Page 48 of Charity's Torment

“And what’s that?”

“You can have Jose.”

I grinned.

“You handled yourself well with Karen. But that doesn’t mean I’m okay with taking it up a notch and going after him.” He let out a sigh in my ear. “Just wait a bit, please.”

“I’m ready. I’ve waited long enough. Josh is still missing, and I have no other leads to go off of.”

“I’ll never let you back out if you fuck this up.”

“Can I ask you something?” Curiosity burned in my gut, and I had to know.

“What?”

“Would you really put a bullet in my head?”

“I think you know the answer to that.”

The phone clicked.

Did I know the answer to that? I like to think he wouldn’t do it. We held some weird but special relationship that I couldn’t even put a name on. Was I willing to test the theory? Giovanni seemed convinced that Luca loved me, which seemed so absurd. He had his sweet moments, and I know he doesn’t hate me… but love? I couldn’t convince myself that it was true. I wouldn’t get my hopes up that it was.

Chapter 18

Where the fuck are they?

I rummaged through my closet, throwing everything out into my bedroom, creating a land mine of shoes and knickknacks.

“What the hell are you doing?” Max said while sitting on my bed.

“I can’t find something. Duh.” I got on my hands and knees, digging things out and throwing them behind me like a dog digging a hole for his bone.

“What in God’s name are you listening to?”

I glanced back at him over my shoulder. He leaned back on his hands, and his legs sat wide, his gaze staring at my round ass stuck in the air. “It’s Chicano music. It’s getting me in the zone.” I ramped myself up for the last two days since Luca told me Jose was working for the Cartel. I needed to change my methods. I couldn’t just take him and cut off his fingers. It needed to replicate a rival Cartel.

I opened a manila envelope that, at some point during the year, I had stashed in the back and struck gold. “Bingo!”

“What is it?”

Throwing the envelope to him, I walked into the restroom and wet a washcloth. When I came back out, Max had the contents dumped on the bed and spread out. “Why don’t you just get real ones?”

I pulled off my shirt and picked out a fake tattoo. “Here, help me.” I handed him the washcloth and sat on the bed. “If I had real ones, I’d be identifiable.”

The police had a database just for tattoos of convicted and arrested individuals. They used it to identify them in prisons as well as if they committed a crime. I wasn’t in the system, but that’s not to say it couldn’t happen.

He pressed the quarter sleeve, black ink tattoo with random cursive words and objects over my hand and up my forearm.

Working in sections, he wet each area down and pressed. Goosebumps raced up my arms, away from the assault of the chilly washcloth he had pressed to my skin. Three minutes passed, and he peeled away the paper, leaving me with a dark tattoo saturating my pale skin.

“Wow.” His gruff voice and touch caused my heart to skitter.

I picked a new one with graffiti writing and placed it above my brow.

After an hour of applying fake tattoos over my arms, fingers, and neck, I rubbed a mattifying primer over the top, eliminating the sheen.

“Fuck. I liked ink before, but now…” He licked his lips and stalked towards me. My stomach leaped, and tingles ran through my body. His sturdy arms wrapped around my waist and pulled me in tight. Our lips smashed together, and I feasted on him mercilessly. Max broke away mid-nip. “Please turn this fucking music off.”

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