Page 24 of Faded Gray Lines
And I was a big tipper.
“I’ll tell you what...” Pausing, I searched her chest for a nametag. “...Megan. You keep pouring, and when I fall off this fucking barstool, we’ll both know I’ve had enough.” Lowering my eyes, I went back to the task at hand, clicking repeatedly as picture after picture flashed on the screen. Luis wasn’t an idiot. There wouldn’t be anything substantial I could pull off his computer, but sadistic jealousy had gotten the better of me.
There was an old saying,Be careful what you wish for...you just might get it.
Old sayings existed for a reason.
Pictures of Leighton and Luis were all over his computer and as if I hadn’t tortured myself enough, I dug through the backpack and scrolled through his phone to analyze more. In each one, her golden-brown eyes smiled at the camera, but his were always focused on her. The more I stared, the more a wave of seething hate clouded my judgment.
“Try to make this one last more than thirty seconds, okay?” Megan barely had time to slide the new tequila shot toward me before I downed it. The burn in my throat was nothing compared to the one in my chest.
I recognized the look in his eyes.
Since finding out who Leighton Harcourt really was, I tried to convince myself she’d been just a job to Luis. Brody had sent him to San Marcos to protect her, and he’d played a role for her. We all played roles. Most of the time even those closest to us had no idea which version of us they faced. But there was no facade on Luis’s face. He loved her. He loved my Star. In that moment, I hated Luis Delgado more than any man I’d ever known.
Dropping the phone on the bar, I slammed the laptop closed and shoved it back inside the backpack. Thankfully, she hadn’t been staring back at him with the same love-sick look. Otherwise, I would’ve pulled out my gun and put a bullet through the screen, public place or not.
“Megan,” I called out, tapping the wood with my empty glass. “We had a deal, and I’m still vertical.”
“Let’s keep it that way, honey. You’re cut off.”
Irritated, I picked up Luis’s phone and glared at her. If I didn’t have pressing shit to do, I would’ve gladly argued with one of the three versions of her I saw swirling in front of me. Instead, I scrolled through Luis’s call history.
There were only five numbers listed, and I recognized two of them to be Brody’s and Emilio’s. That in itself didn’t raise any suspicion. Luis reported to both of them. That left three and I knew one of them was Leighton’s since Brody had given me her number for comparison before I left the cantina.
I called the remaining two from his phone, and both rang continuously until I hung up. There was no answer, no voice mail...nothing. It didn’t sit well with me, so I pulled out my own phone and dialed a few men who’d been loyal to me when I was the Houston underboss.
“Hey, it’s Cortes. I need you to put the word out that you’re looking for a couple of soldiers owning these two phone numbers, but keep it quiet.” Glancing down at Luis’s phone, I repeated the numbers. After promising to have the information back to me as quickly and discreetly as possible, we ended the call.
Hopefully, my contact would get back to me with solid leads. If not, we were back to square one and facing another dead end.
Just like Luis.
* * *
My head pounded by the time I opened the door to the townhouse. Groaning, I flipped on the light and tossed the keys on the floor. When I parked the Tahoe a soldier had delivered to me back in San Marcos, the clock on the dashboard read one-thirty in the morning.
What a fucking day.
After four hours of straight tequila, I’d walked from the Irish pub to RVC, so I could sleep it off until I was sober enough to drive back to the townhouse. Now that I was here, I was more than ready to drink a ghost away again.
Even though this place was our primary safe house, it still belonged to Val’s wife, Eden. After their ordeal with the Muñoz Cartel, she’d tried to sell it, but Val ended up buying it out from under her. Although she was gone, it still reeked of female presence with all the framed artwork, flower vases, and fucking knickknack shit just asking to get demolished.
Women.
Flinging open the refrigerator, I prayed Brody had the common decency to stock it before making the call to turn our world upside down with his sister’s bullshit.
His fucking sister. Of all the people, it had to be her.
My fingers closed around a bottle, and I silently thanked him, reminding myself to dial back my attitude a little. Once he found out Delgado wasn’t the first cartel runner to touch his innocent baby sister, he’d be out for more than my blood.
With the vein in my temple throbbing, I stumbled across the living room and through the sliding glass doors leading to the deck.
Air. I needed air.
Once outside, the crisp March breeze whipped my long hair around my face like a mask. It felt good. Masks hid weaknesses that threatened to ruin everything a man had worked for. I trusted masks. I did not trust her.
Slumping into a patio chair, I dropped my head back and tried to block the image of them together by staring up at the night. Unfortunately, karma was a motherfucker, and a shooting star raced across the blackened sky.
