Page 71 of Intent to Kill
“Carlos and I need you for something,” she said. “He’s waiting downstairs.”
It was far too early in the morning for the intrusion. He’d never been a morning person.
His sleep attire was only light gray sweatpants, and though she clearly tried not to, her eyes betrayed her and settled on his bare skin.
Pride had him puffing up his chest. He wanted her to take him in. To remember. But, to his surprise, the wicked smirk playing on her lips dissolved in an instant.
“Those scars,” she said, eyes pained. “You can see the holes from the stitches.”
Right, the scars. He had forgotten about them, honestly. He certainly wasn’t ashamed of his body, even less so of the white, raised tissue that healed over his bullet wounds. But he forgot that she’d never seen the scars before.
“Three shots,” he said. He took her hand in his and placed it over the scars one by one. “One.” He pressed her fingers into his sternum. “Two.” He let her fingers slide down to the left side of his ribcage. “Three.” He slid her fingers through his abs to his lower torso.
Her palm shook when she withdrew it, her breathing quickened, the glint in her eye making it seem like she could feel the bullets. Something stirred in her eyes that she was trying to keep hidden. Adam could see it.
“I should be dead,” he said.
Leaving her, he picked a white t-shirt from his drawer, sliding it over his muscled chest. “I would’ve been, if it weren’t for you.”
He slid the drawer shut, watching her for any willingness to discuss. He didn’t find it, and he wouldn’t push it.
“After you,” he said, opening the door and bowing to wave her through. She wouldn’t look at him the whole way down to street level. She was still his Mercedes. Always. But something had changed. He feared he’d been the one to change it. He just hoped it wasn’t permanent.
Down on the street, they found Carlos leaning against the side of his car. “Bro.” Carlos jumped when he saw them. “You gotta check this out.”
Opening the back door, Carlos revealed an assortment of chemicals, beakers, and metal drums scattered along the seat.
“What is it?” Adam asked.
“This... is the future,” Carlos said. Well, at least someone was excited about it. Grabbing a beaker, Carlos presented it forward and beamed like he was holding proof that unicorns existed. “We can use this to turn our regular old cocaine hydrochloride supply into crystallized rocks. Apparently, it’s a big seller, we’ll edge Dorian right out of the market.”
Science, science. Chemicals, chemicals. Nonsense.
“Rocks?” Adam said, smothering his laugh.
“Yeah, man,” Carlos nodded. “The effects are instant, and it sells for more than coke does.” Nobody should’ve been excited about cooking up drugs, but Carlos was. Sweet little Catholic Carlos.
“You’re gonna cook this?” Adam shook his head, finding Mercedes suppressing a giggle of her own.
“Yeah, easy,” Carlos said. “This is the shit they’ve been making in Darton. Bet I can make it a whole lot better though.”
“Fucking hell, alright.” Adam finally succumbed to his laughter. “Let’s get the kit upstairs then.”
Carlos scooped the equipment into his arms, piling it high and struggling to see over the top of his loot as he hobbled up the stairs. Like a kid on Christmas.
Adam made to follow him, but stopped when he felt his arm being tugged back. Mercedes held him at the elbow.
“There’s something else,” she said. “Something bad, possibly.”
“What is it?” he frowned, letting her drop his arm from her grip, though he instantly missed the touch.
“Dorian knows someone is after him,” Mercedes said, adding before Adam could explode with panic, “He doesn’t know who yet.”
Damn.
“He’s catching up,” Adam said, more resigned to the fact than worried.
“He’s catching up,” Mercedes agreed.
