Текст книги "Unmasked: Volume Two"
Автор книги: Cassia Leo
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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 7 страниц)
Chapter Nine
I brace myself for the impact of the car. In a split second, I imagine the van crashing into the left side of my body, crushing all the bones in my left leg and probably my hip. And my pelvis. Along with every vital organ and microscopic human being held within.
But the impact comes from behind me instead. My body is catapulted forward, my right knee skidding across the asphalt. Then it stops and I can’t breathe.
My face is hovering above the hot, dusty gutter and there’s something heavy on top of me. And it’s moving.
Voices are closing in as a crowd forms around me. I move to try to get a look at the person on top of me. The person who saved me. But something is stopping my head from turning. This person is holding my head still.
“Let me go!” I shout.
In one swift motion, my savior stands up and lets go of my head. I turn onto my back, but all I see is a crowd of people standing over me. They’re all looking over their shoulders, no doubt watching as the person who saved me leaves the scene.
“Stop him! Or her!” Why do I want them to stop this person? Whoever they are, they saved me. They did nothing wrong.
Then I smell it. Fresh soap and earthy oak.
I scramble to my feet, ignoring the searing pain in my scraped knee. Pushing my way through the crowd of onlookers, I race toward the direction of their gaping stares. And within seconds I see him. Running toward the hotel.
He seems to be the right height and build. But every time he glances left or right, I can see he has a thick beard. It would be very easy for Daimon to grow a beard in… How many days has it been? Eight? Nine? Is that enough time? It could be fake.
Or I could be desperately grasping for some sign that he’s still alive.
I stop in front of a camera store across the street from the hotel and watch as my savior slides into a taxi and leaves in a hurry. If it were Daimon, he would face me. He wouldn’t run. Unless the revenge plot he’s hatching is much more sinister and involved than a simple showdown on the streets of La Palma. Which would make sense. Daimon knows I meticulously planned his demise. To consider himself a worthy adversary, he would feel obligated to do me the same courtesy of properly plotting my death.
The longer I’m away from Daimon, the more truth I discover in his words. We are the same. Even if that wasn’t him who saved me, but especially if it was.
***
The entire cab ride back to my cottage, I’m fraught with worry over being thrown onto the asphalt. A spill like that could easily cause a miscarriage. The evil, calculating part of my brain keeps telling me that a miscarriage would be a good thing. It would save me from having to make a difficult decision. But the female hormones coursing through my veins keep screaming at me to see a doctor immediately. Or at least lie down and put my feet up for a while.
I suppose a little rest never hurt anyone. I could use a good siesta right now after the morning I’ve had.
I pay the cab driver and breathe a sigh of relief when I step out onto the street in front of my island home. I’m going to miss this place when I leave in a few days. I’ll miss the salty air, the friendly neighbors, and the open-air market. I’ll even miss the swollen wood floors and the faulty water heater.
“Alyssa!”
Shit.
I turn around and Nick is waving at me from his garden, beckoning me to join him. Yes, I’ll even miss Nick.
“You left early this morning,” Nick says, planting a kiss on my cheek as he greets me at the garden gate. “And you dyed your hair.”
He smells and looks freshly showered and not at all hungover.
“I didn’t want to disturb you. And, yes, I was getting a little tired of the other color.”
He opens the front door for me to enter. “Where did you go?” His eyes widen as he looks at my leg. “What happened to your knee?”
I glance down at my knee as I step inside the house. “Oh, it’s nothing. I tripped on the curb when I was running to catch a cab. Stupid cab driver pretended not to see me.”
I allow Nick to baby me for a bit as he insists on cleaning my wound as I sit on his sofa. “Why were you in the city?”
“I had to get a vaccination.” Even I’m surprised at how quickly that lie came out.
“Vaccination? For what?” he asks, dabbing the scrape on my knee with a wet washcloth. I wonder if it’s the same one I used to wipe down his face last night.
“A vaccination to go to Africa. I’m leaving very soon.”
“To Africa? Why? For work?”
“Yes. Inspiration calls.”
