Page 57 of Heartfelt Pain
It’s like the other night. There’s no cleanup before I send him packing.
He’s still breathing raggedly. “We need to work on your aftercare.”
“If you want aftercare,” I say bluntly, “then find another bitch.”
Have fun wrecking her like you did me.
Running a hand through his hair, he starts to sort through his clothes, when there’s another knock.
At my look of hurry up, he tugs on his pants and then pulls his shirt over his head. I touch him lightly, the shirt sticking to his chest. It makes the fucked up part of me smile.
“I could—” he starts to offer.
Trevino knocks again.
“Later,” I say. And I damn well mean it because he might be walking home with cum on his chest but I’ll be walking around wet all day.
“Has anyone seen Isolde?” I ask around lunchtime. It’s been nonstop meetings and I’ve stopped for a Coke and cigarette break.
I steadily ignore Trevino’s disappointed face each time I light up.
It’s been entertaining watching people see Trevino. The wider world, even the criminal elite, doesn’t know his masked persona. But it’s clear from the cut of his muscle he knows how to handle himself.
I’ve gotten curious looks about having a bodyguard positioned a few tables away from me the past few days.
I get it. I’ve done my best to make sure Fujimori’s remains neutral territory. Needing a bodyguard is kind of the opposite thing.
“Just saw her out back,” Abe says, placing a bowl of noodles in front of me. He turns to Trevino who shakes his head. “Eating lunch doesn’t make you less of a tough guy. And honestly I’m going to get offended if you keep refusing our food.”
Trevino sighs.
Abe grins cheekily. “Coming right up.”
“Is she coming in or not?” I twist my spine to speak to him through the cutout.
“I don’t know,” Abe shouts back. “She’s talking to someone.”
“Someone?” I ask. “Who?”
“I don’t know.” Abe knows a lot of people due to close proximity. “Someone fancy and expensive.”
“Blue suit?” I ask. “Dark hair.”
“Uh. . . yeah.”
I inhale another lungful of tobacco.
Trevino smooths his tie, not saying anything. And when Isolde slides through the kitchen door into the dining area he barely acknowledges her.
I on the other hand waste no time. “Why was Hadrian Hallow here again?”
She nods at Abe when he hands her a plate. “Cheers.”
Trevino is handed a bowl of something with a lot of vegetables. There’s a bit more sincerity when he nods at Abe in thanks.
I lovingly tap her with my stiletto under the table. “Hallow?”
She shrugs, looking for a napkin.
