Page 15 of Tainted Blood
Without another word, he motions toward the nurse. Both of them slip past me, a soft breath exiting his chest when I don’t stop him. Why would I? He’s of no use to me anymore. He’ll go home, crawl in bed, and cry himself to sleep over the loss of his precious morality.
Fuck morality.
Then again…
“Baxter?” I call out over my shoulder.
He stiffens, his fingers curled around the door handle.
“Get some rest and be back here in a few hours with whatever you need to turn this basement into a state of the art hospital room.”
“But...but, I have a job, Carrera,” he stutters. “Responsibilities...”
“Correct. And that job is doing exactly what I say, and your only ‘responsibility’ is keeping that son of a bitch alive.” I swing my gun toward Sanders.
He whips his head around, his eyes wide. “You can’t do that.”
“That fifty-thousand-dollar tab pinned to my blackjack table says I can do whatever the fuck I want, Dr. Baxter.”
This time, his shoulders slump. He drops his head, a harsh breath spilling from his mouth. “Fine. Come, Gina.” The doe-eyed nurse follows him out, her pale face tipped in shock.
“Gina...” I say her name slowly, causing her to stumble into Baxter’s back. Once I catch her glazed stare, I give her a chilling smile. “Gina Pruitt from Ridgefield. I believe your parents still live there, am I right?”
All the color drains from her face, her slight frame trembling with fear.
“Tell me, Gina, do you know what separates smart women from dead ones?”
At that, the tears filling her eyes spill down her cheeks as she shakes her head.
“The ability to keep their mouths shut. Do I make myself clear?”
“Y-yes, sir,” she whispers, crowding against Baxter again. As a guard opens the door, she hastily pushes her way out of the room.
RJ gives me a side-eye. “Was that necessary?”
“Is that a rhetorical question?”
Tucking his gun back into its holster, he moves toward Sanders, rubbing his chin. There’s something on his mind, something besides the half-dead Santiago bleeding all over the floor.
“What’s up with you?”
“We should take him to the hospital.”
I groan. “Dios mío, not you too.”
“You heard the man… That hit to the stomach isn’t just a nick a few stitches can solve. You’re only going to get answers from Sanders if he’s alive to tell them. I know you hate him, Santi, but if he dies, so do our chances of finding Thalia.”
“Our chances?”
“She’s your wife. I’m your cousin. That makes us all one big fucked-up family.”
Scowling, I tuck my own gun away, flipping him my middle finger as I cross the room. Family… The word doesn’t even make sense anymore. Six days ago, ‘family’ was a word reserved for those with Carrera blood flowing through their veins. Then Thalia showed up, smearing her color all across my dark world. I’d planned to use her. Degrade her. Destroy her. Then throw her away. Now, all I want to do is find her and take it all back.
Swiping what’s left of the vodka bottle off the table, I tip it up, inhaling the burn…welcoming it. If it can cleanse Sanders’s wounds, maybe it can cleanse mine.
“You can’t let go, can you?” he says, gesturing at my clenched hand.
“Find your own damn bottle.”