Page 51 of Traitor

I nodded, feeling it too. “I know,” I croaked.

Her hands came down to rest on my chest. “I want to forget, Mike. I just want to forget for a while.”

I took my cue and gripped her hips tightly in my hands, forcing her sweat-slicked body back and my cock even deeper. Her cries went silent again and I couldn’t hold back, I let myself come with her, somehow convincing myself that I’d fixed us.

I loved her so damn much and her pain tore me apart. That was supposed to be enough. When I woke in the morning to an empty bed, I knew that I’d only been fooling myself.

There was no making up for what I’d done to her. I just wish I’d known that before permanently handing over my heart.

Lauren

July 2015

I put the car in park behind the motorcycle and stared wearily at the house. Work was kicking my ass—my heart just wasn’t in it anymore and it showed. I’d wanted to keep what happened to my car from Josué and Isaac, but I really needed something to drive while I fought it out with my insurance company.

While I’d agreed that my car being bombed was an act of terrorism, I disagreed that it was considered an act of war—something the insurance company explicitly did not cover. Until a settlement could be reached, I was without a vehicle. So, I had to call and listen to Josué lose his mind, switching rapidly from Spanish to English and back again.

Isaac had gotten on the phone and calmly offered me the use of one of his vehicles before handing the phone back to Josué.“Mija, they won’t be happy until you’re dead. Please come home. Your heart belongs here with us.”

I’d choked back tears and the urge to tell him that my heart belonged in a farmhouse just outside of town.

What good would it have done?

I’d left Mike sleeping while I snuck out…again. Torch hadn’t been thrilled at picking me up at five in the morning and had grumbled about how normal people were still in bed at that hour.

Unlike before, Mike didn’t come after me this time around. I’d thought that sex would’ve given me closure—a way to take my frustrations out on his body. It hadn’t worked out quite like that though. Now, he was an even more prominent fixture in my mind.

The fact that I was nine days late might’ve had something to do with it too. I swiped away the stray tears and stared at the house again. I dreaded going in—Torch was home, but he wasn’t really there.

I spent most of my evenings alone in my room, while he drank until he passed out. Or I’d come in to an empty house to find beer bottles and cans decorating every free surface in the living room, while wondering where Torch was, definitely knowing that he was not at an AA meeting.

Once, when I’d gotten up for some water, he’d mistaken me for Monica and cried for hours. I tried not to leave my room now until I was sure that he was asleep.

With a deep sigh, I grabbed my purse and keys and let myself inside. The entire house smelled amazing and I followed the scent and sound of voices into the kitchen.

Torch was chopping onions and talking to a woman who had her back to me.

“Hello,” I ventured, in shock that Torch was up and moving around, along with the fact that there was a woman here.

She turned around and clapped her hands. “Lauren,mijita.Come and let me hold you.”

“Abuelita?What are you doing here?” My voice was muffled as she had my face crushed up against her bosom.

She released me and gestured around the kitchen proudly. “I am here to take care of you and Dave. Josué told me about your car and you know what? I say to myself,‘Gloria, you must go to Texas.’So, I got on the airplane. I can sleep when I am dead.”

I nodded until she finished speaking. “Who is Dave?”

Torch put the knife down and waved a hand. “Me.”

Leave it toAbuelitato get a biker to give up his real name.

She jerked her thumb toward him. “This one? Oh, boy. He wants to lie around all day, but I say no. We must carry on.”

He held up the cutting board and showed her the onions. “Like this?”

Abuelitapatted him like a small child. “Sí, very good, Dave. Next, we are going to get you showered up so that I can trim this mess on your head. You look homeless.” She eyed me. “Lauren, what has happened to your hair?”

I patted my head self-consciously. “Nothing. It’s just in a messy bun.”

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