Page 49 of Cuervo's Carnival
“You’ve been in a coma,” Pax states as soothing as he can.
She shakes her head as her onyx hair dishevels with her motions. “No shit, Pax,” she groans. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to come off harshly, but I gathered that, hence, all of this.” Again, she tries to lift her hands, despite the tubes and IVs that prod her skin, and this time, she successfully lifts them. However, as her hands raise to emphasize the dingy hospital room we are in, I hear a clinking sound. I shift my gaze down to see what fell as I move up from the bed and Pax comes closer, filling in the space I just left.
“That’s our feisty girl.” He smiles, grabbing hold of her hand. “It was Roberto,” he begins.
“No surprise there,” Lola tries to chuckle, but she winces. “Fuck, everything hurts,” she whimpers in a frustrated sigh.
I keep an ear out for their conversation as I am now kneeling in front of the bed, trying to see what fell. The fluorescent lighting above us reflects off a small onyx ring. Reaching for it from the floor, I pick it up and dust it off on my jeans before walking back over to join the conversation.
“And?” I chime in. “Don’t leave the best fucking part out,” I add with sarcasm, feeling the anger rise to the surface again.
Pax’s eyes sadden. By the way he brings his fingers to the loopholes of his jeans and sways onto the balls of his feet, it’s obvious he can’t bring himself to say it.
“It was Zeke,” I blurt. The words hurt to say as much as I’m sure they hurt Lola hearing it.
“Zeke?” she asks, but I can’t read the expression on her face. I stare at her, expecting her to look confused, crushed, angry—instead, her brow furrows, as if she is trying to piece together a jigsaw puzzle.
“She warned me of this,” she whispers, still with the same expression on her face.
Pax’s lips finally part, making his way closer to her bedside. “Who warned you, Lo?”
Lola shakes her head, turning her attention to me. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
I walk around to the other side of the bed, where she moves her legs in for me to sit by her side. “Apparently, the night Zeke took you out for drinks, when we…” I pause. Anger begins to rage inside my bloodstream. I don’t even know if I can finish my sentence.
“It’s okay, Cil,” Pax thankfully swoops in. “The night we were setting up at Night’s Plutonian, and you went out for drinks with Zeke, we think he had Roberto sneak in and place a tracker on your phone.”
“Fuck, so that engine I heard, was them on their bikes. I fucking knew it was someone. And that vibrating I felt on my phone with no message—” she begins.
“Was the fucking tracker,” I interrupt. “Apparently, breaking our oath was reason enough for that bastard fucking brother of yours to want you, of all people, dead,” I exclaim, pounding my fist into the rock-hard hospital mattress. My fist immediately aches from the firm surface. “Fucking Christ, what do they have you sleeping on, a slab of stone?” I say, about to go grab a nurse to get something to cushion the bed, when she stops me.
“Where are they, Roberto and Zeke?” she asks.
“They were discharged,” Pax says with a grin.
“Holy shit, and how the fuck are you two alive right now telling me this?”
“Because they are discharged doesn’t mean we don’t have them detained,” I grin.
Her face looks like she has seen a ghost. I know it’s a lot to put on her all at once, but her face tilts toward my hand, suddenly mesmerized by it.
“You okay, baby? I know this has been a lot,” I say, stroking her hand through the IV.
“I can’t say I’m surprised. Zeke was acting fucking weird for a while. I guess he is more like my father than I thought. But what’s in your hand?” she asks, staring at my fist.
Almost forgetting that I picked the ring up from the floor, I open my clenched palm. “I found this on the floor.”
Her eyes water as she brings the ring closer to her face. “Oh, my gods,” she whispers.
“What is it?” I ask, as I see her studying the ring that looks like it has an engraving on it.
“Can I see your phone?” she asks me, tears filling her eyes.
“Um, sure,” I say, reaching for my phone. “What do you need?”
She spreads the fingers of her free hand, motioning for me to give her the phone.
Slowly, she scrolls through the text messages, and more tears form, flowing from her eyes. “Abuela,” she whispers.
