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He lifts his chin in acknowledgment. “I get it. Take all the time you need.” He nods toward the open door. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”
“Thank you,” I say as I let the shower curtain fall closed.
Damn, that man is a mystery.
Sometimes, he reminds me of Diego with his constant moody scowl, and dark, almost soulless eyes. His gruff demeanor and lack of verbal communication is beyond frustrating.
But then he has those fleeting moments when he’ll touch me as though I’m precious, and he’ll speak to me as though he truly cares. Words likebabyandsweetheartdon’t come from the mouths of monsters, do they?
Jesus Christ, Isadora. This isn’t a bedtime story where the dark knight saves the princess.
Sinking to the tiled floor, I wrap my arms around myself. I allow the water to drown out my thoughts as I force my mindto focus on anything but the tender touch of a demon who will never be mine.
There’s something about the broken man that draws me to him, and I wonder if it’s because violence and anger is all I’ve ever known. It would be foolish to think I’ll ever find out, not with him being so intent on going after my father.
I’m under no illusion that there will be a happy ever after for Demon and me.
***
I allowed my pity party of one to last ten minutes.
The water ran cold, and I got out of the shower with wrinkled fingers and toes, and a body covered in goosebumps.
After dressing in a pair of sweatpants and a baggy tee, I made my way to the kitchen to find Demon sitting at the small, wooden table, paperwork and photographs spread out in front of him.
When my eyes catch on the image of my brother’s blood-soaked body, my hands shoot up to my mouth and I choke back a sob.
“Fuck, sorry. Fucking hell,” Demon swipes up the offending photograph and scrunches it into his balled fist. That only allows me to see the rest of the photographs, namely the ones of Demon fucking me in the hotel room.
Slowly, I drop down onto the chair beside him. “Where did you get these?”
He sighs and scratches at his chin before he places a hand on top of the pile of photographs. “These were at the hotel when we got back. Someone obviously slid the envelope under the door. Fuck, whoever it was… they’ve been following us.”
He shoves another pile toward me. “These are from Diego.”
“Whoever sent those,” I say, pointing toward the photographs of us fucking. “They killed Diego.”
Demon’s eyes narrow and little creases form between his brows. The urge to reach over and smooth my finger over them is strong, so I clasp my hands and explain. “The cartel… they photograph every hit, every kill. My father has a room where he keeps things like that.” I nod toward Demon’s balled fist where the photograph is crumpled in his big hand. Shaking my head, I recall the‘Wall of Death’ as I always thought of it, and add, “He calls it his shrine. It’s disgusting. The kills are like his trophies, but instead of mounting their actual heads on the wall, he mounts their pictures.”
“Jesus.” Demon grunts in disgust before he gathers a few pages from another pile together and hands them to me. “Do you know who these guys are?”
“I know them all,” I say. “These are the ones closest to my father.” I pass him five pages. “Juan might be the hardest to get past. His support for my father has never wavered. He’s jumped in front of a bullet for my father more times than I can count.”
Demon takes the page with Juan’s details and when he doesn’t say anything, I ask, “Will you ask your friends to help? The ones from the motorcycle club?”
“No.” He drops the papers on the table and crosses his arms. Looking up at the ceiling, Demon sighs then drops his head. “They’ve got families, people that need them… I need to do this alone.” He seems to mull something over in his own head while his expression changes from annoyance to something akin to regret. “There’s someone else I need to call though.”
Reaching out, he takes his phone from the table and makes a call.
“I need your help,” Demon says, and his wince when he says those words tells me he’s never asked for help in his life.
He listens intently for a long minute, and I don’t miss the way he swallows before he clamps his eyes shut and nods. “Got it.”
Demon stands and begins clearing the table. “He’ll be here in a few hours, he’s going to take you somewhere safe.”
“NO!” I shout, leaping to my feet. “No, I’m coming with you! You can’t leave me out of this, not now.” Anger courses through my veins and I storm toward him. “My brother was just murdered right in front of me, and you expect me to hide while you go after the bad guys?” I shove a pile of papers across the table. “You wouldn’t have any of this if it weren’t for me.”
Demon’s expression doesn’t falter. He merely watches me, his calm, arrogant demeanor fully in place. “You’re not coming, Isadora. That’s final.”