He furrows his brow and sets the washcloth down on the coffee table. Then he picks up a tube of antibiotic ointment and begins dabbing a good bit of it on my knee. Something about this feels very familiar; me on a sofa having my wound cleaned and dressed by a handsome man. My stomach twists at the idea that the twisted string of events I call my life for the past five or six weeks has finally come full circle. Now, more than ever, I understand that I must leave. And I must leave Nick behind.
Nick puts a large bandage over my kneecap, but part of the scrape is still showing on either side. “I’m sorry, I don’t have a bigger bandage.”
“It’s okay,” I reply, patting his shoulder. “Let’s go eat something. I’m starving.”
So much for resting.
Nick stares at my knee for a moment as he sits on the edge of the coffee table and I see something in his eyes. Something has changed in him.
“Alyssa,” he says, looking up and into my eyes. “Would you like to take a trip with me?”
“What? I… I just told you I’m leaving soon.”
He takes a deep breath and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I received an email this morning from a friend of mine in Spain. Is there anything you would like to tell me?”
I narrow my eyes at him, trying to discern where this conversation is going. “No.”
He shakes his head, but I can’t tell if it’s because he’s disappointed with my answer or because he’s unsure how to proceed. “Alyssa, my friend works for Europol and he tells me that the Prince of Monaco has been talking to American and European law enforcement agencies. He’s requesting the safe return of his daughter… Alex Carmichael.”
My stomach seizes up and all my muscles tense at the mention of my real name. Either Nick is lying to me about his friend and he’s been working his way up to this lie for the past week so he could trap me… Or Daimon was telling me the truth. I’m a princess.
Nick continues, his tone more cautious. “Alyssa, he showed me a picture of this Alex Carmichael, taken when she was boarding a plane in Los Angeles.” His eyes flit to my newly dyed blonde hair. “She looks just like you.” I move to get up, but he lays his hands firmly on top of my knees to stop me. “Please. I don’t want to get in the middle of family business. That’s not my intention. I just… I think it’s time for you to be honest with me… Please. Tell me what I should believe.”
His green eyes are pleading with me to tell him the truth and that’s when I realize I can’t hide anymore. Everywhere I go, someone is going to find out who I am. As long as I’m running, I’ll never be able to be Alex Carmichael again.
But if Daimon was telling me the truth, that means the prince is requesting my safe return so they can kill me. But why would he contact Europol if he were planning to kill me. Unless… Maybe the prince found out his wife was trying to have me murdered. What if he’s trying to save me?
No, I shouldn’t flatter myself with such dangerous delusions. I have to go to Monaco. I have to kill the prince and princess before they kill me.
“I’ll go with you,” I whisper, barely able to force the words out of my mouth.
“You will?” He seems almost as surprised as I am.
I look him in the eye and nod. “Yes, I’ll go with you to meet this prince. We’ll leave in a couple of days.”
He smiles and grabs both my hands. “You’re doing the right thing, Alyssa. I mean, should I call you Alex?”
“Call me Alex and I’ll break your neck.” His face turns two shades whiter, then I chuckle heartily. “I’m kidding. You can call me whatever you want.” I lean forward and lay a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Alyssa, Alex, keeper of your heart…”
If these are my last days on this island, I should at least make the most of them.
Nick takes my face in his hands and kisses me hard as he gently pushes me back onto the sofa. I curl my legs around his waist as he grinds his pelvis into mine. He may actually remember to get me off this time.
He slides his hands between my legs and I thrust my hips upward, primed to receive his touch, but all he does is push my panties down.
“No. Get up,” I say a bit too impatiently.
“What’s wrong?”
I push his shoulders back and it takes him a moment to get the hint. He sits back on the other end of the sofa so I can sit up. I have half a mind to tell him he’s doing it wrong, but I can’t. Our last days on this island are supposed to be pleasant.
Besides, I’m pregnant with another man’s child. I can’t have sex with Nick. Wouldn’t that make me a whore? Even if Daimon is dead, he’s dead at my hand. So, technically, that would make me a black widow.
