Page 22 of Shadow Man
My eyes drop to her bombshell figure in surprise. Okay, so there’s not much to the white mini, but it’s looking pretty damn flawless from where I’m standing.
She motions for me to follow her into her stall. “Don’t get the wrong idea or anything. I’m not into chicks.” She points at the security camera above the door. “I’d just prefer it if we didn't invite airport security into my problem.”
“Are you from Colombia?” I watch her spin on the heels of her cowboy boots.
“You ask a lot of questions for a girl who hasn’t completed her part of her deal yet.”
“You’re pretty evasive for someone who hasn't shaken on the deal yet.”
She lets out a husky bark of laughter and swishes her hair to the side to reveal the back of her dress. “Born and raised, but I attended college in California… The zipper’s stuck. There’s a thread or something caught in the line, and I can’t jerk it free.”
It takes me a second to grasp what she’s saying. “That’sthe deal? You need me to unzip your dress for you?”
“Five seconds,parcera,” she says, laughing again. “I told you it was easy money.”
“Can’t you just pull it over your head?”
“Does this dresslooklike the kind you can justpull over your head?” she mocks, rolling her eyes at me over her shoulder. “It’s so damn tight, I can’t breathe.”
“Okay, fine.” I grasp the hem of flimsy material between my fingertips. From here I can see the white thread knotted tight around the metal teeth, but I can’t work it free. “Permission to yank?”
“Permission granted. It’s my favorite, but I’m cool with the sacrifice.”
Her skin is smooth and warm, her slender neck falling forward in a delicate arc for me. I pause for a second to appreciate her beauty. Missing my own beauty. Can the used and discarded ever be beautiful again?
“What did he do to you?” she murmurs.
He kept drowning me in his guilt. He held my face in a pool of blood, and he wouldn’t let up until I was choking on it.
“I don’t understand.” I take the zipper firmly and tug as hard as I can, her dress peeling into two perfect pieces like split fruit. “There...” I stop short when I see what’s taped to the underside of the seams. Six small square bags all filled with white powder.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
In a daze, I watch her slip the dress sleeves down her arms, revealing more of that rose tattoo— red and bloody, slashed high across her shoulder blade, like another unexpected surprise.How many years for possession in South America?I’m guessing it’s not single figures.
Keeping her back turned, she tugs at the bunched material around her hips to get to the coke. Next, she removes each bag slowly and stuffs them, one by one, into her purse. Another person enters the restroom, and then leaves. The quiet in this stall is far louder than any flushed toilet or running faucet.
“It’s not what you think,” she says, sniffing at my silent disapproval.
I feel an explanation coming on, but I don't care enough to listen. “Save it. I’m not interested.” I burst from the stall, hoping a fast exit will make the whole situation go away. “Don't bother returning the favor. I’m good.”
“Wait!” she says, bolting after me with her dress still flapping about, one hand clamped to her chest to keep her modesty. She reaches for my arm again and I swerve out of reach, my skin prickling from the near miss.
“Leave me the fuck alone!”
“Please, parcera.Let me ask you one more question before you go. Have you ever played truth or dare?”
Yes.
A bomb of a memory detonates in my mind. The floor caves in and I’m sliding into hell, reaching out for footholds that don’t exist.They made me play a game in the dark six months ago. They laughed as they held me down—
I slap my hand against the tiles.
Their truth was debasement. My dare was survival.