s American. I was born and raised in the States.”

His random sharing of personal details took me aback. What surprised me more was that he’d switched to English, correctly guessing I’d understand him.

“What about you?” he asked.

Needles pricked my skin. Maybe I was being oversensitive about Grim’s question, because there was nothing inherently sinister about it. Still, with someone like him, it was wise to use caution.

When I didn’t answer immediately, he chuckled. “Come on. Are you really going to pretend like you can’t understand me?”

Was I? It seemed kind of pointless now.

I licked my dry lips and answered in English, “Where I’m from is none of your business.”

He sipped his beer. “Touchy subject?”

I stared at him in silence. He did the same until our glare-off stretched to a point beyond uncomfortable. Not answering only made it look like I had something to hide.

Why hadn’t I given him the cover story Daphne had concocted? Everyone in the village believed she was my godmother, having raised me in Denver after my parents died when I was two. But if I told Grim that, something made me think he’d question me further and uncover my lie. This guy had me rattled.

“Easy now, Gatita,” Grim said in a soothing tone that had the opposite effect. He rested his thick forearms on the table. “We’re just having a friendly conversation. There’s no reason to be so skittish.”

Except it felt nothing like a friendly conversation, and I had every reason to be skittish.

And why the hell was Grim calling me Gatita? I was no kitten. I was a badass.

Then stop acting timid, and show him.

“What happened?” He gestured to my face.

My eyes narrowed. “I feel like this lesson is reaching you far too late in life to have any impact, but it’s rude to ask strangers personal questions.” I folded my arms. Time for some questions of my own. “Why are you here?”

“Not for the friendly atmosphere, that’s for damn sure.” He put the bottle to his lips for another drink.

“I don’t mean the restaurant. I mean Playa de la Palmera, but I think you already knew that.”

“Just passing through.” He stretched his arms above his head, then rested one on the back of the chair beside him.

The action drew my eyes to the bulging bicep stretching his Henley. When my gaze returned to Grim’s, he wore a smug smile and winked.

Unbelievable.

Nice try, jackass. I would not be distracted by pretty muscles.

I sneered to convey my contempt. “Then I suggest you drink faster and be on your way.”

His departure couldn’t come soon enough.

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