Page 33 of Bad Blood
If Thalia’s extended family found out Bardi not only filmed Ella in a compromising position, but then proceeded to blackmail her with it, his death would become Colombian folklore. Nothing I could do to him would be half as sadistic. Revenge takes a much sharper blade when family is involved.
“No, Bardi. I won’t turn you over to Grayson.”
I prefer to end problems myself.
“Then I’ll tell you,” he says, flipping his newfound bargaining tool in the air like a fifty-thousand-dollar poker chip. “AfterI walk out of here and collect my money.”
“You’re a greedy little fuck, you know that?” Irritated, I stroke my chin, the thickening stubble raking across the pads of my finger and thumb. He could be lying, but instinct tells me otherwise.
He’s balls deep in Santiago shit. Until I have that tape in hand,I’ll need to keep him alive so his tongue can spill its secrets.
And then I’ll cut it out.
“You have a temporary reprieve, Bardi,” I tell him. “I have more pressing business to attend to at the moment. However, when I return, you and I are going to have another chat.” I give his bruised cheek a firm tap. “And you’re going to tell me everything you know, or not only is the deal off, but I’ll also toss you into the river missing a few limbs. Are we clear?”
He nods so hard I’m surprised his neck doesn’t snap. “Y-yes. Whatever you say, Carrera.”
Pushing away from the chair, I give him a slow, brittle smile, which he devours like it’s his last meal. I’m not fooled by his fervor. A man dying of thirst will drink his own piss if he’s desperate enough.
I didn’t lie to him. I just didn’t tell the whole truth.
Chapter Ten
Santi
“Where is she?”I say, storming down the hallway of AtlantiCare Medical Hospital with the devil coursing through my veins.
Startled nurses back away as I charge forward, my hand on my gun. I’m intercepted by a looming shadow and a hand on my shoulder.
“That way.” Rocco tips his bald head toward a room tucked away in a corner at the far end of the hallway.
I don’t wait for an escort. Knocking his hand away, I close the distance in five long strides and barrel through the door. “Lola, are you—?”
“Nice of you to join us,” my sister chirps, flashing me a condescending smile.
Exhaling a relieved breath, I glance over my shoulder at Rocco. “What did the doctor say?”
“Hey!” I turn back to find Lola snapping her fingers at me. “Why are you asking him?”
“He’s the one who brought you here,”
“And I’m the one who took the bullet, remember?” she says, throwing back her blanket.
Rocco was right. Her injury is barely a flesh wound. Only seven small stitches mar her skin. It’s a sight that should calm me…
But it doesn’t.
I’m too wound up over Marco Bardi and my Colombian houseguest.
Exhausted, I scrub my hand across my face, and then a scuffling movement draws my attention toward the bed. “What the hell are you doing?” I say, as she swings both legs off the side of the bed.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” She gives me her best deadpan stare. “I’m leaving.”
“Like hell you are!”
“Santi, I’ve been discharged,” she says with a groan.” Clean bill of health, and prescriptions already filled.” She motions to the side table where two pill bottles sit next to a water pitcher. “We could’ve left an hour ago, butsomebodykept blocking the door.” She wrinkles her nose at Rocco, who answers with a hand gesture.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
