Jacinta took two plates from a shelf.
“One plate only, honey.” Demon tabulated this new info. “No one retires from FARC and lives to tell the tale.”
“That is true. And why Sister Helen trained me and the younger nuns. She feared they would find out where she lived. We patrolled the grounds vigilantly. And only Sister Concilli had contact with the outside.” She returned one of the white dishes to its storage spot.
“How many nuns are in this cloister?” After Jacinta loaded the food onto the plate, Demon lifted her onto his lap.
“Eleven elders and only five younger. When I was a little girl, there were many more. But first the malaria and then the sleeping sickness claimed half.” Jacinta batted his hands away when Demon attempted to pick up a fork. “This time, I feed you. You are a large man and need your strength. Do not think I haven’t noticed you do not eat until I have finished.”
Demon tried not to grimace at the first bite. She obviously didn’t know dried cod was almost always salted and needed to be washed in water before it became edible. “And how old is Sister Helen?”
“Sadly she is near fifty and very worried about caring for the elders. That is why I want to talk to her. I have decided that though I will not take my vows, I will help care for them until they rest in peace.”
Over his dead body. No way he’d let her go back to the cloister. No way she left his side. “When did Sister Helen join the cloister?”
She shrugged. “She has always been there. I do not remember a time she wasn’t there.”
“When did you get to the cloister?”
“I have no memory of any other place.”
She’d been sent to the cloister as a baby. If Sister Helen had been at the cloiser twenty-odd years, she had left FARC as a woman of twenty-nine. “Why did Sister Helen leave FARC?”
“Her brothers were murdered by their commander. She was next. The fish is bad?”
Demon took one look at her glum expression and lied like a rug. “It’s good. Tasty.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You are not speaking the truth.”
“What do you know about your parents?”
The distraction tactic worked. All the color drained from her face. “That they had died. That’s what all the nuns told me. But after Emilio showed me the picture of my mother, I wrote to Sister Helen asking her to tell me the truth.”
“She never replied?” No fucking way this was just another coincidence. If Sister Helen knew who had fathered Jacinta, both the nun and Jacinta were toast. Big-time.
Chapter Six
“No. She did not. I knew then something was wrong. We wrote to each other every day. I had two, three letters from her every week. Then nothing for ten days. The principal of my school said not to worry. That maybe a bridge had washed away.” Jacinta sighed.
“Did you tell Sister Helen about Emilio?”
“
Mas
—of course. I wanted to send her the picture of my mother. But Emilio said I had to wait until he could make a copy. But I knew. Looking at that picture was like looking in a mirror. I believed Emilio. For so long I had thought my parents dead. I had accepted that, made peace with it. Then that photo.” She shook her head and swiped hard at the stupid tears wetting her cheeks. “I will
not
cry.”
The soothing motion of his hand caressing her back eased the tight knots in her neck. She breathed in the scent of him, all tangy and full of the river, caressed the bunched muscles of his massive arms, letting her gaze roam over the severe angles and planes of his face. The more time she spent with him, the more his harsh beauty called to her soul—the ridged cheekbones, the jagged scar on the left side of his mouth that deepened the uneven dimples when he smiled.
“It’s not good to keep things bottled up. Let it out. You must’ve been angry and confused.”
She sniffed and swallowed. “I don’t have the words for it. In any language. Rage. Hurt. A deep sadness. I wanted to know—why? Why did my mother give me away? Why did she not want me? I thought I would go mad with the pain of it, the not knowing.”
“Did you confront Emilio?” His arms tightened around her.
“I had not the courage, and I feared earning his disapproval. He came to the school a few days after the dinner. Spoke with the principal and offered to take me to my mother. He said she had been searching for me. That I had been stolen from her. I did not know what to think. There was something about Emilio. Something that made me uneasy. But he is the son of the governor of Roraima. The principal gave me permission. It all happened so fast.”
Memories chased away the present, and all she could hear were Consuelo’s cruel taunts. She shook her head, but the cobwebs sticking her thoughts would not let go of the beach and those awful words,
“You cannot fuck your sister.”
“Look at me, Jacinta. I want you to remember that something that told you Emilio wasn’t to be trusted. Hold on to that, and if you ever feel it again, trust it.” His palms warmed her face, and his eyes had gone muddy again. “Always go with your gut.”
