by Shandi Boyes
Roberto freezes. “Do you have any idea who you're robbing? Leave now and this matter will remain between us.”
“I’m not here for your money. The only asset I want to secure is you.” I lift my eyes to the flashing red light in the corner of the room.
Roberto spins on his heels, his movements steady and alert. A V grooves between his brow as his rich brown eyes roam over my face. His expression remains stagnant until he registers the similarities between Jorgie and me: same nose, same eyes, same smile. No one could deny we were siblings. Roberto’s throat works hard to swallow before his lips spasm, preparing to speak.
“Move,” I say, gesturing my head to the door, not giving him the chance to protest.
He had his chance to speak up when he was arrested at the scene of Jorgie’s accident for driving under the influence. If he’d pled guilty, I wouldn’t be standing before him.
I follow Roberto out of the warehouse with the butt of my gun aimed at a patch of gray hairs in his dark, clipped hair. When we exit the frosted glass door at the front of the compound, the armed guard spins around, clearly shocked by Roberto’s early arrival. When he notices me standing behind Roberto, with a gun pointed at his head, his hand slips into his suit jacket, no doubt to reach the gun he has holstered on his waist.
“Roberto will be dead before you even remove your gun,” I warn, my words rough, like they were dragged through a whole heap of gravel before spilling from my lips.
The guard’s dark eyes shift between Roberto and me. His gaze is vehement, fueling my agitation.
“Unless you want splatters of Roberto’s brain on your fancy suit, unclip the Seven Eagle strapped to your hip, remove the bullets, and throw it into the bush,” I instruct, motioning my head to the thick bush at the side of us.
Other than his eyelids twitching, the guard remains motionless, refusing to follow my demand. He only does as solicited when I squeeze my finger on the trigger. A bead of sweat rolls down the nape of Roberto’s neck as his entire body shakes in fear. Through gritted teeth, Roberto’s protective detail removes the gun holstered on his hip and empties the magazine chamber.
“Now the Magnum strapped to your ankle,” I demand, glaring into his thinly slitted eyes when he dumps his first gun into the prickly bush.
His lips set into a hard line before he bobs down to remove the magnum strapped to his left ankle. After removing the bullets from the barrel of the 44, he throws it into the bush and pivots around to face me.
“You’re a dead man walking,” he snarls, his tone vicious.
I snicker before pushing the barrel of my gun deeper into Roberto’s skull, using it as a way of directing him to my truck parked at the side of the compound. The guard’s stern threat causes me no concern. I'm already dead. An empty, soulless man who has no chance of emerging from the hell I'm living in. That is why I didn’t bother covering my face. I want everyone to know I'm the man who is going to ensure Roberto pays his repentance.
“Do it.” Roberto peers at me over the barrel of the gun pointed at his head. “Do it already! I killed your sister! I ran her down!”
I slam the butt of my gun into his left temple with vicious force. Roberto’s head ricochets to the side and a trickle of blood streams down his face, pooling at his bound feet.
“Shut the fuck up.” My angry words reverberate around the desolate basement in Jorgie’s house.
In the haste of my decision, I didn’t properly evaluate what I was planning to do once I secured Roberto from the Petretti compound. I acted on impulse, knowing it may have been the only viable time I could secure him. Rumors were running rife in our hometown that Col was moving his underground fighting circuit to a new location. I couldn’t run the risk of losing my tail on Roberto. I also couldn’t stand the thought of another day of injustice rolling by. Needing a place free of any encumbrance, I brought him to Jorgie’s house. Roberto has been bound to the water boiler in her basement for the past two hours. I only left him twenty minutes ago to call Ava.
Roberto’s head returns front and center. He smiles a blood-tainted grin, seemingly pleased to have sparked a reaction out of me. He has spent the majority of the last two hours goading me, not caring that his very existence is balancing precariously on the edge of a steep cliff. Just from his taunts, I can tell he has chosen death by suicide, but instead of using a gun as his weapon of choice, he is using me.