“I’m sorry. I’m just dying to take a shower and a nap. I was a little worried about you choking on your vomit last night, so I didn’t get much sleep.” I stand from the sofa and he stands after me. “I’ll be back later. Or you can come by my place in a few hours.”
He looks a little dissatisfied with this explanation, and with my leaving him with a throbbing bulge in his pants, but he just nods. “Whatever you say. I’ll come by later to check on you.”
We say our goodbyes and I hurry home. After a quick shower, I don’t bother reapplying any ointment or bandage to my scrape. I just dab it dry and slip into a nightgown. Then I curl up in bed, hugging my pillow between my thighs.
“Where are you, Daimon?” I whisper my plea to the bedroom window. “I’m pregnant.”
I adjust the pillow between my legs and the friction sends a tiny shock of pleasure into my clit. Closing my eyes, I imagine it’s Daimon’s bulge, which is a bit more impressive than Nick’s. I wrap my legs around the pillow as I slide it back and forth.
“Oh, Daimon,” I breathe, imagining Daimon’s jeans popping at the seams over his hard cock.
Up and down, forward and backward, he grinds into me until he can’t take it anymore. He must taste me.
I kick off my panties and spread my legs wide, then I reach for my throbbing clit.
“Oh, God! Daimon!”
My hips buck against his mouth as he licks me up and down then in a slow swirling pattern. Oh, that tongue. That beautiful tongue.
“Yes, Daimon. I’m coming.”
My body convulses and as my pussy clenches intermittently, releasing a river of juices for Daimon. I take a moment to collect myself, then I roll onto my side and pull the covers up to my chin. I need to get some rest. Maybe I’ll just stay in bed all day.
Tomorrow, I’ll spend my last day on this island with Nick. And I’ll make love to him, whether he makes me come or not. Because life isn’t always about what you can get. Sometimes you have to give more than you receive.
Then we’ll leave for Monaco. Nick will imagine a beautiful reunion. While I imagine something a bit more bloody.
Alex Carmichael is dead.
Daimon Rousseau may be dead.
But after tomorrow, the Prince and Princess of Monaco will definitely be dead.
Chapter Ten DAIMON
I cut through the neighbor’s backyard to get away from Alex’s cottage. I’m not surprised to find eighty-year-old Ignacio pulling weeds in his strawberry garden.
“Hola, Ignacio!” I shout to him.
He straightens out his crooked back and turns toward the sound of my voice. Flashing me a glorious toothless smile, he waves vigorously. He doesn’t know my name, so he doesn’t return the greeting verbally. All he knows, from the first time I passed through here last night is that I live on a forty-foot sailboat in the harbor on the other side of the island. And that I’m in love with the new girl next door.
I had to be up front with him about this. Then he wouldn’t mind me cutting through his backyard every once in a while. Everyone understands a person in love acts irrationally.
Which is why I’ve given Alex the benefit of the doubt that she purposely left me alive. If she had wanted to kill me, I’m certain I’d be dead. And what I’ve seen while observing her so far only solidifies this theory in my mind.
Alex knew exactly how to kill me without leaving any evidence. The plan she executed at the masquerade ball was not something the average woman her age could pull off. Her only mistake was believing she could set aside her feelings for me long enough to follow through with her plan. Well, that was her second mistake.
Her first was watering down the tranquilizer so she would have time to divulge her plan to me before I fell unconscious. She watered it down too much. I had to pretend to be unconscious, then I had to hold my breath for three minutes and pretend to be dead. I was drowsy enough that I couldn’t fight her off. And I was lucky enough that the drugs slowed my heart rate and weakened my pulse. In her distraught state, she was sloppy when checking if I was truly dead.
After she left, I assumed she would go straight to the airport. So I stumbled out of the hotel and caught a cab to her apartment. The detective in me needed evidence. I needed to know where she was going so that when the drugs wore off, I could find her and make her pay. I didn’t expect to walk into her apartment and hear her sobbing in the shower.
I almost walked into the bathroom and told her I’d forgiven her, but I kept imagining my fingers wrapped tightly around her throat. I knew I had to leave before I did something I would regret later.
