Page 69 of Tainted Blood
“Santi, no one was trying to undermine your authority or stage a mutiny! You may own New Jersey, but you don’t own people. You can’t control who they care about. You, of all people, should know that,” she huffs.
Letting out a hollow laugh, I raise my near-empty glass in a somber toast. “That’s unfortunate. The objects of Carrera men’s affections don’t seem to have the longest life span.”
Sighing, Lola reaches across the desk and grabs it out of my hand. “Drinking yourself into an early grave isn’t helping Thalia.”
“Did she tell you that?”
Now it’s my sister’s turn to avert her gaze.
“Didn’t think so,” I mutter. “Maybe a grave wouldn’t be such a bad alternative.”
She slams the glass down. “That shit isn’t funny.”
“Wasn’t meant to be.”
Her gaze lingers on me for a moment. “You love her.”
The twitch from earlier is back, this time tipping the corners of my mouth. “Love is a never-ending riddle, don’t you think?” Opening a side drawer, I pull out a fresh glass.
As I pour myself a new drink, Lola narrows those icy blue eyes.
“How so?”
I lean back in my chair, fresh Añejo poised at my lips. “At first, nothing makes sense, but you keep trying, getting all the wrong answers along the way, but getting closer each time.” I motion the glass toward her. “Then, just when you think you’ve got shit figured out… When you lay everything on the line… You realize there are parts you skimmed over. Parts you didn’t think mattered, when, in fact, they were the key to solving everything.”
Picking up a discarded pen, she twirls it between her fingers. “Centripetal force and now metaphorical riddles? That’s some deep shit, Santi. When did you get so philosophical?”
I nod to the crystal decanter on the edge of my desk. “About half a bottle ago.” At her labored exhale, I frown, unable to ignore how her body is still riddled with bruises and endless stitches. “You’re still hurt.”
And water is wet… Way to point out the obvious, asshole.
Shrugging, she drops the pen. “They’re healing.”
“Are you? I hear your screams at night, chaparrita.”
“I know,” she says, knotting her fingers.
“When I think about what those sons of bitches did…” I can’t say the words out loud. Not when Añejo is fueling my anger.
“Santi, don’t,” she pleads wearily. “I can’t move on if I dwell in the past.”
I drown the irony of her words at the bottom of my glass. “Thalia said the same thing.”
My head understands, but my bastard of a heart once again refuses to see reason. It craves nothing more than to close out the world and dwell in a time when the sun rose and set with Thalia still in my bed.
“Is she okay?” I ask, and at Lola’s reluctant expression, I add, “Grayson and I had a meeting earlier, in between bottles. Thalia wasn’t exactly a welcome topic of conversation.”
“It’s not personal.”
I huff out a sardonic laugh. “It absolutely is personal—and well-deserved. If the tables were turned, I wouldn’t tell Sanders shit about you.”
She hesitates, her fingers weaving a tangled web.
“Say what’s on your mind, chaparrita.” Tipping back what’s left in my glass, I savor the burn. “I probably won’t remember it, anyway.”
Lifting her clasped hands to her mouth, she rests both thumbnails against her lower lip. “Thank you for saving his life.”
Not like I had a choice.