Page 24 of Sangre
“Not all guys are cheats.” Madison put a potato skin on a small plate and handed it to her. “Are you glad you reconnected with Steve?”
A huge smile spread over her face. “ThatI didn’t plan. I mean, I toyed with the idea of contacting him or his family when I first got here, but my head was in a different place, and I didn’t want to deal with it.”He never tried to reach me after I left so I couldn’t face him, but he seems cool… like nothing weird or anything ever happened between us.“His name is Sangre now. The strange part is that he looks like Sangre and not like Steve anymore.” She took a sip of her wine.
“I see him sometimes around town on his Harley. He looks mean and scary. Once I found out he joined the Night Rebels, I kept my distance any time I saw him. He looks so different from high school, but I can’t say I’m shocked he hooked up with that biker gang. Remember how he used to get in so many fights? He came off as being angry a lot. I wonder why?”
“He’s a rebel like me. We don’t like to live in the world society dictates.” She took a bite of the appetizer. “You’re right about these potato skins. They are fabulous.”
“I always thought you guys would’ve hooked up. You both seemed into each other back in high school. I used to tease you about it.”
“We were only friends. Enough about me. Tell me more about Miguel.”
Madison grinned, took a drink of her martini, leaned forward, and began to talk. Isla let the words fall around her, absorb into her brain, welcoming the respite from thinking and fantasizing about Sangre. He was dangerous territory, and she couldn’t let her heart be broken by him again, but she also didn’t want to lose his friendship.I’m just going to have to focus on the band and not onhim.Easier said than done.
***
After engaging thealarm, Isla kicked off her stilettos, sighing blissfully when her feet sank into the rug, and picked up the mail from the foyer table. For the past couple of days, she’d let the mail pile up without even glancing at it. Her psychiatrist in LA told her that she should take mental health days, times when she didn’t deal with the everyday tasks that made her anxious, such as reading through volumes of emails, opening up mail, or listening obsessively to the news. Since she’d implemented his advice, life had been calmer, and her nerves were less frayed. Before settling in on the couch, she went upstairs to change and wash off her makeup.
Encased in a soft cotton night shirt and fuzzy socks, she poured a glass of wine, turned on “Caribbean Blue” by Enya, and stretched out on the couch. Enya was her go-to for grounding her, taking her out of the busyness of her head and letting peace flow through her.
Picking up the mail, she quickly perused it, her body freezing when she saw the now all too familiar handwriting on the envelope. With shaky fingers, she ripped it open, and a single notebook sheet of paper fell out. The printed words mocked her as the room spun around. Closing her eyes, she focused on taking steady, deep breaths while exhaling even more slowly. A friend of hers in LA had taught her that calming technique, and for the most part, it seemed to work on relaxing the whirlwind of anxiety that constantly threatened to overtake her. Opening her eyes again, she read the letter:
My sweet girl,
I fuckin’ love you. My body is yours as yours is mine.
You seem to have a lot of men hanging around you. Are you trying to make me jealous? It’s working. You know you belong only to me. I will love you for infinity. I’ll never lose you, sweet, sweet girl.
You will always have my heart and my soul. Our day to come together is nearing. Soon it’ll just be us and no one else.
I’m watching you, so you better fuckin’ behave. Don’t make me mad. I don’t want to hurt you. Only love you. I can’t wait to be inside you, fuckin’ you the way you deserve. You know what I mean.
I’m coming for you.
♥♥♥Your Best Fan♥♥♥
A rush of blood filled her head as icy fear gripped her nerves, squeezing hard and strangling her. The letter dropped from her hands, and instinctively, she looked around the room, scared to death she’d seehimlurking in the shadows.What the hell am I going to do? He’s watching me. I’m like a sitting duck waiting for the hunter to kill me. This is insane!
Leaping up from the couch, she knocked into the table, spilling her glass of wine. “Shit!” she yelled out loud, rushing to the kitchen and grabbing a handful of paper towels. The lilting sounds of Enya’s voice coupled with the swaying tune of her music that had relaxed her minutes before, now grated on her nerves. She cleaned the table then turned off the music. Her mind was racing a mile a minute. She ran around her house checking doors and windows, making sure the alarm system was engaged. Looking out on the quiet dark street, she saw Mark’s vehicle and the outline of him in the driver’s seat.But wait… what if it isn’t Mark? What if this fuckin’ loon killed him and is pretending to be him. Oh my God. He’s here. He’s going to kill me.
Without thinking, she grabbed her phone and tapped in Sangre’s number.
“Hey, I’m glad you called,” he said, voice low and deep.
“I think the psycho killed Mark and is pretending to be him in the SUV. He’s going to kill me. I know it. I got a letter from him, and he said he’s coming for me. He’s here. He hurt—”
“Slow the fuck down. Mark’s cool. I just talked to him. I’m coming over, so just calm down. I swear you’re safe.” She tried to muffle her sobs. “Damn, Isla. Please don’t cry.”
“I can’t help it.” Sobs escaped from her throat, and as hard as she tried, she couldn’t stop the shaking, the tears, or the unraveling of her nerves.
“I’ll call Mark and tell him to come inside until I get there. I’m walking out of the clubhouse right now.”
“No! Don’t tell him to come in. I know it’s not him. Just please hurry.”
“I just started my bike. Hang on, babe. Don’t melt down on me. It’s all okay.”
“Just hurry,” she whispered. She looked out the window again and the figure in Mark’s car appeared to be watching her. She gasped and moved away, flattening her body against the wall.A line of coke right now would really do the trick. I can’t relapse. I just can’t. Sangre’s on the way. He said everything’s okay.
She stayed glued to the wall for what seemed like a lifetime until she heard the heavy footsteps on her porch, followed by a tentative knock then the doorbell. The chimes shot through her like jolts of electricity during a shock treatment.
