Dirty Angels

CHAPTER TWELVE

Luisa

It’s funny what time can do to a person. It’s funny what a childhood, a few years, a couple of months, a week, can do to a person. My childhood made me believe in the people that loved me, that The Beatles were right and love was all we needed. My few years at the bar made me realize life wasn’t fair and that the world was full of cruel people who preyed on the weak. A couple of months of marriage made me see how fucked my life was, how I was trapped in the famed golden prison put forth by the country’s narcos, how there would be no escape. And a week as a hostage let me know just how damn fed up I was with every moment of time that had passed before it.

I had changed this past week, in ways I wasn’t even able to understand. Without realizing it, I was starting to relate to Javier Bernal instead of fearing him. I saw his desire to make me break and I felt that same desire, to make others break, the ones that hurt me all this time. He was getting his revenge on the woman who had left him, whether it was by becoming more successful or by humiliating and overpowering me. I understood now the vengeance that rocked through him, because the need for it was starting to rock through me. That anger deep in my belly continued to uncoil, threatening to be let loose. I wasn’t sure what would happen if I set it free—probably nothing helpful since I was but a woman in a man’s game—but if I could have that rare chance to be part of the game, I felt like nothing would be able to stop me.

After he left me in the bedroom, my thoughts kept sweeping over our conversation. I saw he had the ability to hurt, and I saw his even greater ability to lie. While he acted callous and cruel, I could see deep into those golden eyes of his and know when he was hesitant, when he felt bad or ashamed. I could see his feelings, emotions, buried so far beneath his dirt that they almost didn’t exist.

But they were there.

The truth was, however, as much as Javier may have felt something over his quest to ruin me, I also knew reality would trump emotion. When tomorrow came and Salvador got in touch with him, I knew that Javier would hand me over. And if he didn’t, I knew that he would have to kill me. Oh, I figured he wouldn’t do it himself—his emotions wouldn’t let that happen. But Este would do it. Or The Doctor. Or Franco. I would be killed, possibly in the most horrific way, because that was the way things went. Whatever Javier might have felt for me, he was no idiot. He was cunning, manipulative, and he had his pride. A lot of pride. Cartel leaders did not let hostages go because of bleeding hearts.

He would have me killed because he had to. Then he would go on with his life, looking for another opportunity to get ahead, to bury the ghosts of his own past. I would be a memory in a week. Some other form of revenge would take my place.

In the other scenario, at least I could keep my parents safe. If Salvador bargained for me, that meant he really wanted me as his wife. To have and to hold and to rape and to abuse, but he’d still have me there, and in turn I would take it and have my parents stay alive. I would put up with whatever I could for as long as I could.

Then, maybe one day, I’d get them far away and safe, before I killed Salvador. I would definitely die in the process, but I would die with a smile on my face.

I fell asleep with those thoughts. When I woke up, I was surprised to see Javier bringing me my breakfast. I thought he would have avoided me again like he did before, but there he was at my door, bringing me a tray of food, like a butler with a taste for blood.

My blood. I remembered the shivery sensation of his lips as they kissed my wounded back, both soothed and revved up by the strange feeling. Now he was standing before me, and I couldn’t help but feel my skin thrum like an electric fence.

Javier usually looked elegant but today he was dressed down, as down as one can go. He was wearing black lounge pants that were tight at his hips and loose in the leg, and a damp white tank top that clung to his upper body through sweat. His longish shaggy hair curled at the ends from being wet, his charismatic face covered in a light sheen.

I’d never seen Javier look this worn and raw, though his confidence still shined through, just as that watch never left his wrist. Oh, to be that woman who destroyed him so thoroughly. I found myself envying this Ellie woman and wondering what kind of a man he was with her. Their relationship obviously never began with a knife. He had broken her heart just as she had broken his, which meant at some point there was love to give and love to take. It was nearly impossible to think of this man being capable of love.

But not completely impossible.

He came over to the table and put the tray of food—fruit, this time—down on it. I found myself studying his body, starting to understand how Ellie must have become enraptured with him. If I had met him under other circumstances, perhaps I could have felt the same. It could have just as easily been Javier who waltzed into the bar, looking for a wife, for a conquest.

Then again, that didn’t seem like something Javier would do. He would have seen that as too … desperate. He had intelligence, good looks, and charm, whereas Salvador did not.

“What have you been doing?” I asked him after he gave me a dry “good morning.”

“Boxing,” he said, looking down at himself, as if he had just remembered he was half-dressed.

