Sin, page 17
Javier knows her from when they were kids, vouches for her, and I’ve promised my help.
That alone has made her loyal to Twirl.
They’re both here just as you predicted. Cemetery entrance and waiting to approach. ~Gina
My fingers fly over the keys of my phone as the unbuckle seatbelt sign flips on and the pilot maneuvers the plane to the disembarkment point.
Call Javier and have him meet you there. ~Malcolm
Three little dots appear on the screen before her reply comes through.
Already done. I’m at one end of the road and he’s at the other watching. ~Gina
Approach made. Looks tense but the older Foster spotted Javier. ~Gina
With her response comes a photo of the three of them standing at a gravesite. They’re too close, and my girl looks uncomfortable. She’s wearing all black, a shirt and pants, and her face is half hidden beneath a large pair of sunglasses. The other two are of no importance, but I do smile a little when I see the bandage on Alton’s hand and the sling on Marcus’s shoulder.
Good. They don’t go anywhere with her. Keep close and alert at all times. ~Malcolm.
Understood, sir. ~Gina
Keep me updated. ~Malcolm
Giving her one last look over, I put my phone away and stand. My guards have already gotten off and are waiting for me just inside the private gate area. The plane will refuel here, and the crew will take a break while I meet up with an old friend.
The terminal is full of travelers as I make my way through the vast number of gates and restaurants. All overflowing, but even through this maze of faces, I spot Thiago Rivera easily.
He’s alone, sitting at a table in one of the more upscale bars inside this concourse and nursing a drink.
The man looks different. He’s bulked up and his features have hardened while in jail paying for a crime he didn’t commit.
“I’m not surprised by your call,” is his greeting, a small smirk on his face.
“Good. Then you know why I’m here.” I extend a hand out for him to shake, and when he does, I pull him up into a man hug. “Happy to see you out, Rivera. That was a shit case and setup.”
“I know.” He nods, squeezing tight and then letting go to take a seat. “It’s cost me something far more valuable than time.”
“Then I won’t take any more of it.” Carmelo hands me a folder then and walks away. He’ll wait outside along with the other two that stayed with me. Dad left for Chicago straight from Costa Rica via first class with a few bodyguards. “I want to liquidate their debt. The Fosters will owe me.”
“Why?”
I slide the folder to him. “Open it.”
Thiago flips it open and his eyes harden. Fingers twitching. “That poor girl is innocent. She’s nothing like them.”
“She’s mine.” At my words, he looks up and realization hits. Understanding, because he would kill anyone that touches his Luna. “Their lives will end by my hands. Agree or don’t, Thiago, it makes no difference. This is a courtesy visit because of our friendship, but my compliance with our agreement died the very minute they touched her.”
“Fuck the money.” His large frame sits back, jaw ticking. “Keep it, burn it...donate it for all I care.”
“Then what do you want in exchange?” I ask, mimicking his actions. My eyes are on his. Unwavering. “If not money...?”
“I’ll be there to witness.”
I nod. “Done.”
“Good.” He stands and I follow, walking out after tossing a few bills to cover his drink and tip. “Are you heading back home or staying in Miami for a few days?”
“My flight leaves in half an hour.”
“Mom will be sad she missed you.” He chuckles, and a bit of the man I knew before he took the fall for his brother seeps through. “She’s been cooking all day for the party tonight.”
“Wish I could, but London needs me.”
“Say no more. Next time.” He gives me one last slap on the back before pulling me into a hug. “Be good to her, Asher.”
I pull back and match his shitty grin. “Are you going after Luna?”
“I am.” His phone beeps then, and he pulls it out to read the message. At once his features darken, and the plastic in his grasp groans under the pressure of his hold. “Call me when you’re ready to proceed.”
“You okay?”
“Just have a girl to reclaim and a motherfucker to kill.” Thiago turns around and leaves then, merging into the crowd while I make my way back to my gate. The plane is ready for takeoff when I arrive, and I approve the change.
I’ll be home in a few hours.
Hold her sooner.
Kiss those lips.
Pulling out my phone, I send her a short message.
I miss you, Twirl. ~Malcolm
24
IT’S BEEN SIX HOURS since he left, and I miss him like crazy. In a way that makes no sense. As if a piece of me is gone, and to be whole I need him back.
It’s his cocky grin and smoldering green eyes. His filthy words and possessive touch. The way he commands respect by simply entering a room or how he treats me like I’m a precious doll.
Like he needs me just as much as I do him.
This is crazy—we’re insane—but it works. We click. Connect on a level that I’ve never experienced before.
Mom’s words come to mind then:
Hold onto it with both hands and never let go. Savor each moment you have together because tomorrow is never promised.
The two sides of him draw me in, pull, until my will becomes his. Because I find myself wanting to please him. Make him happy.
“Where do you want us to put these boxes?” Javier asks, pointing at the man named Jimmy that works for Malcolm. He’s serious and a little weird, looking at everything and keeping tabs of the expensive items inside the living room.
He makes me feel uneasy—looks at me as if he knows me, or something that I don’t. But instead of saying something, I don’t.
