On Every Street (The Artists Trilogy #0)
Page 19Still, I pushed past it. I took the night off of work and got dressed into a beautiful strapless gown, white with gold accents. It was the first time I’d gotten dressed up in a while, and I was delighted to be going with Javier, who I knew would look especially dashing in a tuxedo.
I rubbed some of the moisturizer on the tattoo and frowned at it in the bathroom mirror. It suited me just fine when I was wearing my usual jeans and boots, but in a fancy dress, I looked a bit punkish. I hoped it wasn’t too snotty of a fundraiser, because the tattoo would be the first clue that I didn’t really belong to my new lifestyle.
Javier was a lucky bastard; all his were hidden and even Wish would be covered up by his new watch.
“What are you doing in there?” I heard him call from the foyer. “I want to see you. And then I’ll want to fuck you. And then we’ll be late.”
I rolled my eyes and patted my updo. Sex or not, there was no way in hell he’d be ruining my hair after all the hours I had spent on it. “I’ll be there in a minute,” I shouted back, and smiled slyly to myself in the mirror. We were already sounding like an old married couple and I loved it.
When I was satisfied with everything, I came out, grabbing my clutch off the bed and sashaying down the hall. The gown was long and my sandals were gladiator style, both of them covering up my scars.
Javier, clad in a sleek black on black tuxedo, turned when he saw me, the biggest smile spreading across his face. It lit up his eyes and made him glow.
“You look beautiful,” he murmured. “Like a Roman goddess.”
“Good. I hoped I didn’t look like a bride.”
His eyes narrowed playfully and brought me right up to him, pressing me to his chest. “And why would looking like a bride be a bad thing, hmm?”
I blushed, feeling the awkwardness melt all over us. He was joking, of course, but we’d never even talked about the subject of marriage before.
“It’s not a bad thing…if you’re a bride,” I said with a teasing smile before kissing him.
“Maybe that can be arranged,” he said after pulling away, his eyes gazing into mine. He was sincere. The awkwardness came back.
I cleared my throat and raised my arm. “Hey, you don’t think I look a bit trampy with this tattoo, do I?”
He frowned, his smile wiped clean. “Who said you looked trampy?”
“No one,” I said quickly. “I just thought it didn’t go.”
His grip at my back tightened. “Go? It goes, Eden. It’s a part of you, just as I am. Are you saying I don’t go?”
I hadn’t heard such anger in his voice in a long time, and his normally perfect English wasn’t making much sense. I tried to placate him, running my hands through his hair, which was slightly sticky from product. “Javier, baby, please. I didn’t mean anything by it. If you think it looks good, then it looks good.”
His jaw twitched back and forth as he watched me, debating something in his head. The look made my heart race and not in a good way. I hated it when he’d get like this, like I was putting him down somehow or trying to get rid of him. I think sometimes he could tell that I wasn’t as in love with the tattoo as he was.
“Fine,” he said slowly. “But at least act like the woman you are. Be proud of your tattoo. Be proud of me. Especially when I introduce you to Travis.”
Everything stopped. Froze. Dead. Done.
Travis? Travis Raines?
“Angel, are you alright?” he asked. My hands had come off his hair and were shaking in front of me. Travis. I was going to see Travis. The year we’d been together, I’d seen Raul and Alex maybe a handful of times, Miguel a bit more than that. His work was swept under the rug.
“Please talk to me,” he said, his voice rising.
I turned away, tears springing to my eyes. Tears of fear and panic and revenge. I couldn’t go there and see Travis. I’d come undone.
“I…I can’t go,” I tried to say, my breath shallow, my lungs useless. “I can’t go.”
He grabbed my wrists and held me to him, bearing down on me. “Why? Why? Is it because of the job?”
I nodded, the lump in my throat sitting there like a grenade. I’d let him speak, let him figure it out, because I sure couldn’t.
“I know we said I wouldn’t discuss my work and we don’t. You know that. You know I keep you out of it.”
“I’m sorry, Eden. I didn’t think you’d mind. He’ll just be there; it’s got nothing to do with what I do. A lot of the higher ups in Mississippi will be there, you’ll see. I just have to introduce you if we see him. We’ve been together for a year and you haven’t met him yet. He’s dying to meet you.”
And if I met him, I would die.
“Oh, come now,” he whispered, bringing my head to his chest. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I didn’t think what I did affected you so much. But of course I am foolish not to see it. You’re young and pure and beautiful and have no business in my world. I will remember to keep them more separate. From now on.”
He peered down at me, wiping my tears away with this thumbs. “But you do understand that I still have to go. Don’t you?”
