Page 27 of Sold Blood
“So they say. But it’s okay not to be strong all the time. You had a rough few days.”
“I won’t let go of that strength or allow myself to be vulnerable in any way until I’m far away from this hell hole. Even then, I won’t waste time and energy on these men. The best way for me to cope is to make them all pay and to get these boys out of here. Hopefully this will soon be nothing more than a bad memory. One that I will learn to drown out over the years.”
“Joey…”
“No, I won’t let you sit here making me feel like this weak and broken man. Because I’m not. I won’t let them take credit for breaking me. Okay?” My breathing increases and my gaze drifts to the floor.
Carlos lifts my chin with his fingers, smiling softly. “Okay, but even strong guys need a little TLC.”
I blink my eyes a few times, unable to pull away from his gaze. He swallows hard and moves his hand away, putting more distance between us. “So, um let's get this mess cleaned up before the food comes, huh?"
"Are you calling me a mess?"
He chuckles. "Nah, of course not. Except for maybe your hair, you may wanna fix that a bit."
I grab at my hair with my eyes growing large in mortification. I had never even once thought about how I looked with my face probably beet red from being dragged down the hall and my eyes burning like they're on fire from resisting the urge to cry in frustration. It's hard to focus on how you look when you're not even sure you'll make it back to your husband alive.
He laughs again, running his hands through my dark brown strands. "Relax, it works for you."
I shake my head, and my top teeth sink into my bottom lip. "It's not that. I…I just…" My words trail off and he takes me in his arms, rubbing his hand down my back in a soothing way. "Shhhh...I know. Only a few more days, Little one."
I inhale his familiar scent, wanting to bury my face in it. I close my eyes, imagining the man holding me is the man the suit belongs to—Isaiah. "You smell like him. Can we stay like this for a bit longer? It's almost like he's holding me again and I'm not ready to let go of him yet."
"Sure, however long you need, Little one."
"I get it too, you know."
"Get what?" He shifts a little against me.
"Why Isaiah always went to you all the times he didn't have me to lean on."
He stiffens. "You mean because he felt desperate and alone enough to finally need a reason?"
I shake my head. "No. Underneath all this hard exterior is someone soft, warm, and gentle. Also the whole time I've been here, this is the first time I've actually felt something that I've only ever felt with Isaiah."
"What's that?" He asks softly.
"Safe."
He grows quiet for a while and a knock at the door has us breaking apart. "That's...uh probably the food. You can eat and rest while I transfer some clients to my brother. He's been standing in for me these last few days."
"How many people could possibly need you to hunt down and kill someone in just a few days."
"A lot more than you think." He stands up, straightening his suit that I practically had my nose buried in. He smells like Isaiah, but he isn’t Isaiah. He is the most familiar thing to me in this room and maybe it's just my inner self trying to cling onto any bit of him it can in order to separate itself from here. It doesn't mean anything else. Why would it when I hardly know Carlos and the only man I want is practically on the other side of the world?
Fourteen
Carlos
Joey wakes from his nap, jolting up in the bed, forgetting where he is again. His whines and moans were hard to ignore while he was sleeping. I didn't want to wake him. I let him keep sleeping, even though I hated him being back in the same nightmare when he is supposed to be safe in here with me. So I had tried my best to ease his discomfort by lying next to him and rubbing his back gently. It worked for a while and then I knew I had to get up when my own eyes kept shutting. I’m getting too comfortable in more ways than one. He rubs his eyes and stares at me without saying a word.
"How about you go get washed up? Maybe splash some water on your face and brush your teeth. I know sometimes doing those normal things you did outside here can help you—"
"I don't need your form of therapy or whatever it is you're trying to do. Since when did you go from being a hitman to being a therapist?"
"Never said I was one. I just know what helped me whenever I was...you know what, it doesn't matter. You're right. You know what's best for you."
"What's best for me isn't anything that's in this place or room."
