Page 74 of When Sinners Hate
Inever imagined that someone like Abel, in fact, any guy, could be so open about emotion. That he’s permitted me to be vulnerable is perhaps what brings the mist to my eyes.
I squeeze them shut, desperate to stop them from falling. They’re a weakness, or at least that’s what I’ve spent years thinking. Still, my arms tighten around him, and he shifts my weight, wrapping me in comfort and protection. It’s a craving I didn’t know how to identify before him, and now that I've tasted it, I don’t want to let it go. Or Abel. If last night needed to happen to get us here, maybe there was something good that came out of everything.
“Abel?” Mariana’s voice rings out in the house, and I feel his body tense. He murmurs something under his breath, and, reluctantly, I let go and slide down his body.
I sniff the emotion back and blink, pulling myself back together.
“Ever heard of calling first?” he mutters, levelling a look at Mariana as she descends the stairs to the kitchen.
“I’m sorry. Bringing your car back kinda implied I’d show up.” She looks between us, and I watch Shaw walk in behind her. “Everything okay?” she asks Abel, but I can feel her gaze on me.
My hand automatically creeps over my neck to hide the marks I know are visible, and I pull away from Abel to head for the coffee machine. A wash of shame and embarrassment creeps over me, making me turn my back to all of them.
The conversation I’m waiting for between him and his siblings doesn’t emerge, but I do feel a hand drop to my shoulder. Taking a breath and forcing my eyes wide and a smile over my lips, I turn and see Mariana standing by my side. She’s not looking at me with pity or anger, but maybe understanding.
“I …”
“You don’t have to say anything.” She leans in and puts her arms around my neck, pulling me closer soon after, “We’ve got you.”
After a moment as personal and heartfelt as the one a few minutes ago with Abel, in some ways this means more. She lets me go, and I offer her a small smile and flash a quick look towards Abel and Shaw on the other side of the kitchen. Abel’s studying me as if he’s anticipating something.
Mariana’s hand runs down my arm to my hand, and she gives it a squeeze. “Come on, Brother. Time to go.”
She walks right by the men and heads up to the exit, confident that Shaw will follow. He does, and my body sags, causing me to lean against the counter when I hear the door close. Perhaps Abel’s right, and I do need to cry. Maybe that will purge my body of the emotion that keeps welling up and threatening to drown me.
He approaches and twists me so I’m looking at him. “Don’t fight it, Lexi. Let it out.” I stare into his eyes and feel the cracking of the damn I’ve built inside, but there’s still something holding me back – keeping me from showing him my weakness.
My phone buzzing interrupts, breaking the moment between us. And as I pick it up and look at the screen, a new sense of dread hits me like a wrecking ball.
“Who is it?” Abel asks.
“My …” He doesn’t deserve the title of Father. He never did. To me, he’s lost that right – he lost it the first time he gave me to one of his friends, only I was too young and naive to see it, and it’s taken Abel to give me the strength I should have found myself to sever the connection.
The blackness inside of me – the poison he’s tainted in me – can be harnessed as fuel for the rage that’s simmering and aimed at him now. “It’s Miguel. Why would he call?”
“Give it to me.” He reaches for the phone, but this is my problem, my blood, and I want to know what he’s calling for.
“What?” I snap, answering it. I click the button to put him on speaker, near crushing the thing.
“I’m not in the mood, Alexia. What the hell happened?” he clips, short and tight in tone. “You had one job.”
Abel opens his mouth, but I put up my hand and shake my head. This is my fight, and while I can’t express my gratitude for him saving me from that monster, I want to handle this on my own.
“One job? Fuck that. You set me up. Don’t you have any concern for me?”
“You’ve handled plenty of men in your past, Alexia. Men much worse than Blackford.”
“Such concern. Interesting given that you showed none for me last night. Glad to know I’m only worth what someone’s prepared to pay for me.”
“Cut the crap, Alexia. What happened, and where’s my money?”
“Didn’t he pay you? Oh, boohoo.”
“Alexia!” he shouts down the line. I look up at Abel, who looks ready to murder someone. No, not someone, Miguel Ortega. “Where is he? What happened, and don’t try to lie to me, or you’ll have me to answer to.”
“I don’t know what you mean, Miguel.” I draw out the syllables, emphasising the name. “After all, you had me taken to a room with the man,” my voice rises, “and left me there. You left me with him, and he did whatever he wanted!” I swing my arms in anger as the emotion I’ve been holding onto morphs into a rage at the one person that’s always let me down in my life.
“Stop playing games. I don’t care if he defiled you, sodomised or passed you around to his colleagues while he watched. Because that’s all you are, Alexia. A piece of meat, a commodity to sell, only you’ve never understood where you fit into this business. You’ve had your little power play. Abel Cortez should have straightened you out by now.” The disgust is evident in his voice, and I watch as Abel storms to the sitting area. He shoves the coffee table with his foot and sends it sliding into the glass doors, cracking the pane and splintering it. “Where is Blackford? I want my fucking money and my deal!”