Was that the truth, or had he wanted me to see him like this? There was something so lithe yet masculine about his body. He was the complete opposite of Salvador in every way, and I couldn’t help but admire it, the sharp V of his hip bones as they disappeared into his pants, the taut flatness of his stomach, the firmness of his chest, shoulders, and arms. He looked every bit the boxer, someone who worked hard for his body, who possessed skill that begged to be tested. Since he always moved like a panther or a snake, easy and controlled, I’m not sure why his athleticism surprised me, but it did.

When I looked up at him, his lips were stretched into a wry smile and his eyes sparked with amusement.

“Do you have interest in boxing?” he asked. “Or just in me?”

I quickly looked away, ashamed that he caught me ogling him so blatantly. He must have thought I was quite the fool. Still, my eyes went back to him, this time focused on the tattoos he had on the inside of his biceps. One said Maria. The other said Beatriz and Violetta.

“Who are those women?” I asked cautiously.

His eyes became vindictive slits. “No business of yours.”

I ignored him. “People you killed? People you know? Ex-wives?”

He sucked in a deep breath before he sat on the edge of the bed, hands clasped between his thighs, and stared down at the floor with a dreamy look in his eyes. “You know, once I went fishing with my father.”

Okay. This was unexpected.

“We were in La Cruz, just north of Nuevo Vallarta. Nice town, you know? Marlin fishing was really big there, still is, I’m sure. My father was a marine mechanic, so we had free use of his clients’ boats whenever we wanted. Well, I’d always wanted to go fishing. Hell, I suppose I just wanted to spend time with him since we never ever saw him. Occasionally, he’d give me and my sisters money to get ice cream and candy, but other than that, he was never around. I always questioned that, you see. Even at a young age.”

He cleared his throat. I didn’t dare move or make a sound in case he stopped talking. I needed to know more.

With a shake of his head, he went on. “I was an idiot when I was a boy. Ignorant. Anyway, we went out. It was a stunning day, calm seas. We didn’t go quite far enough to get the big fish—my father said he wanted to be close to shore in case he was needed for something. But it didn’t matter, I enjoyed being out there more than anything on earth. He was even kinder to me than normal. I remember he wiped sunscreen on my nose, tousled my hair, you know, like a real father would do. It was the best day that I could ever remember, better than when my neighbor, Simone, showed me her tits. Better than that. And then I ruined everything.”

“How?” I found myself asking.

“I asked too many questions,” he said, giving me a poignant look. “I asked why my father worked so hard for being a marine mechanic. I asked why he was never home, what he was really doing, if this was really his job. I got a whack across the face. He had never hit me before and he never hit me again, but I’ll always remember that feeling. The shock. Then he turned the boat around and we went back home, empty-handed. He didn’t say a single word to me for days. Whatever closeness, love, I had felt for that brief time on the water, that was gone forever.” He sighed and stared up at the ceiling. “Years later, when I was sixteen, he was shot. See, I had always suspected on some level that my father worked for a cartel. I just never had the proof until he was killed. I figured perhaps he asked too many questions, too.”

I felt my heart throb with compassion. He probably didn’t deserve it, but my heart knew no different. “What about the rest of your family? You said you had sisters? How many?”

He gave me a sad smile. “I had four sisters, Alana, Marguerite, Violetta and Beatriz. Now I have two. I also had a mother, Maria. Now I have none.”

“All related to the cartels?”

“To live and die in Mexico,” he said, getting to his feet. “That is the way.”

“Violetta, Beatriz, and Maria…” I stated.

“They are the reasons why family gets you killed,” he finished, his voice hard. “As does love. And as does asking too many questions. Do you understand?”

I swallowed thickly but nodded.

“Good,” he said, flashing me an insincere grin. “Now, since this is your last day in our beautiful safe house, I figured I’d ask you what you wanted to do today.”

“Do today?” I repeated incredulously. “Are my choices eat food, get Tasered, or become a human carving board?”

“I was thinking maybe you wanted to do something else for a change.”

As strange as it was to think it, the idea of change scared me. Things were bad for me, but I always knew they could be worse. In fact, tomorrow they would most definitely be worse and I was in no hurry to experience that already.

The look in his eyes softened as he held out his hand for mine. “Come with me,” he said. “You have nothing to be afraid of.”

“Only you,” I pointed out.

“Only me.”

I wasn’t sure why that made me smile, but it did. I was starting to fear I was becoming as sick and twisted as he was. Then I realized that perhaps that was nothing to fear.

