Page 47 of Bad Blood
I’ve never consideredmyself to be a rebel.
It’s hard to break the rules when you spend the first eighteen years of your life on an armed island compound in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, surrounded by more guns than fun. Even my words don’t carry that much of a shock value anymore. My mouth has always been a box with a broken lid.
That’s until Santi Carreraleft me all alone with an expensive wedding dress and a pair of nail scissors I just found in the bottom drawer of the ensuite’s vanity unit. Now, dissidence is my New Jersey state of mind.
Kneeling down on the cool tiles, I pick the scissors up and examine them again, sliding my fingers into the eyes and feeling how snug the metal fits against my skin. They’re too blunt to cause any real damage, but they’re sharp enough to make a scene. And that’s the aim of the game now—to slide myself like a piece of glass underneath Carrera’s surfaces until I bleed his patience dry.
Beyond my father’s protection, I’m learning that rules can be bent by the subtlest of mutinies. I won’t push Carrera so far that my money comes into jeopardy—but by the end of this week, he’ll be begging me to leave.
Walking back into the bedroom, I stare down at the silky white material spilling out of the box on the floor.And this cost him twenty thousand dollars?I grind my teeth together in frustration. That’s nearly half the money I need to pay Bardi off.
The wedding dress itself screams money and status—from the intricate Swarovski crystals sewn into the neckline, to the detailed stitching on the bodice. Even if I felt a modicum of emotion for him,which I don’t,I wouldn’t be caught dead in something so flashy.This man wouldn’t know refinement if it smacked him over the head with a loaded Glock.
It takes me over an hour, and by the time I’m done, my forefinger and thumb are throbbing with pain. For the final touches, I rip the velveteen petals off the red rose bouquet that his blonde housekeeper delivered with her bags of makeup, and then I arrange them into two words on the bed’s counterpane that speak for me and every member of the Santiago Cartel.
Fuck.
You.
Catching my reflection in the mirror, I smile at the carnage.
And then I wait.
Chapter Fifteen
Santi
I’ve never imaginedmy wedding day.
Not because I haven’t found the right woman, or because I’m too busy sampling all the wrong ones. It’s not even because I likened the institute of marriage to a six by eight prison cell complete with a warden and fifty-year march toward Death Row.
It’s because of who I am. What I’ve done. The soil I’ve stained.
It’s because a man like me spends a lifetime acquiring just as many debts as he collects. They come in the form of a scorned business partner. A grieving widow. A jealous friend.
A dangerous rival.
Over the years, each debt darkens to a sworn vow, and unatoned sins tip the scale of judgment against his favor. From the day I was born, I’ve been living on borrowed time. And those debts? Those vows? Those sins? They all have an expiration date.
Like me.
I was too young to remember the day my father’s world stopped turning, but he made damn sure the images painted in my head as I grew up did it justice.Skyfall, he called it.
La Boda Roja.The Red Wedding. The day the heavens opened, and angels wept. The day our family’s tragedy set the course of destiny hurling my way. The day a bullet meant for him almost took my mother from this world. And the day two years later my father dropped three bullets in the chamber of a revolver, gave it a spin, and stared down the barrel of his own gun.
That’s when I knew I’d never allow myself to be so consumed by a woman. I’d rather die by my own hand than live in a world without her.
That’s why I never imagined my wedding day, because marriage is nothing but a game of Russian Roulette, too. The sins of the father may be laid upon his children, but his mistakes are his to keep. WhenSanta Muertecomes for me, I plan to leave this world the same way I came into it.
Alone.
But that all went to hell last night, when, in a snap decision, I bartered my soul and Thalia’s as well. I broke my own rules. Now, with two shiny gold rings, not only will I have a partner in life, but thanks to the shiny gold bullet inevitably coming our way for this, I’ll have one in death too.
I tug at the collar of my white shirt. The dark gray suit I chose to wear feels more like a silk coffin than formal wear—something I’d prefer not to have amplified in a thirty-six by forty-six-inch mirrored funhouse,thank you. Whoever decided to plate the inside of this goddamn elevator with angled mirrors should be executed inside of it.
I don’t want to seeoneimage of myself dressed like this, much less a couple dozen. Not because the suit costs more than most people’s houses. Excess is my calling card. It’s because the image staring back at me looks less like me…
And exactly likehim.
