Rogue (Dead Man's Ink, #2)(39)

The ghost of a smile flickers across his face. Bending to pick up the piece of rag I threw, he grunts. “Like I said. Maybe. Maybe not.”

Maria Rosa groans. It’s not the kind of groan she’d fake. She’d want to sound sexy, even through her pain. No, this is the kind of groan someone makes when they’re in agony and their head’s not working right. Rebel turns his attention to her, and I catch a glimpse of how much trouble she’s in…

If the look on my brother’s face were to be categorized by a single act of violence in recent history, it would be codenamed Hiroshima. He’s going to kill her. I can read that fact in every line of his body. He’s wound so tight, I’d be surprised if he even waits for her to wake up before he starts on her.

“Are you okay, man? I can do this on my own if you need me to?”

“And you won’t end up f*cking her brains out instead of teaching her a lesson?” He lifts both eyebrows at me, clearly convinced that this is what will happen if I’m left alone in a room with her.

“I can get it done.” And I can. Ever since Laura went missing, the closest we ever came to finding her was at Maria Rosa’s place. Too many people told the same story. Too many people said she had her. Rebel and I turned her place upside down once Mother let us have free rein, but there were those three days. Those three days where she was deciding if she hated or loved us. She could easily have had any girls she was hiding in her villa relocated, never to be seen again. Buried, thrown into a ditch somewhere for wild animals to pick their bones clean.

Yeah, I can get this done.

I know he won’t agree to leaving me here with her, though. Even if he did think I was capable of making her talk all by myself, his conscience wouldn’t let him. He’d never ask me to do something he wasn’t prepared to do himself. That’s how we’ve ended up in this situation so many times. Together.

Maria Rosa stirs again. She makes a delirious, gurgling kind of sound at the back of her throat, and then her head lolls back, eyes finally shuttering open. Rebel clenches his jaw, readying himself. This is not going to be fun for anyone involved, but he’s angry enough right now that it won’t trouble him as much as usual.

“Good sleep, Mother?” he growls. Slowly, he begins to pace around her in a circle, wrapping the torn piece of rag around his fingers over and over again. “You’re planning on gracing us with your presence, I see.”

Maria Rosa’s pupils dilate, desperately trying to focus on her surroundings. She’s very clearly having problems, though. She’s lost a lot of blood. And she was hysterical before that anyway. God knows where they were before they came burning out of the desert, but something serious obviously went down. Serious enough to end Rico, anyway. Rebel told me about the last time he saw Maria Rosa in Vegas—that she and Rico put on quite a show for Carnie. She f*cked Rico right in front of them. Even back in Colombia, it was fairly plain that Rico was in love with her. It was only a matter of time. The woman can never resist a man who fawns over her, no matter if she’s attracted to him or not. She’ll f*ck a guy just to make him purr. From the show she put on as Rico was dying, however, I wouldn’t be surprised if she actually had some form of feelings for the guy. Not real feelings, of course. She’s not capable. But some sort of…tolerance for him. More than she ever felt for me, that’s for sure. She repeatedly said she was in love with me, but you don’t attempt to stab someone you’re in love with to death. At least not in my limited experience.

She blinks drunkenly up at Rebel, and everything seems to hit her all at once—Rico dying, threatening Sophia…she probably remembers Trader Joe’s and the heat we pulled from the DEA last, because an ashen, gray color sweeps across her face, turning her into a ghost.

“Oh, my, my,” she whispers. Her words are slurred but still audible. “I suppose this is quite ironic, no?”

“Not really,” Rebel replies. “I’d say it was more…karmic retribution. Do you believe in karma, Mother?”

“Only the bad kind.” She leans forward and spits on the floor—blood and saliva mixed together. “I’m guessing you’re very angry with me, my love.”

Rebel laughs. He tips his head back and howls so loud I’m sure people in town can hear him. “You could say that. Yes, I’m just a little bit mad with you. Can you blame me, though? I mean, you sent men in to a grocery store wearing Widow Makers’ cuts and you had them kill a whole bunch of innocent people. That wasn’t very nice, was it?”

Maria Rosa rolls her eyes. “It was a warning. Nothing more. The cops were never going to charge you. That’s why I had that fat one wear the president’s cut. The police would do a little digging and pull up the club’s details, see your handsome face and know it was the wrong guy, and they would figure it out. That’s why I chose Los Angeles not New Mexico, you spoiled little shit.”

“I’m the spoiled little shit?” Rebel grinds his teeth. I just stand there, leaning against the wall, waiting. At some point one of them is going to drag me into this, but until then I’m quite content sitting it out on the sidelines. Rebel shakes his head, scowling at Maria Rosa.

“You’re petulant, and you have the stones to call me spoiled? I came to you for help in good faith, and now look at where we are.”

“We are here because you have no f*cking sense of humor, Rebel. We’re here because I messed up your pretty girlfriend’s hair. Kind of pathetic, don’t you think? She’s still pretty. She still has all of her hair. Even though she killed Rico.”