Page 31 of Straightened Out

“I can’t leave you,” I growl. “You need to lay her down and we have to get out of here. The car is out back, take Violet and go. I’ll grab the guns and make sure the owner of the restaurant gets his story right.”

“I won’t leave her,” he sneers.

“If you don’t fucking leave her, you’re going to wind up like her. Do you really want your sister to see that?”

Those words—paired with the sound of Violet’s cries—seem to penetrate his thick skull and his gaze falls back to Pilar. He bends his head and presses another kiss to her lips before he brings his hand around from the back of her head and with a gentleness one wouldn’t expect from him, he closes her eyes and lays her on the floor.

I don’t give him a chance to change his mind as I charge for him. Pulling him to his feet, I push him toward his sister. Once I get them both out of the restaurant and into the car, I make my way back inside the restaurant to take care of the guns. I pay the owner of the restaurant to destroy the surveillance tapes and threaten to kill his entire family if he doesn’t cooperate and tell the cops that there was no meeting. As far as he is concerned, we were there to celebrate Violet’s birthday when those cocksuckers came into the restaurant with their guns blazing and killed Pilar. Anything that happened after was self-defense. End of story.

And just like that, there’s another tally under my name.

Chapter 10

Violet Cabrera

One minute I was standing in the hallway pissed at my brother and Rocco for keeping me waiting, the next I’m taking cover under a table, watching Joaquin and Rocco shoot to kill. I stared at my brother holding that woman’s lifeless body in his arms and after Rocco forced us into the back of his car, I watched him cry. I took him in my arms but I’m not even certain he knew it was me who held him. Then he was gone. I went to chase after him, but that’s when Rocco emerged from the restaurant, ordering us both to get back in the car. Joaquin wasn’t having it, though. He wouldn’t leave that woman alone. It didn’t matter that she was dead, or that he might get arrested, he was going to hold her for as long as he could.

I don’t know what caused Rocco to give in to him, but he let him go back inside the restaurant. I remember screaming. I remember crying. And lastly, I remember Rocco taking me in his arms and carrying me back to the car. He climbed into the backseat and held me as I cried.

Wake up, Violet.

I pinch the insides of my arms—something I’ve been doing since I crawled under the table to seek shelter from the gunfire. The pain of my sharp nails cuts into my skin, but I don’t wake up from the nightmare.

This isreal.

Everything I witnessed isn’t a figment of my imagination.

Those men stormed into the restaurant and opened fire on my brother and Rocco.

They killed that woman, that beautiful woman my brother cradled in his arms.

Pilar.

The vision of my brother crying over her body, her blood on his hands…on his clothes, seeping through his shirt, assaults me. Anxiety rolls over me in waves and I lift my head from Rocco’s shoulder. His eyes immediately find mine in the dark and he tightens his hold on me, raising one hand to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “It’s all over.”

Nothing about either sentence is true and we both know that. At this very moment, my brother might be getting arrested and if he isn’t, he’s hurting—grieving a woman who died in cold blood. I should be with him. Rocco should be with him too.

The car comes to a stop and before I can say a word, the driver opens the door. Rocco expertly maneuvers us out of the car and carries me into the apartment complex. There’s a small part of me that wants to protest—a part that wants answers—but more than anything, I just want to feel safe. I want to close my eyes and pretend none of this happened.

The elevator opens to Rocco’s floor and he carries me down the hallway.

“Hermano, que diablos paso?”

At the sound of the Spanish tongue, I lift my head from Rocco’s shoulder and stare at the two men surrounding his door. My body goes completely still as every fiber of my being goes on high alert. Sensing my unease, Rocco squeezes me.

“It’s okay,” he assures. “They work for me.”

Those words might’ve comforted me once, but after what I’ve seen tonight I stare at the two men dressed head to toe in black and the menacing scowls on their faces, wondering how many people they’ve killed and at whose order.

They don’t pay me any mind, though. One of the men opens the door for Rocco, the other steps out of his way. Once we’re inside the condo, Rocco carries me straight to his bedroom and sets me down on the foot of the bed. Somewhat bewildered, I stare up at him and wonder how he can be so calm. He hasn’t missed a beat since the mayhem imploded in that restaurant and he’s still going. It’s terrifying but it’s also fascinating.

He lowers himself to his knees and removes my shoes. Dragging in a sharp breath, he places the shoes neatly on the floor and lifts his eyes to mine. Silence stretches between us for a beat as I try to find the courage to ask him at least one of the several questions running through my head. But what’s the point—anything I ask will be met with a lie.

“I have to go talk to those men and get a handle on tonight’s situation.” He pauses to roughly comb his fingers through his hair. “I have to send someone for your brother too. The bathroom is right through that door, why don’t you get out of that dress, maybe draw yourself a bath. I’ll come and check on you.”

“That’s how we’re going to play this?” I ask hoarsely. “I should just go in the shower and pretend nothing happened tonight?”

---