Falling with Grace - Page 154

“I mean, it’s not really overreaching as it is valid—”

“Goodbye, Charity.”

“Fine.” She pulled out her phone and snapped a picture. “He’s gonna want evidence.”

“Don’t come back here again.”

“No problem-o.” She gave a mock salute. “Also, some of your guys are gonna have a bit of a headache when they wake up.” She disappeared around the corner.

“I’m going to kill her.” Javier moved towards the door.

“Settle down.” I propped my ankle on my knee, my gun digging into my back. “We can’t risk a war with the Morenos.”

“But we could before?”

“I didn’t have the unrest as I do now.” I sighed and kept my eyes on the door for a while longer, then turned to Carter. “What were we saying before?” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Oh, right. How did you get a wife like that?”

“I…What do you mean?” His lower lip hung as though I’d severed the muscles holding it up.

“You like to carve up women, right?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know what you mean.” The string of saliva snapped as he spoke. “Is that what this is about?” His muscles trembled as his fingers shook against the table and knives. “Since when does the cartel play vigilante?”

A smile crept over my face. “There isno vigilante work here, Carter.”

“Okay, so what?”

I scoffed and pushed off the table. “I don’t care about your devious desires. That’s not my issue—”

“Then, let me go.”

I lunged and snagged the knife handle, giving it a half turn. His screams radiated from his lungs, piercing my ears. “Do not interrupt me.” I sneered, bearing my teeth. “Where’s Andrés Ortiz?”

His swollen, wet eyes shifted to the left as I released the knife holding him and stepped towards the shelf cut into the wall with the saint positioned there.

Carter shook his hanging head, the wrinkles in his face deeper as he frowned. “I haven’t seen that asshole since he broke my legs. And for what? Some dumb bitch.”

I struck a long match along the box and lit the candle at the base, my insides roiling with violence. “Do you know what this statue means, Carter?”

“N-no.”

“Santa Muerte.” I tossed a silver coin at the saint’s feet and turned back to him, saying a quick prayer before touching the table. “Our patron saint of death.”

“What does that have to do with Andrés?”

I laughed. “Nothing. Under the gaze of Santa Muerte, no bad deeds make it to God’s eyes, and the silver coins ensure that. It means no matter what I do to you today, it will be as though it never happened.”

The man blubbered as I picked another sharpened steel knife off the butcher’s block and walked behind him.

“Where is Andrés?”

“I don’t know. He picked up and left soon after I got out of the hospital. He never stays in one place for long. Please.”

My teeth ground against one another, my jaw clenched tight.

“I told you what you wanted to know.”

“It would have never been good enough.” I slashed the knife from the base of his neck to the end of his shirt, working around his body until the shirt fell away. Blood dribbled from the nicks and long slashes, his cries for mercy falling on deaf ears.