Page 34 of Straightened Out

Clearly, I should’ve paid more attention when we hired this one.

“Yeah, I’m going to call Joaquin,” he says finally and reaches into his pocket, pulling out his cell.

“Put your phone away,” I bark.

“But—”

“Motherfucker, you answer to me not Joaquin, and I just gave you an order.”

“Rocco—”

I cut him off, closing the distance between us and grabbing him by the neck.

“Rodriguez’ crew got their revenge for Pablo tonight and opened fire at the restaurant, during a private meeting with my uncle. That’s why you’re here, that’s why the fucking club is closed tonight. You want to call Joaquin? Go ahead, but he ain’t going to fucking answer because he’s either locked up or at the morgue visiting Pilar.”

I release my hold on him and take a step back. Keeping his expression neutral, he touches a tattooed hand to his neck and rolls it from side to side.

“What happened to Pilar?”

“She dropped a toaster in the bathtub and electrocuted herself,” I sneer. “What the fuck do you think happened to her? She was shot. They killed her right in front of him,” I growl, shaking my head as the memory flashes before my eyes.

I’m still trying to understand why she was there in the first place.

“Joaquin must be devastated,” Omar says, running a hand over his face. “What do you need me to do?”

“Well, for starters, you can get the fuck out of my bedroom so I can change out of these wet clothes. If you really want to make yourself useful, you’ll fix me a drink while you’re waiting.”

He lowers his hand from his face and mutters something in Spanish. I’m not fluent by any means, but I’d bet the house he isn’t singing my praises. His eyes dart to the bathroom door for a fleeting second.

“What about the sister?”

“She isn’t any of your concern,” I clip.

Omar gets the hint—finally— and makes his way out of my bedroom. As soon as the door closes behind him I start for my closet. Grabbing the first suit I see, I peel the wet clothes from my body and quickly change. I’m just about to shrug the jacket on when I realize the shower has turned off.

The bathroom door opens and a sense of déjà vu washes over me as she emerges from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her body. Her eyes find mine and she closes the distance between us, shoving the prescription bottle of Ambien against my chest.

“I don’t take other people’s medication,” she says, but there is no bite to her tone. Still, I cringe as my hand closes around the bottle. It sounds cheap and like I’m intentionally trying to drug her, when in reality, I had no malicious intent at all.

I stare at her for a beat, noting the dark circles under her eyes and the unfamiliar feeling in the pit of my stomach resurfaces. I gave her the pill because she was on the verge of hysteria and I genuinely thought it might help her rest. I’m at a loss here. She’s been traumatized and I can’t give her the attention she deserves, not when I’m being pulled in a million different directions.

Tearing her gaze from mine, she turns to my bed. Holding the towel to her body, she one-handedly pulls down the comforter. I wait for her to turn back to me, to give me that hot temper of hers, but she gives me nothing.

Silence.

It’s fucking deafening.

Then she drops the towel.

She climbs into my bed, pulling the covers over her body and her dull blue eyes find mine.

“Don’t you have a murder you need to sweep under the rug?”

The world can think whatever they want of me, but I have a real big problem with Violet thinking less of me and I don’t know why.

“Let’s get something straight, sweetheart, I didn’t kill Pilar. Her blood ain’t on my hands and that’s not my mess.”

“Whose mess is it then?” she asks, cocking her head to the side. Her long, wet locks hang over her shoulder and are darker than usual. It’s a different look from the blonde waves I’m accustomed to and just as alluring.

---