Page 68 of Past Due

“Yeah.” I stroked his arm. “How are you feeling?”

“High as fuck,” he admitted with a silly smile. “My brother is on his way. He's going to try to figure out how to get me back to Barcelona for surgery.”

“I’ll handle that,” Zec offered, drawing Andres’ confused attention.

“Do I know you?” Drugged out of his mind, Andres didn’t seem to remember Zec driving us to the hospital.

“No,” Zec answered matter-of-factly, “but I have access to fixed wing medical transports. I’ll make sure you and your brother are back in Barcelona in time for tapas.”

Andres slowly turned his head toward me. “Is this guy legit?”

“Yes.” I sensed Zec had more connections than either of us could imagine. “Plus, he’s Albanian. When he gives his word, he keeps it.”

Zec actually smiled, and I couldn’t decide if that was an improvement over his constant glower.

“I’m sorry, Marley,” Andres said suddenly, his voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t mean to cause problems with you and the strip club guy.”

I ignored the way he described Besian. “It’s okay. It's not your fault.”

“He was really pissed off at you,” Andres said, his words a little slurred now. “If he hurts you...” His voice trailed off as the medication flooding his bloodstream made him sleepy.

“He would never hurt me like that,” I assured Andres. Even as I said it, a small part of me, the part formed by a childhood of screaming matches and domestic violence, feared there was a slim chance he actually might. The chance was so miniscule it wasn’t even a real consideration, but the things I had seen as a little girl had taught me to always expect the worst, especially from the people who supposedly loved us.

After Andres fell asleep, Zec stopped to speak with the staff about arranging the air ambulance. When he was done, we left the hospital. We drove in silence. I was too tired to make conversation. Drained of energy and dreading the inevitable confrontation that awaited me, I shrank down into the passenger seat and wished I could just vanish. I hated arguing. It made my stomach hurt, and my head pound. It made me shake with fear and anxiety, and I didn’t want to see a side of Besian that would forever ruin him in my eyes.

Because even if he had decided he didn’t want me anymore, I wasn’t quite ready to stop loving him.

You’re so pathetic. Just like your mother. Chasing after a man who doesn’t want you.

Accepting that reality made me want to puke. My whole life I had tried so hard to not follow in my mother’s footsteps. She had stayed married to Spider all these years, both of them miserable, both of them constantly having affairs with the worst people imaginable. I had judged her so harshly for all the ill-fated romances, the slew of useless assholes who fucked her over and fled at the first of trouble.

How many times had I sworn I would never get involved with a man like Spider? With a criminal? And here I was, broken-hearted, because I had given myself to a mafioso who didn’t trust me.

Pathetic.

Stupid.

Idiot.

When we arrived at the house, it was eerily quiet. “I can’t stay,” Zec apologized. “I need to finish the arrangements for your friend’s flight home.”

“It’s okay.” I reached for the handle but didn’t open the door. Hesitating, I glanced back at him. “I didn’t cheat on Besian.”

“Did I say that you did?”

“No, but I know it’s what you all think.”

“Qershi, you couldn’t even imagine what I think.” Zec’s expression turned pitying. “I believe you, but it doesn’t matter what I believe. Does it?”

“No,” I murmured, feeling small and useless.

“Go inside. Take a shower. Drink some water. Get some rest. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

I doubted it would work out that easily. Without anything else to say, I stepped out of the car and watched him drive away until his tail lights disappeared.

Knowing I had to face the nightmare that awaited me, I hobbled across the gravel in the shoes that were killing my feet and ankles. I hadn’t even made it to the front door before it opened to reveal a furious Drita waiting for me. I didn’t even get a single syllable of greeting out of my mouth before she threw my suitcase and backpack at me. I cringed at the sound of my luggage bouncing on the steps, imagining my laptop and camera being crushed.

Drita pointed her thin finger at me. “Take that off.”

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