I put my hand out and he grasped it, his palm warm and soft, his fingers strong. He pulled me up to my feet, and I realized I was only wearing a long t-shirt and no underwear. I don’t know why I was suddenly self-conscious, considering the way I was yesterday, considering I’d had my ass in his face a few days ago, but I was.

“I need to get changed,” I said, looking away. He had brought me close to him and I could feel those eyes of his tracing my skin, from my toes to my lips.

“Do you want me to give you a minute?” he asked. “Because I’m afraid I’ve already seen everything. In every way possible.”

I ignored that and pulled away from him, reaching for a pair of shorts, the shorts I had been captured in. I slipped them on, revelling in their familiarity, then knotted the t-shirt above my waist. Like hell I was going to bother with a bra.

“Low maintenance,” Javier commented.

“It’s easy when you’re held hostage. I’m surprised I’m still brushing my teeth.”

“Well, you don’t want to turn into a savage.”

I gave him a funny look. It was times like this that I could almost pretend I wasn’t his captive at all, like my fate didn’t hang in the balance of tomorrow.

I put on a hard face. “So, where are you taking me? Aren’t you going to, well, look more appropriate?”

He shrugged. “We’re just going for a ride. Tomorrow is a day for suits. Today is a day to … relax.” I tapped my foot and he went on. “I’ve heard there’s a beautiful waterfall here at the end of the road. Apparently you can see the Pacific from the heights. I thought we could go there.”

I couldn’t figure out just how sincere he was. “You’re just going to take me on a car ride?”

“Don’t look so concerned,” he said. “You won’t be able to escape.”

I figured that much. He opened the door and we stepped out into the hall. Immediately, the repulsive pig that was Franco was at our side. Javier seemed on edge around him, his eyes burning into him like a warning, while Franco handed over a pair of handcuffs.

Franco then went down the stairs, and Javier slipped one cuff over my wrist and held on to the other one before taking me outside into the sunshine. There was a black SUV—the narcos’ car of choice—running in the driveway. Franco climbed into the driver’s seat and Javier put us both in the back, making sure the other end of the handcuff was fastened to the handle above the door. There would be no escaping from this vehicle, not unless I wanted to be dragged to my death.

We rode in silence for the first bit, the only sounds the crunch of rock beneath the wheels and my heart pounding loudly in my chest. It was jarring being out in the real world, so much so that I had a hard time taking it all in. It wasn’t until Javier put down my window and the fresh mountain air came pouring into my lungs, that I remembered I was alive, even if only a short time. Lush, tropical foliage covered the road on both sides, and birds squawked happily from the trees. It was beautiful outside, and I realized that this was indeed a gift for me.

Yet, I had to wonder who all of this was for. Me? Or for the tiny speck of a conscience I knew he had.

I shifted in my seat and studied him for a moment, sitting there still dressed down in his top and lounge pants, looking more like an ordinary—albeit handsome—man.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked.

He stared out the window for a moment, as if he didn’t hear me. “Because it is your last day here, your last day in my presence. I wanted to make it memorable.”

“My last day on earth,” I said grimly.

He gave me a lopsided smile. “Well, tomorrow you will either be gone…”

“Or I will be dead. It’s pretty much the same thing.”

He frowned. “I feel like Salvador knows how very precious you are. If I were him, I wouldn’t let you go.”

“But you’re not him.”

“No,” he said with finality. “I’m not.”

“So how are you going to kill me?”

His dark brows shot straight up. “Excuse me?” he asked incredulously.

“I said, how are you going to kill me? I know how most sicarios kill women. Through strangulation. Are you going to choke me?”

He rubbed at his chin, his eyes still bewildered. “Choking belongs in the bedroom, Luisa, and if you stayed around me long enough, you’d find that out for yourself.”

I shrugged and looked at the trees rushing past, the way the road climbed and climbed. The air was turning cooler by the moment, the land smelling sweet and earthy. I felt like every sense was turned on, heightened, perhaps because this really was the last day.

“Choking is a horrible way to kill someone,” Javier went on, his voice heavy. He placed his hand on mine, and I looked to him in surprise at the gesture. His expression was grave, his lips set in a hard line. “To feel someone’s life slip out of your hands is not enjoyable.”

“Is any killing enjoyable?” I asked coldly.

He raised his chin. “Yes. Some are.”

“So how are you going to kill me?”