Searching her apartment, I found a laptop under her bed with all her flight information. I emailed the itinerary to myself and wiped her hard drive. Then I went through her trash and found the fruit that I had given her. It was just too tempting not to put it back in the fridge to send a message.
I’m convinced Alex knows I’m still alive. In a sick way, Alex needs me as an adversary as much as she needs my cock inside her. As the Americans say, she wants her cake and eat it too.
Well, I am more than ready to give Alex the whole fucking cake, and the cock. But first, I need to make her pay for almost killing me. She’s young. She has many lessons to learn. And I’m going to have a lot of fun being her teacher.
I understand the cruelty in making her pay for a crime that was meant as retribution for my own crime, but she doesn’t understand what happened with her father. The truth is that her father’s death was completely unnecessary. Some of it was error on my part, but mostly it was his own stubbornness. I underestimated the old man’s prowess. He may have been forty-nine years old, but he had a lot of fight left in him from his army days. I should have known this, after the months of research I did on Alex and her family.
I wasn’t supposed to do any research on this job other than Alex’s daily habits. But watching her live her life in the dark sparked my curiosity. I had to find out more. And that’s when I found she’d been treated like a dirty secret for most of her life.
What kind of parents keep their daughter hidden in a dark basement for eighteen years? Their entire house was void of any evidence they even had a child. This madness and the fact that the Princess of Monaco wanted her killed, turned Alex into a mythical figure in my mind. Why would anyone want to hide her away? And why did the princess want her dead?
None of it made sense. Until I traced the curves of Alex’s mouth with my finger and discovered I’d traced those same lips before, with my tongue, when I fucked the princess.
It’s not something I’m particularly proud of. But a forty-two-year-old ex-supermodel is still a very sweet conquest. And I’d never been with a woman twelve years my senior. I’m always willing to try something new. It’s hard to say no when your new boss tries to seduce you. Especially when she is promising you a $20 million payday.
But I do regret it now. Now that I know why she wants Alex dead. Alex is the princess’s dirty secret. The stillborn she supposedly had nineteen years ago wasn’t actually a stillborn after all. It was Alex. And Lisa Carmichael, the woman Alex has called “mother” all her life, is actually the midwife who helped deliver her.
Lisa was supposed to take newborn Alex to a local hospital and claim to have found her abandoned near a dumpster. But Lisa had something else in mind. She kept Alex hidden until she and her husband, Joe Carmichael, could get certified as foster parents. Then she mysteriously found a four-month-old baby behind the hospital. They took Alex in as their first foster child and eventually adopted her. That’s when Lisa started blackmailing the princess.
When Alex turned eighteen, the princess refused to make her annual extortion payment. That’s when Lisa and Joe got desperate and their greed drove Alex away. Which only presented the perfect opportunity for Princess Amica to finally get rid of her dirty secret.
The only thing standing in her way was her ex-Black Ops father who never let Alex out of his sight.
That’s when they called me.
I come out onto the street where the open-air market is lively with merchants and patrons haggling over fish, produce, and textiles. Since I arrived on the island yesterday, I’ve taken the time to acquaint myself with almost everyone in the town of Los Llanos on the other side of the island where I keep my boat docked. You never know when someone will turn from acquaintance to ally.
I continue down the narrow street until I pass the last booth in the market and come upon a fishing supply store. A bell rings when I enter the shop and the young girl behind the counter looks up from her magazine.
“Buenos dias.”
She casts a bashful smile in my direction as she closes her magazine and sits up straight. “Buenos dias, señor.”
Her light-brown hair hangs over her shoulder in a messy braid and her green eyes are practically flashing signals at me. She looks like a sweet girl who probably just wants to be fucked by a foreigner, but I’m not interested. She’s pretty, but she’s not my Alex.
I flirt with her a little so she gives me the fresh bait from the tank in the back of the store. Mackerel are actually quite delicious to eat. They’re not just bait for larger fish.
I take the bag of mackerel from her and flash her a warm smile. “Gracias.”
She leans over the counter, trying to show me her cleavage. “Hasta luego.”
