Page 20 of Faded Gray Lines
Lies. All lies.
I wanted to close my eyes and let it sink in how truly fucked I’d been, was, and now am, but I couldn’t. The underboss in me fought to stay in control and show no weakness. Especially not for her.
“Well, Leighton Harcourt,” I said, keeping my voice flat, “you seem to have made somewhat of a mess.”
Double meaning. Aimed and fired on purpose.
Dropping the basket of chips still in her other hand, she reached for the ends of her hair, rolling them between her fingers. The move stirred something feral in me. Years melted away, and a waitressing uniform blended into an expensive yellow dress as bright as the sun. Her shoulder-length hair suddenly tumbled down her back in soft waves that felt forbidden to touch.
Then it all disappeared when she let out a string of curses I’d never heard fall from her lips and turned to grab a rag. Bending down to clean up the mess, she blinked a few times as if banishing her own contaminated memories. “Shit, I’m sorry, Brody. I’ll clean this up.”
I didn’t feel myself move from my chair, but I felt her stiffen the moment I knelt in front of her and took the rag from her hand. “Allow me.”
Her body shook as my hand brushed hers. “It’s fine,” she said, jerking her arm back and diving for one of the larger pieces of glass. “I’ve got it.”
“Do you? I’m not so sure you’ve handled much of anything.”
My words made the muscles in her jaw tick. I enjoyed the sight until her face contorted and she let out a pained cry. She opened her clenched hand, and we both looked down at the small slice the shard of glass left on her palm. Blood seeped from the cut, dripping down her wrist and mixing with the beer still pooling on the floor.
“Why is there always more blood?” she rasped.
The phrase caught me off guard—the pain in her voice as she stared at her hand triggering an instinct in me. One that hadn’t been awakened in a long time.
Keeping my eyes on her, I took her hand in mine and dragged the tip of my index finger through the blood in the center of her palm. Her breath hitched as she met my gaze. Everything around us disappeared, leaving only the collision of past and present sealed by blood. Blood that now coated my skin. Blood that I rubbed between my finger and thumb, staining a promise long broken by betrayal.
It was impulsive and dangerous. I wanted to push her onto the rest of the glass, but I didn't know if it was to shove my tongue in her mouth and claim her or shove my gun in it and kill her. Both cravings developed from the same dark desire. The need to salvage control over the anarchy she caused.
“Hey, are you okay, Lil’ Bit?” Our private moment shattered when Brody appeared between us, squatting down to inspect his sister’s injury.
Flustered, Leighton jerked her hand away from me and stumbled to her feet. “It’s nothing,” she assured him, forcing a smile. “I’d better go get cleaned up—health code violations and all.”
She couldn’t get away fast enough. Brody glared at me while sliding back into his chair, but I never took my eyes off her until she disappeared into the back. As activity resumed in the cantina, I rose to my feet and calmly walked back to my seat. No need to lose control more than I already had.
I’d barely reached for my napkin when Brody slammed his beer down, shaking the cheap table. “What the hell was that all about?”
“What was what all about?” Lifting an eyebrow, I tried for a look somewhere between annoyed and impassive. What I got in return was a scowl that reminded me that Brody had learned well during his time with us.
“I didn’t like the way you were looking at her,” he growled. “She’s already had to deal with being harassed by two cartels. I won’t allow another member of my own to do it too.”
His brazen threats amused me. “Allow me? I outrank you.”
Anger caused his cheeks to flush blood red. “I’m serious, Mateo. Don’t lay a hand on my sister. You have your choice of women to notch your bedpost. My family won’t be one of them.”
Like he had a choice.
“Oh, I won’t lay a hand on her. Trust me.”
“So we’re clear then?”
“Crystal.”
He nodded, and his body relaxed into the flimsy wooden chair as if all had been resolved.
Not even close.
I pushed my own chair back, not bothering to hide my smirk. “If you’ll excuse me.”
Brody’s casual posture stiffened. “Where the hell are you going?”