His grip tightened on my hand. “Why are you talking about such things?”

“Because it is the truth. Is it Franco here?” I asked, jerking my chin to the monkey driving the SUV. “Will he do it? Lower me into boiling water until the little parts of me burn, until you cut those bits off, until I pass out and you revive me and you do it all over? Will you sprinkle me with acid? Gouge my eyes out, rape me with a burning hot tire iron and leave me in a room to die? Don’t think I haven’t learned a thing or two about being a narco-wife. I know how your business is conducted.” My voice had become higher at the end and I realized how heated I was getting. I needed to calm down.

I took a deep breath and looked away from his face, his face that was still searching mine, seemingly in disbelief.

After a few thick moments passed, the tension in the car mounting, he removed his hand from mine and said, “You will be shot in the head.”

A stone dropped into my stomach. The truth.

“I see,” I managed to say.

“It is fast and painless. You won’t feel a thing. Just hear a loud noise, perhaps some pressure. And then it will all be over.”

“Are you going to do it?”

“No,” Javier said. “That is not my job.”

“I would like you to,” I said, looking back at him. “I would like you to pull the trigger.”

He frowned, shaking his head slightly. “Why?”

“Because I am your responsibility. And you are the boss. Don’t become like Salvador, letting the people below you do your dirty work. Own up to the problems you created. Handle them yourself, like a man.” I leaned in closer, close enough that I could see my reflection in his eyes. “I am yours. Act like it.”

A faint wash of panic came across his face. “I am not finished with my name.”

“Then take me back home and finish me.”

Now he was really taken aback. He gestured to Franco and the world outside. “But we haven’t reached the waterfall. The view is breathtaking, I—”

“You wanted to make my last day memorable.” I cut him off. “Then you should do what I want. I want to go back to the safe house. I want you to finish your job. I want to be done with all of this. I want to be done with you.”

I could see Franco eying him in the rearview mirror, unimpressed that I was ordering around his boss. But I didn’t care.

Javier watched me for a few beats, a darkness swirling in his eyes. Finally he said to Franco, “Turn around, we’ve seen enough.”

“Yes, boss,” he said, now glaring at me. I turned and stared out the window, taking in the sights that I would possibly never see again.

It didn’t take long before we were back at the safe house and Javier was taking me up to my room. He practically shoved me in there and quickly locked the door, acting almost like he was mad at me.

I was alone again. But I knew not for long. He wouldn’t stand me up, not after what I said to him. He had too much pride.

So I sat down on the bed and waited.

Javier came just after nightfall. Perhaps he was a vampire. His shining knife, caught in the moonlight, acted as his dutiful fangs.

He came in the room and flicked on the bedside light, which gave off a dull glow. He was wielding the blade in one hand, still dressed down, but in jeans and a tight white t-shirt. He didn’t say anything to me, just stared down at my body. There was a strange emptiness in his eyes, and I had to wonder if he was really here or somewhere else in that peculiar head of his.

We both knew what he was here to do; there was no point discussing it anymore. I no longer feared his knife; I’d grown accustomed to it, just as I’d grown somewhat accustomed to him. I unknotted my shirt and pulled it right over my head, not caring that I was bare-breasted in front of him.

He bit his lip and I could see his chest rise and fall, as if he was trying to catch his breath. But he still motioned for me to turn over. I did as he asked, feeling as if we were doing a well-choreographed dance and this was our final performance.

Javier climbed on the bed, straddling my thighs, his groin pressed against my ass, and I felt that familiar yet still foreign hardness. I wondered why he never tried to have sex with me, particularly since I seemed to turn him on so much. Pleasuring himself onto my back was one thing, but there was a distance to it. I wondered why he had never forced himself on me, why he never tried to get inside me.

I wondered what would happen if he suddenly did. A growing part of me realized that I kind of wanted him to try. I wouldn’t fight him off. I wanted to participate, to be involved for once. I wanted to know if it was possible for sex to be different than the cruel, painful game I’d always had to play.

These were dirty thoughts. And yet I couldn’t push them away.

I heard him breathing heavily and felt a finger trace the previous letters in his name. He traced them over and over again, as if in a trance, and the knife never once pressed into my back.

“Why are you hesitating?” I asked him softly.

His finger paused. I heard him swallow. Finally he said, his voice sounding rough in the dark, “Because I don’t think I can.”

My breath caught in my throat. “Why?”

“Because I think your last night should bring you no pain.”