I head out and through the market again. Alex will no doubt be taking a long nap right now to rid herself of the impure thoughts she’s having of me. So it should be safe to walk down the street. Not that she’d recognize me.
I’ve grown my usual four days of scruff out to a thick eight-day beard. And I’ve changed out of the clothing I was wearing when I had to save her life this morning. Now I’m wearing a tourist T-shirt, khaki cargo shorts, sunglasses, and a fisherman’s hat.
As observant and vigilant as Alex is, she misses a lot of obvious signs that she is being played. She didn’t know that I was watching her right now as she screamed my name while caressing her wet pussy. That was quite a show.
It was difficult not to climb in her window and fuck her properly. It’s even more difficult not to get in there and taste her. My craving for her is so strong it’s painful. But I can’t make my presence known yet. I have to debrief Crow and set my plan into motion first.
Crow has been keeping an eye on Alex for me this past week while I was in Monaco. And I do not like the news he’s given me about this new romance she has herself caught up in. Nicolas Costa.
I chuckle to myself as I pass the convenience store at the end of the street. All Alex has to do is think of me and she comes. According to Crow, poor Nicolas couldn’t even get past first base when Alex was drunk. He’s a pathetic excuse for a man. And an even more pathetic excuse for a bounty hunter.
But I’m not worried about Nicolas hurting Alex. And I’m even less afraid of Alex falling for Nicolas. Alex will be mine again. I just have to make sure I approach her cautiously and at precisely the right moment. The only problem is I’ve been given a deadline.
Since I failed to deliver on my promise to kill Alex in Los Angeles, I’ve been given two weeks to kill her in La Palma. And my old friend Crow is eager to finish the job for me if I fail again. Twenty-million dollars is a lot of money. Even in the assassination business.
What they don’t know is that I don’t have two weeks. I have only one day to convince Alex not to get on that plane with Nicolas. I don’t care if the prince is genuinely working against his wife in an attempt to keep Alex safe. Crow won’t allow Alex to step off that plane in Monaco for a beautiful reunion with her biological father. Crow will take down that plane and every person on it to get that twenty-million.
When I turn onto Dolores Street, I’m pleased to see Nicolas working out his sexual frustration in his garden. I cross the street with a spring in my step and stop next to his gate.
“Hola, amigo!” Hello, friend.
He looks up from the dirt he was just probing with his shovel. “Hola.”
I proceed in Spanish and, I must admit, I’m quite impressed with my proclivity for foreign languages. “I noticed you moved in recently and you’ve already found yourself a beautiful friend from across the way.”
I wiggle my eyebrows, though I’m not sure he can see it under my sunglasses. His lips turn up slowly in a wary smile.
“Yes, do you know Alyssa?”
I shake my head. “No, sir. But if you really want to impress her, I have a boat you can charter.” I draw my knife out of my holster and use it to point toward the harbor where I’ll be mooring my boat later night. “If you’d like to take it out for a little while, I’m sure your girlfriend would find it very romantic. I’ll give you a special rate, since you’re my neighbor.”
Nicolas eyes the knife in my hand with even more unease. “Thank you, friend. I’ll keep that in mind.”
I give him my number then he continues digging his hole in the ground. I smile as he bends down and scoops up a dead crow. He drops the bird into the hole and begins piling the dirt on top of it.
“Watch out for those crows,” I call out. “They’re everywhere.”
***
I slap the two-pound sea bass onto the counter in my small galley kitchen. Sliding my boning knife into it’s belly, I cut it open and smile as the blood runs out onto the plastic cutting board. I rip out the guts with my hand and throw them into the waste bin at my feet.
As much as I don’t want to think about Carla, preparing my own dinner always makes me think of the night she left. I knew she was planning to leave me. But I couldn’t bring myself to care.
It had been one and a half years since I gave up my job as a hit man. I had just began working for the Los Angeles Police Department. Carla and I had moved into our apartment in Venice Beach recently and, all circumstances pointed to us having a happily ever after. But I was not a happy man.
