Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
I remember when that happened. Between that, the other scars on his face and forearms, and the thick line where the rope bit into his neck as he hanged strangling while we watched, he looks like what he is: a killer, a machine trained and programmed to kill.
In some ways, I feel sorry for him. He shares the Commander’s blood. What he and I did is different for me. The Commander was my tormentor, my enemy. Nothing more. For Thiago, the baggage came with a whole lot of other baggage.
“The years haven’t been too hard on you,” Thiago says in his thick, gravelly voice.
“Harder on you, I think.”
A ghost of a smile widens his lips, and he tips the glass in my direction. “Here’s to the truth.” He swallows the contents and pours another. The bottle is nearly empty, and I’m guessing that’s all him. “Don’t drink anymore?”
I shake my head. “Can’t. Not if I want my head on straight.”
He nods because he knows me. In fact, Thiago Avery may know me better than anyone else in the whole world, even Caius, if I’m honest with myself. He’s seen me in my darkest hours.
“You climbed high on the social ladder, Santos. Let me see your hands.” Confused, I hold them over the table and turn them over. “Just as I thought. Can’t quite wash the blood off.”
I study this man who was once a friend because I think it was that friendship that destroyed him, that turned the Commander so wholly against his own flesh and blood, and that made Thiago’s punishments a hundred times worse than mine.
“Are you doing okay, Thiago?”
“Loaded question.” He drinks. “As okay as anyone who is guilty of what I am guilty of can be. You?”
I take a breath in. “Your father lost any power over me when he disappeared. It was a choice I made. A conscious choice. You should do the same.”
“Are you a philosopher now? Have you found Jesus?”
I grit my jaw, take the bottle of whiskey, and pour myself two fingers.
Thiago smiles, then touches his glass to mine, and we drink.
“What did your sister mean about being neighbors?”
He shrugs. “Real estate is a solid investment. You must know that, given your holdings.”
“What did you do?”
“Avarice was too small for my father, but turns out my family wants to try the small-town experience after all. I did what any good son and brother would do. I bought them a house.”
My heart thuds a slow, heavy beat and I wait.
“Although if I know my kid sister, there was nothing neighborly in her intent with your wife.” He grins and takes a swallow. I can understand him. He’s torn, like he always was, between what is right and what is duty. “Between you and me, she’s still a little heartsick over your rejection,” he says, leaning in for effect.
“You’d have to have a heart for it to be sick.”
Again, he shrugs. “Just keep a close eye on your wife. Wouldn’t want her to get hurt.”
“What do you want, Thiago?”
“Me? Nothing. There is nothing on this earth that I could ever want. My family, though? They want. They grasp. They are greedy for more. Always more.” His lip curls in disgust. “And vengeance runs thick in our blood. Dad’s special gift. They want revenge.”
“Revenge against me?”
“Who else?”
“For what, exactly? I was your father’s puppet. I should be the one seeking revenge.”
“Come on, Santos. This is me. I know what you did. What we did.”
I take a moment. “Do they know your involvement?”
He looks down into his glass, swirling it, studying it as if there could be an answer there. He shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”
“I won’t tell them.”
He looks up at me. “I’m not afraid of them, and I don’t need you to do me any favors.”
“It’s not a favor.”
“No? In exchange for keeping my secret, you probably want me to nix the move to Avarice. Right?”
“Like you said, you and I will do anything for our families. For those we care about.”
“Do you care about her then?”
The question catches me off guard. “What?”
One corner of his mouth turns upward. “Santos, Santos, Santos.” He clucks his tongue and shakes his head. “Take good care to make sure Camilla never knows that.”
“She’s one of the innocents. You remember those?”
At that he smiles fully, all teeth. “Oh, do I ever. I wish I could forget them for one fucking minute.” He pours the last of the whiskey into his glass, filling it all the way, and drinks it like it’s water.
I understand him because I can hear them too. I can feel their screams locked in each line that marks my arms and shoulders. They burn like fire, as if I were cutting into myself even now. But that was the point, wasn’t it?
He reaches into his breast pocket and takes out his wallet. From inside he draws two hundred-dollar bills and drops them onto the table before sliding to the edge of the booth. “Watch yourself, Santos.”