The Devil's Orchard (13 page)

“Good luck, but life’s too short to deal with ignorant people.” Emma glanced toward Fiona when Hannah took her hand because they were the only two people at the table.

“She’s not leaving, so you might have to deal with her.”

Fiona looked back at her, and the softness disappeared from her face as if she’d come with a predisposed hatred toward her. The coldness in her chest wasn’t a warning she’d ignore this time. This woman meant her harm; she could sense it in every part of herself.

“We’ll see.”

“She needs you to come back, Shelby,” Joe said as he twirled his beer bottle on Shelby’s kitchen counter.

Usually she would’ve been embarrassed by the mess in her home, but she couldn’t work herself up to that or any other sentiment. The more days that passed after her parents’ death, the more numb she became. Her sounding boards and safety nets were gone, and she couldn’t accept it. The sadness and despair were like wet, heavy sand piled on her. She couldn’t concentrate on work with an outside investigator.

“I have a few more months of leave and I’m planning to take them,” she said before she poured more Irish whiskey into her glass. The bite at the back of her throat helped her achieve total oblivion, something she’d done more than once since she’d come home. It was another type of numbness, one she desired more than bleakness.

“This isn’t about guilting you into anything, but this guy Ronald wants to scatter us to the winds. Even if you don’t, I need you to pretend to give a shit about that.” Joe took a swig of beer then pointed the neck of the bottle at her. “You’ve got to realize your name keeps showing up in every report. All those visits to Cain’s won’t be forgiven forever.”

“You think I give a shit about that? What I do give a shit about is getting the same satisfaction Cain did when her family was on the firing line. I want to put a bullet into the head of every piece of shit responsible for the death of my parents, and once I have, I’ll think about worrying over some asshole who wants to knock us all down to make himself look good.” She rushed through the words and watched him wince as if she’d physically hit him. Joe was such a by-the-book guy, or at least he’d been like that when he’d first come to town. In their time together he’d learned to bend the rules as far as it took to not actually break them. That was the only way to deal with Cain and get anywhere.

“Do me a favor and don’t say that to anyone else. I know it’s been hard, but do you think your father would want you to be locked up forever to avenge him? I met both of them, so don’t think you can bullshit me about that.”

“If I do something, whatever it is, I’m going to do it on my own. Cain won’t help me, and I’m not about to involve you guys.”

“Annabel really needs our help to survive this.”

“Annabel is the most politically savvy person I know, so don’t worry about her either. I’ve never met Chapman, but I’ve heard of him. If she puts up enough of a fight, he’ll move on to easier hunting grounds.”

Joe poured the rest of his drink out and threw the bottle away. She could tell he was disgusted with her, and months before, that too would’ve bothered her, but not now. “You still have to have a life, Shelby, so take the time you need, but try to find one that doesn’t put you in a small cell for the rest of it. Call me if you need anything.”

She watched him go and closed her eyes when the door shut behind him. She wanted to call him back and make things right, but she was exhausted, and that’s what almost made her ignore the knock a few minutes later. Tears filled her eyes when she saw Muriel there with her hands in her pockets. Besides her parents, Muriel was the other person in her life she missed to the point of pain.

“I’m here for the rest of my stuff. It should only take a few minutes,” Muriel said, so distant she might as well have sent a flunky to do it.

“Sure, but if you have time, I’d like to talk to you.”

“There’s nothing we need to discuss in this lifetime. You played me for an idiot once, but twice isn’t going to happen. I’m all talked out.”

“You can’t honestly think I completely prostituted myself for my job, can you?” It shouldn’t have mattered what Muriel’s opinion of her was, but she didn’t want to leave this hanging between them. “I’ll admit I abused the situation, but I love you.”

“Really?” Muriel said with a smile and opened her arms to her. Shelby blamed the alcohol for making her take a step forward. “God, you must really think I’m an idiot,” Muriel said, putting her hands up to stop her.

“Muriel, I can’t fake what I had with you.”

“You know what, donate the clothes I left here. I don’t even want them because I can’t trust you didn’t do something to them.” Muriel turned to leave and glared at Shelby when she stepped in front of her and grabbed her by the biceps. This was no longer the woman who’d held her because she’d cared about her happiness or worried when she was hurting. “And
do not
come by the house or Cain’s place again. If you’re begging for me to truly humiliate you the way you did me, I’ll give it to you in spades.”