“There is no pain, Javier,” I assured him. “Not anymore. I want you to finish your name. I am more yours than I am Salvador’s.”

Silence thickened the room. His erection grew harder, and finally he shifted against me.

“What did you say?” he asked.

“I said I am more yours than I am Salvador’s,” I repeated, as truthful and sad as it was. “So finish branding me. I want the knife. I want your name.”

I think I might want you. You, the man who might pull the trigger.

I felt him lean over me, and the tip of the blade pressed in slightly, not enough to break skin. “Tell me again,” he said, “that you want my name on you.”

“I want your name. I want it to say Javier. I will wear those scars proudly.” And I will show the world that I survived it all, to the end.

“Tell me you want me,” he said huskily.

I stiffened, wondering if he had somehow learned my thoughts.

“Tell me you want me,” he said again, “and I’ll do it.”

I decided to shed my self-consciousness. “I want you,” I whispered. Then I said it again, until it sounded right, until I knew it was true.

Javier dug the blade in one sharp motion. I sucked in my breath, feeling a mix of pleasure with the tingle of pain. He finished the final sections of the R with gusto, his work quick and seamless. I felt the blood begin to pour from the wound. In seconds, he was kissing it, soothing it with his lips and tongue, absorbing the blood. He was so unbelievably tender, even after such an act of cruelty.

I closed my eyes, not wanting him to stop.

He slowly moved his lips away from the wound and began kissing down my spine, his tongue zig-zagging over it. I arched my back toward his mouth, an involuntary reaction from my body, wanting more contact, the wet heat of his lips.

“Do you like that?” he whispered as he paused at the small of my back.

I decided to be honest this time. “Yes,” I murmured.

“Tell me you want me again,” he said.

“I want you.”

His hands slipped around my waist and under my pelvis and began undoing my shorts. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” I told him, suddenly feeling both turned on and afraid of what was to come, afraid of the unknown, of the change between us. But I didn’t want to fear anymore, not tonight.

“Good girl,” he said throatily. “Such a good girl.” He grabbed the hem of my shorts and quickly yanked them off so my bare ass was exposed. I heard him groan at the sight of me. “A very, very good girl,” he whispered. “And I’m about to do very, very bad things to you.”

He ran his hands up my calves, my thighs, my ass, up the sides of my back all the way to my shoulders where he kissed the wound one more time. Then he reached under me and flipped me over until I was on my back. I winced from the pressure of the bed on my cuts, but he took no notice and pinned my hands above my head with one hand.

He placed his other hand on my neck, squeezing delicately. My eyes widened in surprise.

“The thing about choking,” he said slowly, his voice dripping with lust, his eyes glazed with passion, “is both parties have to be ready for it. You, my beauty queen, are not. But I do know what you are ready for. Something to erase all your pain. Something … memorable.”

He lifted his hand off my neck and leaned in so close, I was sure he was going to kiss me. My lips parted, wanting it. But instead he went for my ear, licking the lobe, and said gently, “I want you to relax and lie there. When it feels good, you grab my hair and pull hard until you’re sure you’re hurting me. I look forward to it.”

Then he let go of my wrists and started making his way down, kissing my chest, my breasts, his tongue doing smooth circles over my nipples. He bit them and I cried out, from the shock and pain and the warmth that came afterward, a warmth that spread down my core and between my legs, making them spread open.

He kissed and sucked down my stomach, at my belly button, and then headed lower. I tensed up, afraid, but I felt him pause. I lifted my head to see those sharp lustful eyes staring at me with such want, I wasn’t sure if he was going to kill me or fuck me.

“Just relax,” he murmured, and his eyes never broke away from mine as he passed over my pubic bone and placed himself between my legs, his arms hooking on to each thigh. “I will do all the work.” He looked down between my legs, bare and vulnerable. “You have a beautiful pussy, did you know that?”

My cheeks flamed and I chastised myself for feeling so bashful.

His face lowered even further and my body stiffened in response.

“I want to feel your clit throb between my lips,” he whispered, his breath sending electricity through my thighs. When I didn’t say anything—I couldn’t, I was frozen in shock—he lifted his head from between my legs and gave me a curious glance. “You’ve never had an orgasm before, have you?”

I shook my head.

He grinned with easy carnality. “Do not worry. I’m very good at giving girls an orgasm for the first time. And for every time after that.”

