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He nods, but now he looks helpless.
Their assassinations have been all over the news for weeks. The killers were never apprehended, and now I see why. Because there is only one and his name is Victor Salinas.
And now I’m alone in this treehouse with him.
In the middle of the forest.
How didn’t I notice him before?
I couldn’t have, because the picture the news showed of him is completely different from who stands in front of me now. The picture was obviously taken years ago, as his hair was much longer, and his nose and mouth are now different. He’s obviously had some light cosmetic surgery done to change his appearance, but it’s made a huge difference.
“Can we go back to a second ago when you said you wouldn’t look at me differently?” he asks.
I unconsciously take a step back. “How could you do something like that?” I ask honestly, desperately trying to understand.
He shakes his head. “You wouldn’t get it. You’re too innocent. Too pure.”
“I get that you’re a criminal. I get that you’ve murdered people and done countless other terrible, horrible, unmentionable things that I don’t even want to think about right now, but killing a world leader is one of the worst.”
He doesn’t say anything for so long, I wonder if I’ve upset him. I’m about to ask him when he says, “I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”
My heart softens. “I’m not. I’m just… alarmed, is all. I know Ezra’s killed a bunch of people, but he’s never even touched the subject of murdering the president. And you killed two of them.”
Sticking his balled hands into his pockets, he looks down at his feet.
“My opinion of you won’t change, Vic. It’ll just take me a while to get used to all of this.”
“You dated Ezra for a year,” he points out.
I nod. “Yeah, but he kept me in the dark about most things. I always had an idea of what he could be doing, but he sheltered me from as much as he could.”
“Except the basement.”
I cringe.
Vic chuckles. “I heard about that a few weeks ago. It must have been so scary for you.”
I wave a hand dismissively. “I don’t want to talk about that. I just want to be with you right now.”
That cocky grin I like so much is back. “Good. I want to be with you, too.”
I start looking around to avoid his longing gaze, butterflies fluttering violently in my stomach. A few pictures hanging on the wall catch my eye. When I take a closer look, I see that it’s a beautiful young woman with thick black hair and a carefree smile holding an adorable little boy, maybe two or three-years-old. “This is your mother?”
He comes to stand beside me. “Sí.”
“She’s beautiful.”
Sadness fills his eyes as he nods. “She was.”
I turn to look at him. “I’m sorry she’s not here anymore.” I want to know why, but I would never ask him such a thing when I only met him a few weeks ago.
He looks at me, those dark brown eyes imploring. “She would have liked you.”
I smile. “You think so?”
“I do.”
We stand like that for a moment, the two of us just looking into each other’s eyes. He breaks the silence when he asks, “how did you even know that was me? It could have been my papá and shinálí.”