For now, I’ll pay attention to my surroundings and count down the minutes until he leaves. Until I can speak to Javier or Malcolm about the emotions he evokes.
My gut doesn’t trust him, and Gina doesn’t seem to either. I’ve caught her looking at him a few times, eyes narrowed and body tense.
Always standing closer to me when he’s in the room. Like now, she moves to stand in front of me while speaking with Javi, blocking me a bit from view.
She did this at my father’s house.
Never leaving me alone. Always near and alert, even though no one was home. No signs of Dad and Alton as I took my belongings and we drove away without a backwards glance.
I force a smile and point at the corner near the back. “It’ll be fine over there. Actually, put them all there.”
Not that there’s many. Six boxes and once suitcase is all I packed, grabbing what’s important and irreplaceable.
The money I’ve been saving that I hid beneath an old floorboard under my bed. A few photo albums, Mom’s old jewelry box with what’s left inside—what Dad hasn’t been able to sell and gamble away. My clothes aren’t much and take no space, while my books fill two boxes.
Everything else are things that Mom left behind for me.
Mementos, a box that’s taped up, and in her handwriting, with knickknack she saved from each one of my birthdays. Almost a lifetime worth of memories. It’s been in my closet for years, from the day I found it in our attic underneath a blanket and beside the chest with my old baby items.
“That’s all for tonight,” Javier says then, bringing my attention to the three of them. “Jimmy, take the night off. I’m going to need you tomorrow morning.”
“I don’t mind staying. Help Gina with—”
“I’m not repeating myself.” Javier’s tone doesn’t leave room for argument. It’s final, and I watch how Jimmy forces a neutral expression on his face. “Report downtown at nine. I’ll be there to grab you. We have an order pickup for the boss.”
“Understood. Have a good night.” With a final glance my way, he walks out with Javi following behind him. We don’t say anything as we wait for Javier to come back; the feeling is mutual.
Something is off with him.
Instead, I busy myself by opening the first box, which has books. I pull them out one by one, stacking them atop a table until I can figure out where to put them.
Hopefully Magda can give me an idea in the morning.
“Want some help with that?” Gina asks after a while, coming to stand beside me. “I’m an amazing unpacker.”
I smile at her. “How about organizing by color? I’ve always wanted to put them on a shelf in a gradient style; lightest to darkest.”
“Sounds good to me.” Gina starts with the ones on the table while I inspect a small book of poems that Mom always kept on her nightstand. There are scribbles in her penmanship, little notes on how a specific line made her feel. How beautiful they were.
“And that one?” Javier’s voice cuts through my memories, bringing my focus to him. He’s pointing at the small book in my hand. “Is that one going to the library like the rest? Or will they go in the office?”
“I was thinking about getting them sorted while he gets back. I’m not sure where to—”
“Sweetheart, he wants you to mix your things with his. Put them in the middle of the staircase and that man wouldn’t care,” he says, tone gentle. Javier walks casually to my stack and picks up an old copy of Emma that’s been in my mom’s family for years. “Or better yet, why don’t I show you.”
“What’re you talking about?” My interest is piqued.
“Ten bucks says I can find the most out of place for it, and he’ll love it.”
“I want in on this.” Gina wipes her hands on the black slacks she’s wearing. “However, this needs to be ridiculous. Somewhere that’ll leave him scratching his head.”
“You’re both crazy.” I’m shaking my head, a giggle bursting through. “I’m in. Double or nothing.”
“Done. Now...” Javi scratches his jaw “...where to put this?”
“I’m leaving that up to you. Just make it good.”
“Or, you can both be neutral and let me?” Gina interjects, a wicked glint in her eyes. “Whatcha say?”
“Go for it.” Taking the book from him, I hand it over. She walks away and toward his office, leaving me with the perfect opening to address my concern. “Javi?
“I know.”
“Something isn’t right.”
“You have a good eye.” He bumps his shoulder with mine. “Don’t doubt yourself. If someone gives you the creeps, nine times out of ten, they are one. An off chance isn’t worth the risk of your safety.”
“Does Malcolm know?” Because I don’t see him letting someone untrustworthy work for him.
“He does. Trust us.”
Since last night I’ve been feeling off. As if I’m missing something—forgetting something important—and this morning at eight a.m. it finally hit me.
Mom died five years ago today. Taken from me by some asshole that only cared about the money she had inside her wallet that night, his next high, or God knows what, because to this day, he still hasn’t been found.
Not a single trace. No one cares to look.
One minute she’s here, and the next gone.
Moreover, that night I lost my entire family.
Dad hates me, and Alton no longer pretends to see me as a little sister.
At sixteen, I became an orphan. I was lost and desperate until just recently when Malcolm came into my life. And while a part of me mourns Mom all over again today, the larger part of me just misses him. Today, I just need him.
He’s been in my life for such a short period of time, and maybe the rest of the world will think I’m insane for moving in with him, but deep down it feels right. Like I belong here.
“Are we stopping for flowers,” Gina asks the closer to the cemetery we get. I’ve been quiet. Lost in my head as I try to fight the guilt for being more torn up by his absence than this anniversary.
