Page 19 of Tainted Blood
RJ stares after him, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion. “What the hell was that?”
For the first time since Thalia left my side, I smile.
“Respect.”
Chapter Five
Santi
Give a man enough incentive, and he’ll exceed your expectations.
I told Baxter to return in a few hours with more supplies. Instead, he showed up fifty minutes later, bleary-eyed, with damn near a whole operating room in tow.
He said nothing as he and his protégé, Gina, worked like an over-caffeinated machine, replacing the earlier eight-proof antiseptic with a sterile version, along with medical grade instruments, multiple IV drips and drainage tubes, and one highly-contested epidural to deliver a steady stream of pain-killing narcotics into the main wound site.
I conceded to saving Sanders’s life. I never said anything about not wanting him to suffer. Now, my dark basement is an obscenely bright hospital room, and there are enough wires and tubes protruding from him to power all of Atlantic City.
RJ and I stand, side by side, our arms folded across our chests, neither of us saying a word as we stare at a still-unconscious Sanders. It’s a familiar scene, one that keeps circling around to repeat itself.
Bleed.
Watch.
Wait.
Eventually, RJ breaks the silence. “They need to know, Santi.”
Jesus, he’s starting to sound like a broken record. “Don’t start that shit again. I’ve already told you this is—”
“This isn’t a Carrera problem,” he argues in a tone I don’t particularly care for. “In case you haven’t noticed, none of our men took a bullet. They wanted Sanders dead and Thalia taken.”
He doesn’t have to remind me. It’s all I can think about.
“Santiagos were targeted,” he adds, loosening his bowtie. “They need to know what happened to their own. No one will bathe the world in blood to find Thalia like Santiago will.”
“Wrong.”
“She’s his daughter, Santi.”
“And she’s my wife.” I can hear the defiant passion in my tone. My father’s accusation is still lingering in the room. Strangling me… Haunting me…
“Dios mío. You love this girl.”
“I have an obligation,” I add, gritting my teeth.
He huffs out a dry laugh. “Right.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He stares at me for a moment, thumbs tucked in his pockets and lips pressed together as if weighing his options. I’m not sure which I’m hoping to provoke—his honesty or his silence. Both come with risks.
Honesty takes the win. RJ lifts his chin, his stance unapologetic. “You think I’m blind? I see it—hell, everyone sees it—except you. Or maybe you do, and you just refuse to admit how much she slipped through your defenses while you were busy plotting world domination.”
Son of a bitch.
He watches me clench my fists, then his earlier hesitation vanishes, a smug smile tugging at his mouth. “Despite all your efforts, the great Santi Carrera has been brought to his knees by a Santiago.”
His words burrow deep, then detonate. I let an unnerving silence hang in the air before turning to face him. “I kneel for no one,” I say darkly, each word edged with sharp intent. “You got that?”