The door slamming shook something loose in her, and her thinking suddenly cleared. Tomorrow she’d do what she needed to get her life back, like Joe had mentioned, and she realized how to do it.

“Mom and Dad, I hope you know I’m ready to let go. You were the ones who told me sometimes it takes sacrifice to get what you want. I’m ready to make mine.”

*

Gustavo sat in the bar close to his hotel and nursed his fifth tequila. He’d slammed the first four back to try to erase his meeting with
Jerome
and what he’d said about his mother. He thought the name a curse now and said it with contempt in his thoughts. That Jerome was comfortable enough to treat him so disrespectfully, and none of his men questioned it, meant Gracelia had tossed him aside to get ahead. And she’d tossed him aside for an ex-FBI agent.

He’d actually called her Gracelia per her request until he was about ten and she’d finally taken an interest in him. Before that, she’d left him with Rodolfo and Carlos’s mother, who’d treated him no different than her own son. As a boy he’d enjoyed school and the way people treated him because of who his uncle was. There’d never been a day of teasing, bullying, or discomfort because Carlos had been there to protect him. That’d been Rodolfo’s excuse for sending some kitchen help’s son to private school.

At home Carlos had been free to play with him, but that’d changed when his real mother had come home that first time—for about six months instead of her usual weekend—that all ended in a screaming match with Rodolfo when he’d insisted she be a better mother to her son. His uncle had been the only person who’d confronted her about that, and the only one who’d cared what happened to Gustavo when he woke from regular nightmares as a boy.

At ten, Gracelia came home for good and pulled Gustavo away from Carlos and his mother in the afternoons. That’s when she started sharing secrets with him about his real father, Armando Ortega, the great love of her life. His own life became a fractured pane of glass after that, and he’d never been able to put the pieces back together, especially since he’d killed Rodolfo.

To a young boy, a secret about the mythical hero his mother had described was too good not to share with his friends. The day after he’d told the boys he and Carlos played with at school, the ridicule began. Armando, they’d said, was an illiterate yardman who liked to drink and beat on women when he wasn’t relegated to raking leaves because he wasn’t bright enough to do anything else.

Gustavo raised his fists for the first time in his life when the other boys from wealthy families had joked that his mother was stupid enough, or desperate enough for dick, to fall for such a loser. She’d thrown herself at his feet every chance she got, no matter who was around to see it. In essence they’d said it made him a pathetic loser by default.

Carlos had saved him again from more than the bloody nose and split lip he’d gotten, but he never talked about his family after that. The only time he’d indulged in that pleasure was when he was alone with Gracelia and she told him about their future. That Shangri-La was a place where both of them would be together after they’d stolen everything from Rodolfo for killing Armando.

“You okay?” Chico asked after he’d shot this drink down his throat suddenly like the others and motioned for the bartender again.

“Go back to the room and leave me the hell alone.” He wasn’t done with his reminiscing. “Are you deaf? Get out of here and leave me. Didn’t you hear the big boss? I’m being sent home.”

“You’re my boss, so I answer to no one else. If you want me to wait in the room, I’ll wait, but I’d rather sit in the corner to make sure you’re okay.” Chico pushed his drink closer to him and sat back, as if to not get in his way. “You’re an important man. If not, Señora Ortega would have sent you here alone.”

“Señora Ortega can fuck herself, or she can get
Jerome
to do it,” he said, laughing. Leave it to his mother to find a name she and everyone who worked for them couldn’t pronounce. “Do whatever you want, but get out of my sight.” He wasn’t in the mood for all those eyes on him as he retraced the steps that’d gotten him here.

The more Gracelia had stayed with them, the more time she’d given him, and it’d made him feel special. He was her son and the anointed one because Armando’s blood pumped through his heart. She’d told him to go out with Rodolfo and learn from him, but to never forget where his loyalties were. Rodolfo had killed his father in the most humiliating way he could think of, and eventually that would have to be avenged.