I push a gag into his mouth, not just to stop his callous words, but to also ease the pain shredding my heart, crippling me with grief. Snubbing the shake of my hands, I push the barrel of my gun against the skin between his eyes. Unable to speak through the gag, Roberto’s eyes beg for me to issue the punishment the courts failed to decree: to free him from his miserable existence.
I push the barrel in closer, pinching the wrinkled skin on his forehead. When I lower my finger to the trigger, Roberto closes his eyes, accepting his fate with a sense of dignity. Gritting my teeth, I squeeze the trigger. Blood roars in my ears when a metal click bellows over the rampant beat of my heart.
Seconds felt like hours as I stare at Roberto, shocked I claimed another man’s life. My shock doesn’t last long. I take a step backwards, exasperated when Roberto’s eyes flutter open. I pulled the trigger, he should be dead. It is only when I sense a presence at my side do I realize the clicking heard wasn’t my gun firing, it was the old bolts clanking together in Jorgie’s basement door.
My eyes swing to the side of the room, closely followed by my gun. Isaac stands at the entrance of the basement. He's wearing his standard suit, accentuated with a murderous glare. His stance is firm, not the slightest bit concerned about having a pistol pointed at his chest. One slip of my finger and he would be dead.
“You need to leave,” I say, returning the barrel of my gun to Roberto. “This is between me and Roberto, not you.”
“You're my family, Hugo. What happens to you affects me,” Isaac responds, his deep timbre booming around the room.
My nostrils flare as I glare into the eyes of the man who killed my mom’s spirit, leaving a shell of a woman I no longer recognize. The man who tore her heart out of her chest, threw it onto the stained floor and stomped on it. The man who shattered her soul.
“He killed my family. He tore them apart.”
“No,” Isaac argues, his composure stern and unwavering. “He didn’t kill your family, but you will, if you don’t leave now.”
My neck cranks to the side faster than a missile being launched out of a jet. I stare into Isaac’s eyes, unable to comprehend any of the words coming out of his mouth.
“The instant you took Roberto, you signed your family’s death certificates. Trust me, Col will not stop hunting you until you have suffered the same loss as him,” Isaac explains to my confused face.
My stomach lurches when I see the truth relayed by his frank eyes, but nothing can lessen the fury blackening my veins.
“He deserves to die. He killed my sister. My nephew!” I roar, my veins bulging with every syllable I speak. “I want him to suffer!”
“He will suffer,” Isaac declares, stepping closer to me. “I’ll make sure of it. I'll take care of this.”
He stares into my eyes. “He won’t get away with it. You have my word,” he assures me. “There are two types of people in the world, Hugo: healers and hurters.”
Before I can react, Isaac snatches my wrist holding the gun. He stares at me with murky eyes. “You're a healer. I am a hurter.”
Ava remains cradled in my lap with her eyes flicking between mine, staring but not speaking. Although the stretch of silence passing between us is thick and somber, the unspoken words relayed by her beautiful eyes are the greatest ally in repairing the damage my foolhardy mistake made. Even crammed with qualm, the glimmer her eyes get every time she looks at me doesn’t dampen from my confession. Her eyes reveal she understands the reason I reacted the way I did. She empathizes with the pain I went through, as it wasn’t just parts of my soul that vanished the day Jorgie d
ied; it was parts of Ava’s soul as well.
Twenty-Six
Ava
I'd like to say I'm surprised by Hugo’s confession, but I'm not. When the news circulated about Roberto’s disappearance, I suspected Hugo was involved in some way. Mr. Marshall had raised his sons to protect their mother and sisters. That notion didn’t just stop because Jorgie passed away. Even after her death, I knew Hugo would continue to defend her. I just hoped the justice system would issue Roberto’s punishment so Hugo didn’t have to, but once again, the legal system failed him. Although I would have preferred that Hugo seek justice in a legal manner, I can understand what he was going through all those years ago. He was riddled with so much grief, he was unable to form a rational decision.
I still recall with crystal clear memory looking in Roberto’s eyes when he was placed in the back of the police cruiser the day of Jorgie’s accident. Even with his eyes jammed with remorse and a gold cross hanging around my neck, I cursed him to death. I wanted him to suffer the way Jorgie did when she held my hand and cried as she couldn’t feel Malcolm moving in her stomach. I prayed for him to experience the pain that was shredding through my heart, crippling me with devastation. So I understand what Hugo was going through, because at the time, I also wanted Roberto dead.