Did I? Did I understand that? I didn’t know so I just leaned into him again, trying to regain my breath and control my thoughts. My reaction was surprising even to me, to know that the beast, that ghost, was still lurking inside me somewhere. It terrified me more than anything else to know it could come back so fucking easily.
He kissed the top of my head. “I never want to love anything more than you.”
I should have made him promise that.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The sky outside the window was black, a moonless night. The room was somehow darker. I was still awake when I heard Javier return from the fundraiser. I had spent the evening crying in his absence, until there was nothing left in me to cry. I curled up into our bed and waited for him, lost in my thoughts, battling with my heart.
“Angel,” he whispered into the silence. He had come in the room and I heard him quietly removing his clothes. He smelled like cigarette smoke, probably from Alex, and a lot of hard liquor. He went to the bathroom, being extra careful with the lights, then came into bed.
“Eden,” he said softly, pulling the covers up to him. I lay on my side, my eyes open, staring out into the night, my back to him. I felt him touch my hair, pushing it off the pillow. He gently kissed the back of my neck, breathing in deep, waiting for my response. But I didn’t say anything. I feigned sleep. And after a few moments, while I tried not to hold my breath, Javier slowly rolled over to his side. Shortly after that, he was snoring lightly and I felt free once again. Free with my thoughts, free to wrestle with my heart. Free to face the ghost who came screaming back into my life, more tangible than any wispy apparition.
The concept of having to face Travis, of knowing he was out there, was still too much for me to bear. I wondered if I’d ever get over it. I wondered if I should. How could I go on being with Javier, knowing what he did? How long could I ignore the truth again before it slapped me in the face? He was the leader of the cartel that Javier’s father had been a part of. That Javier joined for revenge. He wouldn’t be leaving it anytime soon—Travis would forever be a part of his life, just like he’d forever have a hand in mine.
I just didn’t know what to do. I wasn’t used to being a woman of inaction. I didn’t like this middle ground I was caught in, unable to make a decision without second guessing it. I went a year with my darkness buried and in an instant it was everywhere.
I closed my eyes and tried to imagine life without Javier. It gutted me, to my very soul, to have to go on without him. I then tried to replace that emptiness with vengeance, but it didn’t seal the hole. No matter what happened, the life I chose was going to hurt. I could stay with Javier, the love of my life, and be reminded of why I came to be with him in the first place. Or I could somehow get my revenge again and feel vindicated but hollow.
Of course, I knew I couldn’t do that. My love for Javier was too overpowering, and more selfishly, I thrived on his love for me. He was a killer and yet I accepted it, because to have his love and devotion was like getting the pardon of a tyrannical king. I wasn’t a lamb but he was the lion.
I just had to remember how sharp his teeth were.
The digital clock glowed 3:30 a.m. when I woke, my heart already beating in my throat. Did I have a horrible dream or did something else wake me? I looked beside me. Javier was gone, the thick covers thrown back.
A scream rattled my ears, squeezing my heart. I sat up and leaped out of bed, unsure of what was happening. It was still dark as anything, the ocean outside the window black like a pool of ink. I slipped on my pajama pants and made my way to the door, noting the light coming under the crack. I wished I had a knife or some type of weapon.
Javier’s gun!
I scampered over to his bedside table, stubbing my toe on the bed as I went. I swore quietly through the pain and frantically searched the drawer. The gun he kept there was gone. I knew he had others in the house, but I had no idea where. The study, maybe, but that was outside where the scream had come from. Now I could hear talking and the occasional outburst. What the fuck was going on?
I grabbed a pair of cuticle scissors from the bathroom counter, and holding them in my hand like I was about to stab someone, I slowly opened the door and poked my head out into the hall.
There were shadows on the walls from the kitchen and a whole lot of Spanish going on. I crept down the hall, against my better judgement.
There were four men in my kitchen.
One was Miguel, sitting in a chair, hands tied behind his back, a strip of shiny duct tape over his mouth. The other man was Raul, holding back Miguel’s head, his fist in his hair. Alex was standing a few feet away, closest to me. And of course, naturally, oh I suddenly saw how natural it was, there was Javier, holding a long, shiny knife to Miguel’s throat.
I barely recognized my lover. That cold reptilian glaze had come over his eyes, the same look I saw when he shot Tom in the back. This was the boy from Mexico who wanted vengeance. This was the man I said lived in a world of grey, when everything at this moment pointed to being either black or white.
He was black. So very black.
“What are you doing?” I whispered, panic rising in my throat. I was amazed I had the courage to speak, to confront this.
“Go back to your room,” he said, the knife still held in place. Miguel’s eyes were searching mine, pleading with me to do something. His nostrils flared above the tape, taking in what might be his last breath.