When he closed his eyes at night now, he thought back to Rodolfo’s soft melodious voice and how often he’d called him
mi hijo
. His son, not by birth, but they had the same blood. Rodolfo seldom screamed about anything, and he’d been so patient with him as he learned the business. After all, it’d be his one day. His responsibility was to care for the people who worked for them and uphold the name he’d given him. Luis was, in Rodolfo’s mind, a gift he’d spent a life building up to mean something. It was a name he’d given his son Carlos only hours before his death, and one he’d rejected to follow his mother.

The bitch who’d given birth to Gustavo, saddled him with the name of a bastard who loved the bottle more than both of them, and passed him over the first chance she got. She’d been smart enough to wait until he’d killed Rodolfo, because he knew Jerome had refused any part of it. He’d killed Rodolfo for her and it’d been for nothing. Gracelia was simply the weak woman who’d spread her legs for Armando and now Jerome, and neither of them were gods. Everyone in between was enough to make her nothing but a common whore.

He stumbled toward the bathroom and locked himself inside. It’d take the guys watching him a while to figure he’d made it out the window and to the room he’d gotten with no one else’s knowledge. It took a block to find an empty cab and a few minutes to make it to the Piquant. It was the last place he’d stayed with Rodolfo, and the place where he’d start over.

“Hello.”

Carlos’s voice made two tears drop down his cheeks. If only he could find a way to go back and change what he’d done. He’d grown to hate Carlos because of his loyalty to Rodolfo, and he still did, only his hate was mixed with envy now. Even with both their fathers dead, Carlos had a sense of himself and knew who he was, while Gustavo had killed the only man who could’ve pointed him in that direction.

“Hello,” Carlos repeated.

“Hello, cousin,” he said, and only then realized that was actually true. They were family, the only family he had other than Gracelia.

“What do you want?” Carlos’s voice took on a hard edge.

“I want you to know I pulled the trigger. I killed him and he cried like a woman, begging me not to.” The intake of breath meant he’d hit Carlos where it counted. “You should’ve learned a long time ago that I’ll always win, and I’ll always get what I want. You were his son, yet he was grooming me to replace him. I’m the Luis heir. That’s what Rodolfo wanted.”

“Then come here and take it from me, because my name’s on the deed to the house and the bank accounts, and the men work for me now. If you try, though, make sure you bring that bitch that bore you so you can die together for what you’ve done to my father. Before I kill you, I’ll share with you what he left in writing about Gracelia and your father.” Carlos laughed, which made Gustavo grip the telephone tight. “Armando with the big dick your mother couldn’t keep out of her mouth, and she was so desperate for him she even spread her legs for him in front of the other yard staff. The woman had no shame then and she has none now.”

“Rodolfo loved me, you son of a bitch. Your mother was no different when it came to my uncle.”

“The true son of a bitch here is you, and don’t think he left you out of the letters he wrote. You were his one true regret, though he had many of those, so you should be proud to have climbed to the top of that list. Of everything he wished he could’ve done differently, he knew killing you at birth would have done himself and the world a favor. With a father like Armando, it was a foregone conclusion that you’d grow up to be an idiot with delusions of importance. My father knew that when Gracelia spat you out, but he chose his heart over what needed to be done.”

“Shut up,” Gustavo said, his head spinning and his stomach rebelling from all the alcohol. It’d been a few days since his last real meal and bath, but he cared more about finishing with Cain and Emma than taking care of himself. “You didn’t know how Rodolfo felt about me. He loved me.”

“What, the brat who wanted for nothing but could never be satisfied? You mean the little boy who threw tantrums and acted like the world should fall at his tiny feet because he deserved it? To my father you were nothing but a spoiled boy who grew to be a spoiled little man who’d never amount to anything because you couldn’t even get the pool boy to respect you, much less the men who worked for him.”

“I’m more of a man than you.”

“Then tell me the last time you had a woman you didn’t have to buy or have someone help you tie up. You’ve chased Cain Casey and her woman so long with no luck that maybe you should take their example.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” The call had been a mistake, but he couldn’t hang up now without proving Carlos right about his immaturity.

“Find a big dick like your mother did to suck on and have it shoved up your ass. If you do that, then maybe, like the Caseys, you’ll be happy after you admit you like your own sex, and you can stop pretending to be the stud you brag to everyone about.”