Page 135 of Forbidden Fate

What else could I do?

I’ve already done enough to her.

I fucked this up.

Not today.

Not when I told her about Eagle, though that was the moment I watched whatever fragile bridge we had built collapse.

Not when I took her from Texas.

Not even when I stood over her brother’s unconscious body and jabbed him with a needle full of drugs.

I fucked this up years ago.

The moment I let Vega take me under his wing.

No. That’s a lie.

The moment I wanted him to.

I was young, though.

Young and stupid.

Young and afraid.

Young enough to believe power was the same thing as safety. Stupid enough to mistake attention for salvation. Afraid enough that when a beautiful woman came to a brothel and told me a wealthy man knew my name, I let curiosity get the best of me.

Does that excuse everything I’ve done?

No.

Nothing excuses it.

Not my mother’s death. Not grief. Not poverty. Not Adriana’s touch on my cheek. Not Vega’s promises. Not the way he found me when I was half boy, half man, and taught me that following his orders made me respectable.

I’ve hurt people.

I’ve followed orders that should have made me run.

I’ve moved bodies, staged crimes, guarded prisoners, held my tongue while better men would have screamed.

But I never killed a man.

Until Zabala.

I look at my hands.

The blood is darker now, drying into the lines of my palms. Zabala’s. Señora V’s. Some of mine too. It all looks the same once it leaves the body.

I killed him.

I rammed a knife into his throat and watched the life leave his eyes.

Would Robin have done anything different?

The question rises before I can stop it, and I hate that I’m wondering.