Page 62 of Taunting Tarran
The guards exchange uneasy glances.
‘Is this true?’ one of them asks.
I step forward, ‘Yes. Now, lower your weapons.’
‘Lo siento, Don Sanchez,’ the guard mutters apologetically, his words trembling with respect as he lowers his eyes to the ground.
‘Get Carlos back to themasia,’ I order, my demand sharp and final. They grab him without hesitation, hauling him to his feet, andthrow him into the back of their SUV.
Sal steps forward, opening the door to his car with a casual gesture.
‘Need a ride?’ he asks. Tarran and I slide into the back seat. The leather creaking as I lean forward. ‘Hey, Sal. What’s it going to cost me this time? I don’t think ten G’s and a new handkerchief is going to cut it.’
Sal glances at me in the rear view mirror, his smirk widening. ‘How about that Desert Eagle?’
‘Deal,’ I say, leaning back, ‘but don’t come running to me when you shoot your bollocks off and you have to live life as a eunuch. Oh, and Sal...’
‘I know boss,’ he interrupts, already winding up the tinted glass partition between the front and back. ‘I value my ears.’
Before the glass seals off, I catch the crackle of the radio, music booming as the engine growls to life. I look at Tarran, the sadness in her eyes speaking volumes without even saying a word.
Grasping my hand, her lips tremble. ‘He killed your family.’
‘My father killed us all a long time ago,’ I reply.
Did I mean what I just said?
The faint memory comes in fragments, jagged like broken glass. My mother’s hands trembling as she reached out, her face pale and streaked with tears. The sound of her screams, raw and desperate. Blood. So much blood. The coppery tang filling my nostrils even now, years later.
I snap back, my fists clenched sotight my knuckles turn white.
I didn’t ask to be this way, but watching her die...something must have broken inside me. Something irreparable.
I’m not my father, yet I see him inside my reflection.
I’m not my father.
At least, that’s what I tell myself despite seeing the coldness in my eyes. He may not have killed my mother directly, but the day he orchestrated her kidnapping might as well have signed her death warrant. Her life ended long before her heart stopped beating.
And now, as I look at Tarran, I wonder, am I doing the same to her? Am I sentencing her to a slow death, piece by piece, with every choice I make?
I don’t want to be him, but what if I already am?
Tarran stares at me, her sadness so raw it feels like it’s carved into her features. It’s not just visible – it’s palpable.
I can’t feel what she does, and yet, why do the echoes of my mother’s death – and the memory of her hand reaching out to me - still carve themselves into my mind like scars. My internal scars like tattoo ink etched into skin by unforgiving hands of my past.
Feelings. I don’t have feelings. I act, I survive, I move forward. And yet, here it is, this uneasy tension that’s clouding my vision. It’s both alien yet familiar.
CHAPTER 30
THE BUTCHERBIRD
I stare at Gabriel, even though it hurts to look at him. He’s both beautiful and terrifying but utterly mesmerising, despite the blood on his face from the senator. He’s staring out of the window, his mind deep in thought. Every now and then his dark eyes flick towards me, his hand squeezing mine as if to assure him I’m still here. But his face is an unreadable expression with something dark and animalistic behind his eyes. Instantly, my heart throbs. He wipes his hand down his face, and slams his fist into the back of the front seat.
‘FUCK!’ he growls.
‘Kiss me,’ I ask, the only thing I can think of to ease his anguish.
