Page 14 of Scarred Souls
Shit. This was bad. Really bad. The wannabes would be butt hurt over getting their asses whupped and come looking for revenge. That was the last thing this village needed, and God knew a Pacific Coast Cartel infestation was problematic for my own personal reasons.
None of their soldiers would recognize me, but if things got out of hand and it drew the attention of the cartel’s upper ranks, there was a chance one of them might. It was a small risk, but the consequences would be catastrophic.
Grim made a gruff noise in the back of his throat. “Maybe. But you’ve got a bigger problem.”
I tensed. “What do you mean?”
“Those guys showing up here wasn’t a coincidence. The cartel’s been moving into villages along this stretch of coastline, and if they want to own Playa de la Palmera, soon enough, they will. You can kiss goodbye to your sleepy village, because they’ll send in whatever force necessary to make it happen.”
This information was terrifying, but…wasn’t Grim a little too up-to-date on local issues?
“How do you know all of this?” I asked.
His face tightened. “It’s probably best if you don’t know.”
A bullshit answer if ever I’d heard one. Who was this guy, and what was he really doing here?
More importantly, why did my stomach barrel-roll every time his eyes landed on mine? It was confusing as hell. Men with Grim’s capacity for violence reminded me of a time and place in my life that I never wanted to return to.
How could I be drawn to someone like him? I should want a man like Enrique. Safe. Predictable. Kind.
But Enrique doesn’t make your coochie flutter.
Shut up, hormones.
I rested my elbows on the bar and felt something sticky.
Ew.
I reared back and wiped the wetness on my apron. “Why is there blood on the counter?”
A cocky grin emerged on Grim’s face. “I’m glad you asked.”
“You know what?” I held up a palm. “I don’t want to know.”
“Are you sure? It’s a fun story.”
“I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.”
“Disappointing.” He had the gall to look hurt. “Let me take a look at that bump.” Without waiting for permission, he shifted behind me and prodded the sore spot.
“Ouch!” I hissed. “That hurts.”
“Like I said. You should’ve hidden.” He paid me no mind and continued assessing the area. “Do you feel nauseous?”
“No.”
“Dizzy?”
“A little.”
“How many fingers am I holding up?” Grim stood in front of me and flipped me the bird.
I rolled my eyes and aimed one right back at him.
“Then I think you’ve escaped a concussion, but you should still get someone to take a look at the swelling.” He leaned over the bar, scooped up a handful of ice, and wrapped it in a kitchen towel. He tried to press it to my head, but I gave him a dirty look and stole it from him. “I don’t suppose there’s a clinic open at this hour?” he asked.
Technically, there wasn’t a clinic in town. Unofficially, Daphne’s dog rescue saw patients with four legs or two. She didn’t have her medical license anymore, but neither the dogs nor humans in the village were concerned by that, especially since she didn’t charge a dime for her services.