“My gut tells me that you know my mother. And you know much about me but do not want to tell me.” She covered his hands with hers and willed some nuance of what he felt to show in his gaze.
“I don’t know your mother.” He met her stare. “I know of her, but I don’t know her.”
“Por favor. Tell me what you know.” He blinked, looked away, and an icy chill coated her skin. Dread weighted her shoulders. She dropped her hands and fixed her focus on a knot in the table. “She is dead.”
“Yes.” He lifted her chin. “Her name is Rosa Nunez. And she died recently.”
“Nunez. That’s the name you called me before. Have you known from the start?” She gritted her teeth, knowing if he lied now, all that had happened between them meant nothing.
“I didn’t know until I saw your face in the car. You are the spitting image of your mama.” Demon kissed her forehead. “You’re handling this well, kitten.”
“Do not patrosize me. I would have the truth now.” She crossed her arms and chewed one lip until it stung, needing the pain to stop certain tears.
“Patronize. And that’s the last thing I would do to you. The truth is that your mother died suddenly not two months ago.”
Her insides twisted, and she bent over, clutching her stomach.
Winding his arms around her, he dropped kisses on her forehead and hair and hugged her so tight she couldn’t breathe. “It’ll be okay. I promise. It’ll be okay.”
“No.” She swatted his shoulder. “You don’t understand. It was okay before I left the cloister. Nothing is okay now.”
“I know you’re hurting. And if I could, I’d take it for you. Lean on me. Let me take care of you now.” He caged his whole body around her, touching her everywhere. “I’m not letting you go. Cry. Hit me. Do whatever you need to.”
She squeezed her eyes shut for a second and then surrendered to the safety of his embrace. Tilting her head back to meet his gaze, she let the heat and sheer intensity of the declaration in his brown eyes wash away the rawness of the pain. She touched his jaw, enjoyed the softness of the stubble covering his chin, and knew without a doubt she loved him. “I thank you. I don’t know what I would have done these last days without you.”
He colored, a bright stain coursing over his stubborn jaw, and cleared his throat. “You should eat more.”
Something he’d said earlier hit her hard, as if she’d been punched in the stomach.
“Two months? You said my mother died not two months ago? Had I not delayed my decision to leave the cloister—” Jacinta jabbed her fist against her mouth. So close. She had been so close. It was no use; nothing would stop the tears. They rolled down her cheeks in great, fat blobs, and her chest ached. Hearts did break, for hers split apart in that moment.
“It’s okay.” He had her crushed so hard against his chest that she couldn’t move, and she didn’t want to. He brushed his lips over her temple, her eyebrows and crooned softly to her. “She loved you.”
Jacinta hiccupped. “No. She sent me away.”
“To protect you. To keep you safe. Trust me. She didn’t feel she had any other choice.” Demon framed her face and gave her a little shake. “Look at me, Jacinta. What I have to tell you is not good. Know one thing. I’m by your side. I’ll be here for as long as you want me.”
His eyes were the color of molasses; all the green had vanished. Ghost shivers coasted over her nape, and fear tainted her saliva acidic. “Tell me.”
“Your mother has a brother. His name is Pedro Nunez. He’s a drug lord. You know what that is?”
“Sim, sim. I am not stupid.” She pushed away the plate and the cold, congealed food. The smell of the fish and sheer, sharp pangs of horror had her stomach rioting.
“You’re smart as a whip, but you’ve been locked away from the outside world since birth. There’re huge gaps in your knowledge.” He brushed his lips across hers. “Remember what I told you before, that you can’t pick your relatives? Hang on to that. Pedro Nunez is better known as o Assassino Sorridente.”
She gasped and smacked a hand over her mouth. Her fingers and toes went icy. Even in the cloister, they knew of the Smiling Killer, the man who’d massacred an entire village for surrendering one of his men to la policia. How he liked to strangle his victims to see the moment the life left their eyes. This man was her uncle?
“Take a deep breath, honey. Breathe. You look like you’re about to pass out.” He grabbed her hands and began rubbing them hard. “Damn it. I wish we had liquor around.”
“I
will not
swoon. My uncle is a murderer. Was my mother a whore?” Maybe it was best that she had not known her mother. Maybe it was best her mother had died. Maybe she should have never left the cloister.
