Page 53 of Harbor

Whatever the fuck someone wanted to call it.

They weren’t meant to be apart, so yeah, he got why she wanted to fight him on this. He understood why she wanted him to get in that car with her because he wanted to do that, too. But he couldn’t. Not right now. Someone had tried to fuck them over, which as a byproduct, hurt the people he loved the most.

Renzo couldn’t have that.

Not without answering it.

His lips worked against hers in a brutal kiss—every time he touched, loved, or tasted this woman, he swore he left a piece of himself behind with her when he was finished.

It didn’t even matter.

She could take it all.

All of him was hers.

Pulling away, but still letting his lips graze along hers as he spoke, Renzo stroked Lucia’s cheeks with his thumbs. He pretended like he didn’t see the trail of tears slipping out of the corners of her eyes.

It was easier this way.

“In your bag,” he murmured, “you’re gonna find an address. I stuffed it in there when you were putting Diego’s shoes on him earlier. A place in San Francisco—that’s where you’re to go, no matter what. I will follow. We will either meet up before, or after, but I will follow. That’s where you are to go, no turning around or looking back. Do you get me?”

Lucia refused to speak.

Renzo pulled her back, and held her a little tighter. “Lucia, do you get me?”

Finally, she nodded. “Yeah, Ren, I got you.”

Of course, she did.

Even when she didn’t want to.

• • •

“Ren,” the muscle who opened Tucker’s door greeted, “I thought you were told to get the fuck out of this—”

Renzo didn’t even let the man finish his sentence before he reared back, and pistol-whipped the fucker right in the face. Blood painted the wall with a bright red as it spewed from the fool’s mouth. His body hit the wall, the surprise from the attack clearly taking him off guard. Renzo might have taken a second to enjoy the satisfaction he felt about finally getting some of this violent need out of his system, but he couldn’t even be bothered to do that.

He had shit to do.

Things to handle.

Pulling back, he hit the guy once more just to make sure he was out, and staying that way. Stepping over the guy’s body in the doorway, Renzo knew he didn’t have time to fuck around now. Tuck wasn’t a goddamn idiot. He would have heard what just happened, and was likely preparing for it.

That was fine, too.

Closing the door behind him, Renzo readied his gun and headed down the hall. “Tuck!”

“Man, get the fuck out of here,” he heard called back. “I gave you a chance, didn’t I?”

Renzo laughed, dark and bitter. The taste of hate coated his tongue, and it had a tangy bite he didn’t like at all. That was the thing about betrayal, even if one should simply expect it to happen in this life, it always tasted sour in the end. Something you didn’t want in your mouth at all, but it was going to be there nonetheless.

At the end of the hall, Renzo stayed tucked close to the wall. He listened through the darkness of Tuck’s apartment, and heard what he was waiting for. The shuffle of clothes, and the beat of a foot hitting hardwood. The only place in the apartment that had hardwood—from what Renzo noticed—was the goddamn kitchen.

“How much, huh?” Renzo called out.

“What are you going off about—”

“How much money did you take to sell us out to the Marcellos, Tuck? At least give me the respect of letting me know how much you think I’m worth, yeah?”