Page 55 of Jessica, Not Her Real Name
“Do what?”
“Make this about something else.”
He shook his head, already exhausted. “So, what is it about then?”
Her voice wavered, but her eyes stayed locked on his. “What do you do, Daniel? What do you really do?” She hesitated, then forced out, “Is it drugs? It’s drugs, isn’t it?”
He didn’t answer. He just kept his hands busy.
Julia pushed off the bed. “That tattoo on your hand. The letters. And that black hand print on your chest.” She grabbed her phone, her fingers tightening around it. “I Googled it. It says LMN stands for?—”
“La Mano Negra.”
The words slipped from his mouth before he could stop them. Or maybe he didn’t want to. Maybe he was tired of holding it in.
He jerked his chin at her phone. “What else does it say?”
Her breath hitched. She hesitated, then looked back at the screen.
“Read it,” he said, voice low, firm. “Out loud.”
She inhaled, slow and shaky, before speaking. The words came out in a rush, as if she hoped she could fast-forward to the end and find out none of it was true. “It says they’re a street gang. Started in California in the nineties as a feeder forLa Eme, the Mexican Mafia.” She scrolled. “They use the black hand print and the number thirteen as symbols of allegiance, because M is the thirteenth letter of the alphabet. And…” She swallowed. “And it says they grew from a small gang to one of the largest criminal syndicates in the U.S. Responsible for hundreds of violent crimes, including execution-style murders, tortures, and beheadings?—”
In one swift motion, he stepped forward, plucked the phone from her hand, and tossed it onto the bed. With his other hand, he pulled her in, backing her against the wardrobe.
Her breath caught, her wide blue eyes flickering between fear and defiance. He could feel her heart racing against him. “It’s true though, right?” she whispered. “You’re in that gang?”
“Yeah.” His voice was even. “But I haven’t beheaded anyone in ages.”
Her lips pressed into a tight line. “Daniel. It’s not funny.”
She hesitated, then asked the one question he knew was coming. “Have you ever killed someone?”
He exhaled and dropped his head.
Her hands pressed against his stomach, a light push. “Daniel…”
He brushed his lips against her jaw, his breath hot against her skin. “So what? You scared of me now?” His voice dropped lower. “You weren’t scared last night.” He ran his tongue along the column of her throat, pausing where her pulse ticked beneath his lips. “Or this morning.”
Her breath hitched. “Daniel, stop.”
His hands curled under the waistband of her panties.
She pushed against his chest, firmer this time. “I said stop.”
The adrenaline was still there, but it soured in his blood. His hands dropped from her hips. He straightened, stepping back, fists clenching and unclenching.
She wouldn’t even look at him.
He let out a slow breath. “So, that’s it? We’re done? Just like that?”
She angled her face away, a hand swiping at the tears threatening to spill. “That night… those pills he gave me.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “You knew what they were.” A tear broke free, tracing a path down her cheek. “Did you sell them to him?”
His stomach twisted. “Is that what you think I do?” His voice was sharp, incredulous. “You think I sell rape pills to pieces of shit like that?”
She said nothing. Wouldn’t look at him. That was worse than words.
“I just…” Her voice cracked. “I don’t understand. Why would you get mixed up in something like this?”