Maybe it’s because of how many years have passed.
Maybe it’s because I don’t want to spend the day alone like all the years prior.
Looking out the window, I shake my head. “I always pay for year-round service. The cemetery puts fresh flowers in my name, because I never knew when they’d allow me to come and do so.”
For a second, I feel her eyes on me. Hear the sadness in her tone. “Is there anything you need from me? For me to do?”
Not unless you can magically make him appear.
“Just drive down to the end of this road and turn left. The second row after is where the family’s mausoleum is.” The cemetery is almost empty when we arrive around mid-morning on Tuesday, most people coming to see their loved ones over the weekend. It’s an old and very large park, accommodating the affluential and rich. Those that can afford large buildings to house the final destination of the entire family.
Funny, it also serves to show me a cold, hard truth I’ve been neglecting up until this very moment. The women of my family are the providers. First Mom, and then I took up the slack when they didn’t lift a finger to cook a single meal, and then there’s the odd jobs to help pay bills.
“This one?” Gina points to a large structure, the only one near the end of this road.
“That’s the one,” I hear myself say, but I’m on autopilot now, literally asking one foot permission to move the other. “Right here is fine.” My body feels heavy as she parks and I exit, and yet, I manage to hold a hand up when her car door opens. “I’m going to need some privacy, please.”
“Completely understandable, London. I’m just going to stand beside the car and get some air.”
“Thank you.” I don’t turn back to look at her, though. My eyes are set on the entrance to her resting place. One foot in front of the other, I walk closer with tears brimming. My chest feels tight and breathing becomes a bit choppy.
Being here. Entering this space and finding that it looks the same hurts for some reason.
Maybe it’s because I’m the only one that cares.
Maybe it’s because I feel like a failure for not standing up for myself.
Maybe it’s because a part of my soul wants to unleash years of anger on the world for the unfairness of it all. And while I know it’s not her fault, the pain still lingers.
I feel abandoned.
“Why?” I’m choking, emotions bubbling to the surface that for so long I kept hidden from everyone. From myself. “Why, Mom?”
“It was just her time, Lola,” Alton answers out of nowhere, and I freeze. Where did he come from? How didn’t I hear him enter?
“What are you doing here?” There’s an edge of panic to my voice, my fight-or-flight instincts kicking in. Calm down. Gina is close and nothing will happen. “Did you know I would be here?”
25
“SHE WAS MY MOTHER, too.” His tone is softer than I ever remember him using, and I’m taken aback by it. It throws me off. Turns my sudden fear into annoyance.
Since when? That retort sits on the tip of my tongue, but instead I step around him. He’s misconstruing my question earlier. I’m not asking why she died; it’s clear to me that life has a beginning and end that no one can predict. No matter how unfair it is, how much I miss her, it is what it is.
What I want is answers.
Why do they treat me like crap?
Why is Alton fascinated with me?
Why does Dad threaten me every time he can?
Just fucking why?
“I’ll leave you to your visit, then,” I grit out, waving a hand in the air before turning to leave.
“Wait.” His hand shoots out to stop me—it connects with my arm and he winces, bringing my attention to the bandages around his hand. To the purple and swelling around his wrists. Alton notices where my eyes are and pulls it away. “That’s a gift from Mr. Asher himself.”
“Kind of like the ones you and Dad left on my arm and neck? Or how about the scratches your fiancée took immense joy in making down my arm.” With the tip of my finger I point to each one, waiting for some bullshit excuse or one of his threats. It doesn’t come this time, and I’m not ready for the regret in his eyes as I look at him once more.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice hoarse and low. “There’s no excuse for my behavior, London, and I’m truly sorry.”
“I don’t know what to say.” It’s the truth, and I also don’t feel comfortable inside this enclosed space alone with him. “Maybe I should come back later. Go ahead and have your visit—”
“No. Take your time...you were here first.” Alton gives me a sad smile, and it throws me off. This entire change of behavior isn’t like him at all. Did Malcolm hit his head? He only mentioned a broken hand and bullet to a shoulder; did I miss him giving this man a personality transplant? “...Dad and I will wait outside. Please, just give us a few minutes of your time before you go.”
“Again, why are you doing this?” I say, exasperation coloring my tone. “You don’t care. Never have.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, sis. You’re everything to us.” With that he walks out, leaving me alone inside the mausoleum, feeling lost and unsure. The sole thing giving me comfort is that Gina is nearby, keeping an eye, and she won’t let anything happen to me. None of them will.
“This is such a mess, Mom.” Taking the steps to where her plaque is on the wall, I lower myself to the floor right in front of it. I sit crossed-legged and look at her name, trace each letter with the tip of my fingers and then check the water level inside the metal vase. “What are they playing at? They’ve never come here. Not once since you died.”
Silence. Not that I expect anything different, but outside the wind picks up and the stained glass window above the entryway rattles a bit.
At this, a small snort escapes me. “Is that your way of saying run? That you’re not buying it either?”
A memory hits me then, something she said to me on my fifteenth birthday. Dad fought with her that night. He was so mad over my gift; a girls-only weekend trip to California we never took because he forbade us from going alone.