Then he placed his mouth on me, and a million volts of electricity ran through me, making me flinch. The feeling slowly melted away though as the wet warmth of his mouth spread all over, and I found myself relaxing into the most foreign sensation that had ever touched my body. His tongue slowly lapped up and down my slit before concentrating on my clit in slow, easy circles. I knew how my body worked, I just never touched myself before, never realized the pleasure that could be had.

I started thinking I was an idiot for not doing so all this time, but soon all thought was being sucked out of me and into his mouth. I was only sensation, this beautiful feeling that his lips were bringing me. I felt my whole body both relax and tense, and I began to raise my hips into his face, craving deeper contact when his tongue became whisper light.

“That’s my queen,” he said into me, and the vibrations caused me to squirm. “Your pussy tastes seductive, more delicious than milk and honey. I should drink you with my tea in the mornings.”

I moaned, not even blushing this time. I just wanted him, needed him, to continue. I found myself reaching for his hair, burying my fingers into his smooth strands and gripping them. I pulled his face further into me and his tongue started to fuck me, entering in and out.

Now I was bucking my hips, craving him, wanting more.

“You’re so wet, I’m drowning in you.” He groaned. One of his hands left my thighs and he pulled back slightly. Suddenly he put one of his fingers inside me and I found myself trying to clench around it. “You want so much, it’s beautiful.”

“Just keep going,” I said breathlessly, my back arching, my fingers wrapping tighter into his thick hair.

“I’ll keep going until you are coming.”

“How will I know?”

“Well,” he said slowly, and though my head was rolled to the side and I couldn’t see him, I knew he was grinning. “It will feel like this.”

His tongue started flicking my clit harder just as his finger began to thrust and curl inside of me, pressing against my wall repeatedly. The pressure in my core began to build rapidly, my limbs stiffening, my breath escaping me. I held on to his hair as tight as I could while I felt like my whole body was on pause, that moment before falling when you’re in mid-air, when all time stands still, when breath and heartbeat and bloodflow all stops.

It was the most beautifully exquisite torture.

Then everything broke loose. My body became a wave of fire, of pulsating light, of air and heat and explosions that all went off at the same time. I was completely unaware of any sounds I was making—I think I was screaming—and I hadn’t realized I was yanking on Javier’s hair so hard that I lifted his head right off me.

I lay there, writhing, moaning. It was like being Tasered but only with pleasure. Then, as my eyes stopped rolling back into my head, as I began to catch my breath, I was hit with a second wave.

Only this one was pure emotion. I felt like my heart was light and fluttery, and there was pain and sadness and joy and regret and anger, and every single buried feeling being unearthed. I was beside myself, unsure of how to process what had just happened to my body and what happened to my soul.

And Javier, this horrible man, this narco, my captor, he was right there on the bed beside me, wiping his mouth and gazing at me before tucking my hair behind my ear. I could only stare at him in pure bewilderment, my eyes wide, my mouth open, trying to breathe, to remember who I was and what I was to him.

But I could barely remember any of that. I was feeling a pull to him stronger than anything before. This man was capable of such cruelty and violence, yet he had pleasured me, giving me something I’d never had. Well, the sated look in his hooded eyes told me that he found it nearly as pleasurable himself.

He rested his hand on my cheek, soothingly. “You better get some rest,” he said. “Big day tomorrow.”

And then more of the real world, of my life, came back, pecking away at the golden wave I was still riding, making my heart slow.

The thing, the crazy thing, was that as much as I didn’t want tomorrow to come, I also didn’t want him to leave. I wanted him to stay with me. At least until I fell asleep. I needed him, the little comfort he could give me on my last night.

He was staring at me expectedly, like he wanted me to ask him. Or he wanted to ask himself. Maybe we could do something else to pass the time. Maybe I could do something for him. Maybe it wasn’t time to say goodnight.

But then he sat up, perched on the end of the bed, and smoothed down his hair. There was another moment where he licked his lips, his eyes flickering, his mind caught in some internal dialogue.

I almost said something. I opened my mouth and almost asked him to stay, as foolish as it was.

He got up and picked up the blade from the other side of the bed, sliding it into his boot.

“Goodnight Luisa,” he said, and I knew the moment was over.

I couldn’t find the words to say goodnight to him. He gave me a quick, almost grave smile, then left the room, the lock turning loudly behind him.

It was the loneliest sound.

I lay there naked, remembering the feeling I just had moments ago, a feeling I would never get back.

I let a tear fall, my emotions still running rampant in me, and then gratefully drifted off to sleep before the thoughts of his touch could turn into thoughts of his bullets.