Page 92 of Reckless Woman
“What the fuck are you inferring?” His voice is like stone.
“Did you kill them?”
It’s a dark question with even darker roots. I know this man. I know what he’s capable of. When he wants something to enrich his business or his bedroom, he obtains it by any means necessary—love and morality be damned.Just ask his wife.
“I’m going to remember two decades of history and pretend you didn’t ask me that.”
“Is it beyond the realms of speculation?” I say, freewheeling some more.
There’s a tense pause, and then he’s backing away from the SUV and shaking his head. “Get the hell out of here before you say something else you’ll regret.”
Scoffing, I wrench the car door open. “You should have left me to drink my Bud in that bar alone, Dante. The way I was going, I would’ve wrapped myself around a truck too.”
“And what good would you have been to Anna then?”
“What fucking good am I to her now!”
He slams his fist down onto the car roof. “I walked into that bar, and I fucking saved you, Grayson—”
“You did it to saveyourself, Dante!” I roar back. “Don’t pretend it’s any different. You wanted a devoted conscience, and I sold you mine for the price of a bourbon.”
My words rain down like embers to a floor of gasoline. I need to cool it before we both go up in flames.
Exhaling sharply, I rest my own fists on the SUV’s roof and drop my head—bracing myself for the knife in my stomach again, but it never comes.
Do I really believe he killed my family?
“I’m going back to Colombia. Anna’s asked to stay with Gabriela in Leticia for a while. Tell me what you need out there. Send me a fucking email. I know it’s a cartel mess after Viviana. I’ll take thirty men with me. if I need more, I’ll let you know.”
He doesn’t comment, but I feel him moving closer. “I didn’t fucking kill them,” he hisses.
No, I did.
I don’t even need my dead brother to drill that guilt into me.I should have paid attention. I should have gotten her more help.
“Good luck in South America,” I hear him say as he starts walking back toward the warehouse. “I hope she finds what she needs out there…I hope you both do.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Anna
I’d forgotten about the fierce humidity in Leticia. For some reason, I’d stored that memory at the back of mind. It’s six a.m. The curtains are flapping gently at the window. My sheets are damp and there’s a light sheen of sweat on my face that’s cloying and uncomfortable.
I lie there, savoring the first precious heartbeats of a new day before reality stops it dead again. Mornings are the worst. The stiffness in my wounds is unbearable. The slightest movement reminds me of what I’ve lost, so it’s easier to stay motionless, staring up at the white ceiling—which is pretty much all I’ve done since we arrived here two weeks ago.
I have my own room. In the end, he didn’t fight me about it. He just dropped my bags and left when he saw Gabriela fussing over me. I haven’t seen him since. He could be back in America or Africa, for all I know. We’ve traveled past the point of arguing and into a strange new land, one that’s neither love nor hate.
It’s just…confused.
And mad.
So damn mad.
Some days I don’t know who I’m angrier with—him or me. All I know is that there’s a tight knot inside my damaged body that’s spinning sparks and injustice in every direction.
The room is a naturally warm space, with ochre walls and florid paintings. The wooden floorboards are dotted with rugs, with tight weaves and vibrant colors.
It’s cold, too.