Page 31 of Taunting Tarran
I knew Tarran was perfect for me; she’s as damaged as I am.
Carlos smirks, nudging me in the arm like we’re sharing an inside joke. ‘Ah, you remember!’
‘Yes.’
‘Good! Hopefully, you’ve learnt your lesson. I’d like to say your father learnt his, but then again, I wouldn’t have you, would I?’
Carlos has a big mouth, and the more I feigned an interest in his twisted little world, the looser his tongue got. It was like watching a dam crack under pressure, every word spilling out darker and more depraved than the last.
Carlos’s words cut deep, and his cruel smirk only added to the intensity of the moment.
Each comment designed to probe, to test. I can feel him reeling me in, savouring my discomfort like a predator toying with its prey. He thinks he knows me, thinks he’s uncovered the monster lurking beneath the surface. But he’s wrong. I’m not the monster he imagines – I’m something far worse. Something he couldn’t begin to comprehend.
‘Well, you know us Sanchez’s can’t keep our eyes off a pretty girl.’
The comment made me sick. I’ve always gone by my mother’s nameLewis, the only thing I can do to stay connected.
‘No harm done, boy. I did what he could never do, and I’ll do the same for you. Us family have to stick together, not let no whores get in the way.’
‘Bitch probably deserved what she got,’ I replied.
‘Couldn’t keep his dick in his pants. That was his problem! I told him touching the girls before they were sold would only bring us problems, and it did. He kept her around for far too long, and when she stopped bleeding, he realised he got her pregnant – the stupid bastard. I said we should cut our losses, and feed her to the pigs, but instead, we kept quiet, and sent her to auction to save face. He bid on her anonymously, and kept her until she gave birth.’
He’s obviously had far too much wine; it’s loosened his tongue and dulled his restraint. It’s obvious now – he’s had far too much, the veneer of control slipping. People show their true selves in moments like these, and he is bleeding through the cracks like spilled red wine across a white table cloth.
I’ve spent my life dissecting the absence of feeling, compartmentalising the void within me. Emotions were always abstract – distant concepts meant for others, not for someone like me. Regret, remorse...they were just words, echoes of a language I could never speak. That’s why I have Sal.
But now, talking about my mother, something is shifting. It’s unfamiliar, unwelcomed and crawling beneath my skin like an invasive, foreign body. I feel...something.
What’s happening to me?
‘She begged for your life, “No, no, not my Angel”.’ Carlos leant in, grabbing me by the shoulder.
‘Take your fucking hands off me.’
‘What was that?’ he slurs.
I force a smile, ‘I get it. It’s just how things are done, right? We do what we have to do.’ Inside, I’m a storm, seething with barely contained rage, but I try keeping my mask firmly in place. He doesn’t need to see the monster lurking beneath. Not yet.
He straightens up, his smirk returning as if my response has validated his twisted worldview. ‘Exactly,nene,’ he says, his tone smug, satisfied.
‘BOSS!’ Sal yells, his voice sharp and urgent. ‘We’ve got to head off - there’s trouble back home.’
I turn to Carlos, my mask I’ve mastered over the years slowly slipping away. ‘Sober up, Uncle. I’ll see you later.’
‘No time for that. I need to prepare the cells. We’ve got a lot of work to do.’
I step away, leaving him in hiswine-soaked haze, his smirk still lingering like the stench of cheap alcohol. Sliding into the car, I turn to Sal, my voice sharp and cutting.
‘You better have some fucking news on Mickey – he’s meant to be watching the house.’
Sal’s face is pale, his words tumbling out in a rush. ‘I just got through to him. He’s been trying to reach us all day – there’s bad reception here. Says he lost her. She and her friends...they boarded a flight to Spain.’
‘FUCK!’
CHAPTER 17
THE BUTCHERBIRD
