Page 35 of Straightened Out

Dismissing the thought, I shake my head.

“Come on, don’t do this.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to. You don’t want to go to bed, no problem. Have a fucking party in here, but I’ve got things I need to handle—things that involve reeling your brother in from the deep end.”

“Then why are you still standing here?”

I have no fucking idea.

All I know is whenever I walk away from her it feels like I’m leaving a piece of myself behind.

~*~

After briefingOmar and Manny on what happened, I went to my safe and retrieved my burner phone.

Note to self:remove your fucking phone and any cash you might be carrying before stepping into the shower fully clothed.

My iPhone is currently sitting in a bowl of white rice courtesy of Manny. It’s fine, though. When things tend to go from fucked to motherfucked, I use the burner anyway—less of a chance of the feds tapping into the line. Not that I got the feds breathing down my back, but anything is possible where Uncle Vic is concerned.

Anyway, as soon as the thing sparked to life, the text messages started coming through—every one of them from my uncle, ordering me to meet him. That was an hour ago and I immediately sent Omar and Manny on the hunt for Joaquin, hoping they’d get him and bring him back before it was time for me to leave.

I pour myself another scotch and step onto my balcony. The salty air from the ocean fills my nostrils and my mind wanders back to the beauty in my bed. The only thing that will make this night more of a disaster is if I can’t bring her brother home. Dropping into one of the wicker chairs, I playback every move I made after the shooting, making sure I didn’t miss a step.

I shouldn’t have let him go back inside the restaurant after I got him out, but someone needed to get Violet out of there. The fucking Cabrera’s were gonna be the death of me.

Downing the rest of the scotch, I pull myself to my feet and make my way back inside the apartment. I barely have a chance to close the sliding door when the front door opens. Omar and Manny enter with Joaquin in tow and I set my glass down as he lifts his chin and locks eyes with me.

“Thank Christ,” I hiss.

He doesn’t reply, though. His gaze darts to the bar and he steps away from Omar and Manny to fix himself a drink. I look at Omar, but he just shakes his head and mouths the words,no good.

I turn my attention back to Joaquin, taking in the blood that covers his shirt, his pants—his fucking hands and I force a swallow. I don’t have words for him.

Not in the state he’s in.

All I got is the generic bullshit we’ve been schooled to say to anyone who has lost someone they care about. It doesn’t fill the void. It doesn’t lessen the blow. They are empty fucking words that go in one ear and out the other.

“I’m sorry about Pilar, brother.”

“Yeah,” he says, lifting his glass. “Me too.” He knocks back his drink and pours another.

“Do you want Manny or Omar to go back to your place and grab some clean clothes for you?”

He turns around and glances down at his attire before bringing his eyes back to mine.

“Why? Does the sight make you sick?”

I suppose it should. It did make me sick when I was looking at Violet, but in this moment it doesn’t. Maybe it’s because I have seen him like this before. Sure, he wasn’t sporting the blood of the woman he loved then, but his hands were nonetheless dirty.

“Just trying to help you out, man,” I say evenly. He scoffs at that, but I don’t deter. “I know what you want, Joaquin. I know what you fucking crave, and we’ll do it. You’ll get your revenge, brother. I promise you we will wipe every motherfucker ever to shake Pablo’s hand off the fucking grid, but we can’t do that right now. Too many eyes. Too much heat. Not to mention we got your sister in the next room and Uncle Vic at the Port of Miami waiting for me.”

He lifts his chin and curls his lip.

“Can’t keep the don waiting, can we?”

His hand tightens around the glass as rage fills his eyes.

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