Page 71 of Bad Blood
I know who’s on the other line.
“Get a clean-up crew down here immediately, and then see to it that they get a proper burial.” With a final glance toward the shipping container, I allow the image to imprint its evil into my mind before turning to walk away.
“Where are you going?” he calls after me.
“To tie up loose ends.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Thalia
I sleep fitfully,tossing and turning in a strange bed with sheets that are cold, stiff, and unwelcoming. The darkness is weakening my defenses, and bad thoughts keep pouring into my head—like how stupid I was to believe that swapping secrets could bridge two worlds.
How I fell for his touch so easily.
I wake up feeling even more angry and confused, with sunlight streaming onto my pillow. Dressing in black skinny jeans, a clean white T-shirt, and my favorite leopard print Chucks, I check the burner phone to see if Ella’s called—I’ve left her this number repeatedly—and groan in frustration when I’m greeted with another blank screen.
I hope she’s okay.
I hope she’s not too mad at me.
I hope she’s looking after herself.
Next, I fire off another message to Bardi. For someone who wants his money so badly, he’s being unusually cool about the delay.More worry. More blind faith.
I’m tempted to storm into my new husband’s office and demand he gives me my own phone back, but when I finally pluck up the courage to do so, the room is empty.
It still smells of him, though: rich, woody, masculine…Irredeemably cruel.
Shutting the door behind me, I take in the expensive furniture, the shelves, the bar in the corner, with his belovedGran Patrón Burdeos Añejotequila. He tasted of it last night—mixed with a persuasive invitation and a heavy dash of sin.
Walking over to the bar, I unscrew the lid and take a sip. It’s not the most reckless thing I’ve ever done before breakfast, but it’s pretty close.
I take another,the flames of the liquor burning away the memory of Santi Carrera’s tongue. I take a third to make sure my mouth is cleaned of him forever, and then I’m emptying the rest of a six-hundred-dollar bottle down the sink and filling it up with water.
That should serve him right for being such a cold-hearted bastard.
You don’t get to play with Santiago hearts and expect to celebrate with a drink afterward.
* * *
There’s still no sign of Santi when I leave his office. The hallways are empty. The kitchen, barren. After theAñejoincident, I’m feeling audacious, so I head for the front door, expecting to feel a disapproving hand on my arm at any moment.
It never comes.
Even the blank-eyed security guards blocking the route from his penthouse to the elevator part to let me through.
Exiting on the ground floor, I find myself stepping into a hive of activity. Legado’s casino restoration is near completion. A quick peek through the double glass doors reveals a new carpet, new black and gold décor, new pristine-green gaming tables… Santi’s gambling gladiatorial arena is close to being back in business, and as I pass by a couple construction workers, I overhear them mentioning how the place is on schedule to reopen on Thursday night.
A wicked thought steals into my head as I return to the lobby. I could slip Santi a couple of Oxy and sneak down here to win the rest of my money while he’s passed out and dribbling. But as tempting as it sounds, my plan would necessitate being within ten feet of him, and right now I’d rather stick pins in my eyeballs.
I follow signs for the Platinum Bar. It’s another swanky room with high domed ceilings and mirrored walls. Fleetwood Mac is playing softly on the stereo. Ella’s favorite. It’s a musical dart to the heart.
Five days to go, and then we’re all free.
There’s a bartender polishing an already-gleaming counter. He glances up and notices me standing in the doorway.
“Can I get you something to drink, Mrs. Carrera?”