My opinion on the matter only changed when Joel was born. When I was looking down at his little face and big, worldly eyes, I realized it wouldn’t matter what he did, no matter how heinous, he would always be my son, and I'd always defend him. It was in that instant, I realized Roberto wasn’t just the man who killed Jorgie, he was someone’s son. His mother would have grieved his death just as deeply as Mrs. Marshall grieved Jorgie’s. No mother should go through the pain of losing a child. Not even one who gave birth to a monster.
Hugo’s eyes dance between mine as he lifts his hand and removes my tears from my cheeks. Once all my tears are cleared, his eyes stare into mine. “If I’d known my hasty decision would have the consequences it did, I would have evaluated it with more diligence. I would have taken the time to properly assess the repercussions of my decision.”
Guilt darkens his eyes. “But I was hurting too much. Losing Jorgie and Malcolm, then you… the pain was too great. It killed any chances of my grief-riddled brain forming a rational decision. Losing Jorgie gutted me. Losing you utterly destroyed me.” His words comes out gravelly and deep.
From the despondency in Hugo’s eyes, I have no doubt if he could take back every wrong he did, he would. All of it. Not just hurting me and missing out on the first four years of Joel’s life. Everything. Even what happened to Roberto.
Hugo’s sorrowful eyes peer into mine. “I wanted to punish Roberto, to issue the penalty the courts failed to administer.” He exhales an uneven breath of air as his eyes flick between mine. “But when I peered into Roberto’s eyes, all I could see were your eyes reflecting back at me.”
I gulp in a jagged breath as my widened eyes dart between Hugo’s, searching for the answer to the question my mouth is failing to ask.
“I got close. I held the gun to Roberto’s head, and I pulled back the trigger, but no matter how strong the desire was to make him pay, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t pull the trigger.”
I release the breath I'm holding in as a mass of liquid swamps my eyes. “You didn’t kill him?” My words come out in a shaky tremor as a torrent of emotions flood into me.
Tears roll down my cheeks when Hugo shakes his head.
“I couldn’t. I didn’t want you to ever look at me the way I was looking at him. I didn’t want you to think of me as a monster.”
“I would have never looked at you like that,” I declare, cupping his jaw and staring into his eyes, wanting to ensure he can see the honesty in mine. “You not being able to pull the trigger proves how strong you are.”
My gut twists when Hugo shakes his head. “I’m not strong. I might have failed to pull the trigger, but I didn’t stop the man I knew could,” he interrupts.
My breath snags halfway to my lungs when I see the dishonor clouding his eyes.
“I was a coward who left the integrity of defending my baby sister to a man who was a stranger only months earlier,” Hugo mutters under his breath. “I didn’t even ask Isaac what he was going to do to Roberto, because, at the time, I didn’t care. Isaac said he would take care of him, and I trusted he would. That not only makes me a coward, it makes me just as much of a monster as Roberto.”
I viciously shake my head, sending tears sprawling into the air. “No. That does not make you a coward or a monster. That makes you a man with morals. A man who was raised right. Not a coward. Even with your soul shattered, you still knew the difference between right and wrong. That makes you a man, Hugo. That makes you brave.”
Hugo stares at me in shocked silence, unable to relate to what I'm saying. I return his robust stare minus the calamity his eyes are sparked with. I stare at him with nothing but love and admiration, wanting to ensure he's aware his confession hasn’t altered my opinion of him. I love him. I always have, and I always will. Nothing he could ever say or do would change that fact. Not one single thing.
As a stretch of silence crosses between us, the cloud dulling the usual impish glint in his eyes dissolves, but even with his mood shifting toward his regular persona, it isn’t enough to ease the pain festering in my heart from the melancholy expression on his face. Deciding to test Hugo’s theory of using actions instead of words, I press my mouth against his stern, snapped lips. The muscles in his thighs tense when my tongue brushes along the ridges of his lips, requesting access to his mouth. His unease only lasts for a fleeting second before he parts his lips and accepts my kiss.
