Page 108 of Devious Lies

I smile and hand her a soft nursing blanket and Anna whispers her thanks.

“So, when are they letting you out?”

“Oh, get this,” she whispers conspiratorially. “They won’t let me out until I poop. Can you believe that? Oh, hey, wanna do me a favor?”

“I am not going to shit in your hospital bathroom, Anna,” I tell her deadpan and we both bust out laughing.

Nico Jr. lets out a soft cry as Anna’s giggles cause him to detach from her breast.

“Sorry, little guy,” I apologize for disturbing his meal.

Anna laughs one more time before helping him latch back on.

“Oh my God, Maria! No, I do not need you to poop for me. But can you maybe run to Craft Mart and get Mrs. Pirillo another spool of blue thread? I memorized the item number. It’s 4567. That way, she can finish the last of the curtains and pillows for the baby’s room. I would order them, but the only place that has it is the store,” she says.

“Of course, yeah, I can do that,” I tell her.

I grin and wave goodbye as baby and mama both start to slip off into sleep. Then, I send Luc a text telling him to pick me up a few streets down from the hospital, because I'm going to go to the store to grab some thread for Anna.

He was supposed to get me anyway, and my driver was going to stay and swap details with one of the other bodyguards.

It should be strange, having all these armed men following me around, but it’s not.

Well, not to me.

I grew up in a house full of Sanchez’s soldiers. They were always in and out, so it’s nothing new. Not really.

I look for my driver in the hallway, but he isn’t there. And I already texted Luc, so I head down to the lobby.

Jersey City is hot as fuck in late July, and today it is worse. It’s muggy, and the weather report is calling for rain.

It’s been a few weeks since we had any real rain, and I bite my lip just thinking about how amazing a thunderstorm must look from the house.

I still can’t believe I live with Luc.

It’s like everything I ever wanted and more.

I wave my hand in front of my face as I wait for a traffic light, but it does nothing for me.

I wish I had one of those folding paper fans women used to carry.

It’s busy outside, despite the soaring temperatures. People are out doing their thing, and I check my GPS for the location of Craft Mart.

I swear, it doesn’t matter that I’ve passed it a million times. I have the worst sense of direction.

Sweat is making my shorts and tank top stick to my skin as I walk down the street, and I am still looking at the maps app, so it’s really no wonder I don’t notice anything amiss.

By the time I feel a heavy hand press against my hip, and something hard and cold against my side, it’s too late.

“Hello, nena. I told you I will always find you,” says a menacing voice, and I taste bile build in the back of my throat.

I’m shoved into the back of a low slung car. It’s painted a bright, metallic teal, and I wonder how this moron goes unnoticed by anyone.

There’s a reason the Vipers are who they are, and the Sanchez cartel’s power has dwindled.

“You’re making a mistake,” I try.

Suddenly, pain explodes in my face, and I cry out, clasping my hands to it.

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