Page 12 of Total Abandon

“Expensive stress relief, brother,” Logan drawls from where he is propped up on the arm of my couch. I grunt, knocking back the amber liquid clumsily so the glass clashes against my teeth. Then it joins the other one in a tinkling crash of glass against the marble floor.

“Papi?” The small, trembling voice has me spinning on the spot. Diego stands frozen at the foot of the grand sweeping staircaseto the second floor, his tatty old blanket clutched in one hand and trailing behind him. I want to reach into my chest and rip out my own heart at the scared look on his face right now. I grew up around violence and I swore I would never abide that for my son.

“Mi chico ángel, I’m so sorry.” My voice is hoarse as I force myself toward him, trying to quell my shaking hands. One fat tear rolls down his tawny cheek as I near. I sweep him up into my arms, holding his warm body tightly to my chest as he wraps his arms around my neck and sniffs into my shoulder. “It’s okay, I promise, Papi is okay,” I say gruffly, feeling the bridge of my nose tingle in a way that I haven’t felt since the day he was born.

“W-why are you smashing stuff, Papi?” Big, confused brown eyes blink up at me as he pulls back, slicing off another little piece of my heart.

“Adults do silly things when they’re angry sometimes, kid.” Logan comes up behind me, cupping the back of Diego’s head as he speaks.

“Like when Papi pretends his hand is the claw and tickles me with it?” He perks up, sniffling back the moisture in his eyes. My chest feels a little looser for having him in my arms. I wanted to go to him the moment I got home, but I knew I wasn’t in the right frame of mind.

“A bit like that, buddy.” I sigh, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I’m sorry if I scared you.”

He purses his lips and casts his eyes down to my chest, picking at the hem of my shirt. “I was just worried about you.” There’s that fucking tingle again that has me thinking I might do something fucking insane like produce a tear. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes.

“How about you let your uncle put you back to bed, little D?” Logan jumps in, offering his hands out.

Fickle little thing that he is, Diego bares his gummy smile at my brother and leans over to reach for him. Logan scoops him up, throwing him up into the air and earning himself a delighted chorus of giggles. I offer my brother a nod of thanks and watch them head for the stairs.

Okay Guerra, pity party over. Time to use your best asset and figure a way out of this where your asshole father doesn’t win. By the time Logan returns, I’m pacing. Alcohol forgotten. “He go down okay?”

“Yup,” Logan replies, folding himself down onto the couch cushions. “Still not sure how your grumpy ass produced such a sweet kid.” He stifles a yawn as he buries the heels of his palms into his eyes.

I ignore his jibe and continue pacing. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Steady on, you’ll hurt yourself.” Logan snorts, peering up at me through bleary eyes.

“Wind your fucking neck in for once and listen,” I snap, not in the mood for his usual shit right now.

“Yes, boss,” he drawls, throwing one arm across the top of the charcoal suede back.

“When someone pulls a knife on you, what do you do?” I bite, clenching my hands into fists and releasing them again.

“I don’t know, pull out a knife too?” He huffs, scrunching his nose.

“No, you pull out a fucking gun.”

That has his attention, and he’s leaning forward with a stern look on his face. “You can’t shoot our father.”

I let out a humorless laugh. “Be a little less literal for once in your life, Logan.”

He relaxes a bit, sinking back into the cushions. “Metaphorical gun, got it.” He nods.

“We both know there has to be an inordinate amount of shit we can dig up on Miguel. So why don’t we use that to leverage him out of the picture?” I pause at the floor-to-ceiling windows, my eyes tracing the bright lights of the sprawling city below. My father was encased in the criminal underbelly of one of Columbia’s largest cartels for the first half of his life. There are sure to be bodies. Both literal and figurative. “Send him far away where we never fucking hear from him again.”

Silence.

I turn, noticing the steely glint that has seeped into my brother's eyes. “You would have to be willing to go through with it, if he didn’t acquiesce.”

I’ve already weighed that, of course. And it boils down to this. Over my dead body will I allow my father to snatch away the one portion of peace my mother gets on this earth. Even if it came after her death. He can leave of his own free will, or he can rot in prison—his choice. I don’t need to reply, because I can tell he sees it written on my face as clear as day, just like I do his.

“So, you’ll pretend you’re willing to marry the girl until we can get what we need?”

I snort, tilting my neck to the side until it clicks and sends a shard of relief slithering down my spine. “Fuck no. I won’t subject her to that. She’s Colombian, she would be shunned by her community when I eventually break it off.”

Logan clears his throat and swipes a hand over his brow. No doubt he’s feeling the effects of a sleepless night and the evening from hell. “So, who?”

“I don’t know,” I muse aloud. “Hooker, maybe?”