I delve my tongue into his warm, inviting mouth in a slow, sweeping wave. His tongue follows the pattern of mine, tasting and devouring every inch of my mouth in lengthy, gentle strokes. Our kiss expresses all the emotions surging through our bodies: our sorrow and anguish, and my understanding of why he initially reacted the way he did. It is a controlled and emotion-packed kiss that relinquishes my heart from the stranglehold that’s been asphyxiating it the past five years. Our kiss mends wounds I never thought could be healed. I should have known only Hugo’s touch would have the chance of doing that. Only he has the ability to return the parts of my soul I lost when Jorgie passed away.
Inhaling deeply, I breathe in his scent. My senses savor being engulfed by his familiar woodsy smell. He smells heavenly. He smells like home. When I pull back from his delicious lips, his eyes slowly flutter open. Our kiss has removed the fog obscuring the eyes I fell in love with well over fifteen years ago. His eyes are the clearest they’ve been since he returned to Rochdale for the first time four weeks ago. He runs the back of his index finger over my cheek in a slow, tantalizing maneuver, prickling my nape with goosebumps. I lean into his hand, wanting every inch of my skin to be touching him in some way.
The muscles in his stomach contract when I run my hand along the bumps of his abs, over the Princess Peach and Luigi tattoo inked above his right hipbone, and by the replica of the tree I engraved our names into at Lake George over fifteen years ago covering the majority of his left ribcage. Every tattoo that adorns Hugo’s god-crafted body is a reference to our life together. Whether it is the pair of black, thick-rimmed glasses floating on top of a pool of water, the Friends sitcom logo on his right shoulder blade, or the three letters of my name integrated in multiple locations on his body, every tattoo has some significance to our time together.
Snubbing the tears forming in my eyes, I lean forward and place a kiss on the outer edge of the bullet wound scar in his chest. My lips land just to the side of Joel’s freshly inked name above Hugo’s heart. My breath hitches when I pull back and catch the cajoling look in Hugo’s eyes. Gone is the cloud of remorse and despair, replaced with a new voracious look only my kisses incite.
My pulse quickens when Hugo rocks his hips, ensuring I'm aware of what my simple peck did to his body. I’m not going to lie, I love that I can
spark such a carnal desire from him from the meekest brush of my lips against his bare skin, but even with the desire to throw caution to the wind and undertake crazy wild sex on the floor of our bedroom, I won’t. Not because I don’t want to, but because I refuse to relinquish my eyes from Hugo’s demanding gaze. He's staring at me with zero restrictions or complications. Nothing but love and awe is beaming from his devoted eyes. This affects me more intensely than any earth-shattering orgasm ever could.
The unbreakable connection between us only bends slightly when little feet padding into the room sound over the furious beat of my heart. Warmth blooms across my chest when Joel sleepily rubs his eyes before plopping down onto the ground next to us and leaning his crazy curl-covered head onto Hugo’s forearm.
A giggle bubbles up my chest when Joel’s tired eyes peer up to Hugo as he asks, “Do I still get a pancake boganus since it’s Monday?”
Hugo cranks his neck back and laughs. “Yeah, buddy, if you can convince Mommy to make pancakes, you’ll still get a bonus.”
Joel’s little eyes widen before they dart to me. His lips pucker as he gives me his best puppy dog eyes. Like a dog rolling over and begging for my tummy to be scratched, I nod. A squeal emits from Joel’s lips before he jumps up from the ground and charges to the door.
“I’m going to wash my hands!”
He charges out of our room so quickly, nothing but a blur flashes before my eyes.
Laughing, I drift my eyes back to Hugo. “You know you’re going to end up broke if you keep bribing him.”
“It will be worth it. Besides, it’s not bribery. It’s an incentive,” he retorts with a grin tugging on his lips.
I screw up my nose. “An incentive to stay in his room so you can screw his mom senseless before you gorge on pancakes?”
Hugo doesn’t attempt to answer my question. Lying has never been his forte.