Page 10 of The Complete Truth Duet
“Okay. Shit, man. Relax. It’s just… It’s a maintenance job at a whore house and you’ve got an engineering degree from MIT. I’m thinking you’re a little overqualified.”
Opening my eyes, I shook my head. “I’m not that man anymore. That guy died a long time ago. In a shitty hotel room just like this one.”
“So bring him back to life.” He shot me a crooked grin. “Jesus did it.”
Fucking Drew.
Cracking my neck, I sucked in a shaky breath. “Don’t do this. Not today.”
His cheeks puffed as he blew out a ragged sigh. “All right. I gotchu.” He gave my shoulder a squeeze. “But, for the record, she’d kick your ass if she saw you like this.”
“I know,” I half choked, half laughed. “I fucking know. And it’s time.”
After nabbing my coffee off the nightstand, he once again passed it my way. Lifting his in the air, he smiled—a true, genuine smile I hadn’t been able to form in years—and toasted, “To new beginnings.”
I tapped my cup with his. “To the end.”
Cora
“So, yeah, Hugo’s officially gone,” I said into the phone wedged between my shoulder and my ear as I started up the steps to my apartment. Grocery sacks dangled off my arms, weighing me down. The third floor was the safest, but, God, it was a pain in the ass—literally and figuratively—to haul groceries up three flights of stairs each week.
“Good,” Catalina replied and then paused awkwardly.
I knew what was coming. It happened every time an unknown number popped up on my phone. I had no way to contact her, just the address and a combination to a storage locker across town where I’d drop her envelopes of cash.
“Look, I hate to ask you this, but Isabel was sick last week and—”
“How much?” I whispered, glancing around as if someone could hear her.
Her voice was thick and shaky as she replied, “Maybe just two hundred bucks or so. Honestly, whatever you can spare.”
I’d give her five hundred.
“Yeah. That’s no problem. I’ll drop it off tonight after the girls go to bed.”
Her breathing shuddered, tears no doubt falling from her russet-brown eyes. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Just stay alive. That’s all I need.”
“I love you, Cora.”
“I love you too.” I didn’t dare say her name.
She’d been on the run since the day she’d testified against her father, Manuel Guerrero. If she was ever found, it would be her death sentence. And not just because her brothers, Dante and Marcos, would never stop looking for her. Her husband, who had once been tight with Manuel—but later, as the district attorney, put him behind bars—was hell-bent on finding her as well.
She was my only lifeline outside of that building. My survival depended on her ability to remain in the shadows. And I would do whatever it took to keep her away from them, including risking my life to bring her money.
Because, one day, she was going to be my only way out of this nightmare.
Catalina severed the call just as I hit the landing to the third floor. Sucking in a breath, I packed down the emotion that accompanied those calls. If I thought about it too long, those moments would destroy me.
In my weightlifting exercise of the day, I lifted my hand—and all seven thousand pounds of bags—to remove my phone from my ear and then kicked on the bottom of my apartment door. “Little help!”
All the locks clicked and then Savannah swung the door open.
A blast of mildew assaulted me. “Christ, it stinks in here.”
“You told me not to open the windows while you were gone.” She started grabbing bags from my outstretched arms.
She’d been on her best behavior in the two days since Chrissy had been kicked out. And considering that the water had to be shut off to half the building due to rusted-out pipes, I wasn’t about to complain. With thirty women sharing two bathrooms and the strong possibility of mold from the flooded floors and drywall giving my girls the black lung, I needed all the extra help I could get.
As I passed, River didn’t lift her head from her bowl of cereal. Unlike Savannah, River had been avoiding me since Chrissy’s departure. Or, more accurately, since she had first seen the giant bruise Marcos had left on my cheek.
I knew the silent treatment all too well—including how it would end.
She’d freeze me out for a few days, and then I’d make homemade lasagna and garlic bread. She’d cave and sit in the kitchen while it cooked, not speaking, but no longer avoiding. And then, when our plates were empty and we were both in a carb coma, she’d tell me a truth: how much she hated it when I allowed Marcos to put his hands on me in order to protect the other girls.
And then I’d tell her a lie: that I wouldn’t do it again.