“No. Rosa Nunez’s only flaw was having Pedro for a brother. We don’t have much information on your mother. Pedro kept her prisoner at his Colombian ranch. But from what little we know, she tried to escape from him on a regular basis.”
“You are telling me the truth?” Jacinta studied his face. The muscle in his cheek had stopped twitching, and his thigh muscles no longer felt like they could bounce coins high and wide.
“I am.” He held her jaw. “Have you any memory of any other place but the cloister?”
“No. Why do you ask me this?” She searched his features, but he wore the warrior mask once more.
He shook his head. “No. I’m trying to piece things together.”
“Who are you? You said we don’t have much information. Who is we?” Straightening, she fixed him with a fierce glare and jammed her arms across her chest. “I should like to tell you something.”
He sighed. “Go ahead.”
“Do not lie to me in this. It is bad enough that you have been inside of me and I do not know your name. I would have some measure of trust between us.” She jutted her chin.
Her throat clogged when he hooded his eyes and that muscle in his cheek twitched. “I’ll tell you all that I can right now. Pedro Nunez killed his sister. According to our sources, there was a fight, and in a fit of rage, he stabbed her to death.”
Jacinta jumped off his lap and backed away when he tried to touch her. “No. No. I will go
louco
. No more. What evil am I spawned from? A brother who kills his own sister? A half brother who would not only violate me, but let his amigos do so as well? I must meditate. I must be alone.”
He didn’t attempt to stop her but nodded and growled, “I’ll go up on deck.”
“No. I cannot be caged now. I will go up on deck.” Jacinta didn’t even realize she cried until her vision blurred. She stumbled out of the kitchen. Bumped into the steering wheel in the engine room and never felt the pain, too numb, too frozen to register even the light drizzle that dampened her hair and arms when she staggered onto the deck.
She curled into a ball on the bench. The tears wouldn’t stop. Jacinta cried for the mother she had never known. Sobbed for her mother’s pain at the hands of her brother. Wept for the dreams she could no longer cling to. Dreams of a family who would claim her, dreams of aunts, uncles, cousins, sisters, brothers. Hiccupped and coughed until her throat was hoarse. Didn’t notice when Demon took the bench opposite, firmed her hands around a mug of hot, sweetened tea, and swaddled her shoulders with his camouflage jacket.
When the hiccups died away, she drank the tepid tea and blinked him into focus. “Tell me the rest.”
He moved to her bench and settled her sideways on his lap. The rain had stopped, and the quarter moon reappeared. His grave expression, the tight set of his mouth, the way he avoided her eyes warned her that whatever he had to say would only compound the vile news he’d already given her.
“Emilio’s mother’s name is Elvira Vilas. She was raped by Pedro Nunez two decades ago. Many months later, she married Jose Genro.”
“The governor of Roraima. Emilio’s father. And mine too if we are half sister and brother.” Jacinta steeled her spine and edged back so she could see him. “Why would my half brother want to harm me? Did my father, Jose, know about me?”
“Emilio’s motivations, I can’t begin to guess at. From what we can deduce, Jose married Elvira for her political connections and for revenge. She’s the daughter of Rafael Vilas, the governor of Amazonas.”
“I know of him. I do not understand. Why would my uncle rape this man’s daughter, this Elvira?”
“She and Rosa, your mother, were friends. Rafael once worked for your uncle. They had a disagreement. Grew to be enemies.”
“My head aches. I am so confused. What does this have to do with you? With me? With what is happening?” She knuckled her temples, but the throbbing wouldn’t abate.
“About two months ago, Pedro’s commander in chief was killed.” His hawklike stare held her hostage. “I am his replacement.”
She knew he expected her to flinch and turn away from him. Jacinta kissed his cheek. ”You forget how we met. I know in my heart that you are not like my uncle. You are no rapist, nor a murderer.”
“You scare the spit out of me. You have to stop trusting strangers.” He rolled his eyes. “How do I get this into your head?”
“You are no stranger to me. It is as if I have known you forever. Tell me the rest.”
“They call me la Semilla del Demonio. And I have killed many men.” He stared at her unblinkingly, his voice deeper and rougher than the boat’s engines when they fired.