Not only was I no longer doing the job that made me who I was, I was still grieving the results of my final job as a hit man. The only thing that made me feel partially alive was chasing a perp or fucking a beautiful woman. Carla was beautiful, but she wanted more from me than just a fuck. She wanted something I couldn’t give. And, after a hundred discussions about our future that went nowhere, and the countless disgusted looks she cast in my direction whenever she found empty condom wrappers in my pockets, she finally got fed up.
After I clean and sauté the fish, I sit down on a bench seat on the deck with my dinner plate and my glass of local wine and I watch Alex’s cottage. Moving the boat to this side of the island is part of the plan. As I finish my last bite of sea bass, Nicolas arrives at her door. Checking in on her to make sure his bounty doesn’t slip through his fingers. Maybe he’ll pretend he’s checking to see how her knee is doing.
I really should have stopped her from going into that clinic today. I would have preferred for her to find out she’s pregnant after I make my presence known. I don’t like having an unfair advantage. But the truth is that the child inside her, our child, will make our reunion that much more interesting. No doubt she’ll be angry when she sees me. She’ll be tempted to risk her life and the life of our unborn to make me pay for my sins. But I’ve seen the softer side of Alex. The part of her that wants nothing more than to be touched, cherished, loved. She knows she can have all that and more with me.
My chest floods with violent rage as I watch Alex open her front door and invite Nicolas inside. The thought of his hands and lips on her is the worst part of this whole mission. I want to slowly break every bone in his body and watch him writhe in pain for even thinking he could touch her. But, once again, patience is a virtue.
I must wait for the right moment. Alex is carrying my child. Which means I’ll do anything to keep her. I’ll endure any agony to get her back. I’ll kill anyone. I’ll agree to any of her demands. But I need her to forgive me first.
Forgiveness.
Such a simple word with such complicated and varied implications depending on who you ask. What is forgiveness? Does it mean you forget the wrongs committed against you? Does it mean you embrace your tormentor?
I wish I knew. The answers to these questions become even more murky when the person you need to forgive is yourself.
I wash the dinner dishes and shower, then I get dressed to head out on patrol. Lurking in the shadows, collecting intelligence and investigating every lead is part of who I am. It’s why I was such a great detective. And why I was an even better hit man before that. It’s why Princess Amica contacted me first when she needed Alex killed.
It’s too bad that she caught me at a very low point in my life. If I had been high on another kill, I may have taken Alex out, no questions asked. But I hadn’t taken a job in three years. Though I fantasized about leaving the L.A.P.D. and going back to my old life, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
I hesitate to describe myself as broken. Broken people don’t have the capability to put themselves back together. But that’s what I did over the last few months as I investigated Alex and her family. In learning Alex’s story, I learned that I was not alone. And maybe, if I wasn’t alone, I still had hope.
I slide my .44 Magnum out of a drawer and hold it in my hands for a moment, lost in thoughts of the last time I used this gun for a hit.
I’d been working as a self-employed hit man for two years after leaving the Central Directorate of Interior Intelligence in France, more commonly known as the DCRI. I was working on high-level counterintelligence operations and realized my biggest thrill was taking out the bad guys. But not just taking them out. I took pride in completing each job without collateral damage. But that all changed on a warm August evening three years ago.
I was sent to London to take out a CIA operative who had gone rogue on a counterterrorism operation. I was hired to take him out before he was caught and tortured into giving up his secrets. He’d been in hiding for three months, but my intelligence had placed him in a small flat in West London. His family wasn’t supposed to be with him that night.
Even three years later, it still makes me sick to my stomach. I can’t get the image of that little boy dead, looking so peaceful in the comfort of his father’s arms. I had come into the man’s bedroom while he slept. As he lay on his side sound asleep, I put one bullet through his back, where his heart would be, and another bullet in the back of his head. The first bullet ripped right through his chest and lodged in his son’s brain. His son was snuggled up against him underneath the covers.
I tuck the .44 into the waistband of my shorts and pull my T-shirt down. Looking at my reflection in the porthole, I scratch my jaw and muss up my hair before I pull on a baseball cap. Turning away, I slide my sunglasses over my eyes.
I am not a good man. But Alex and our child are my chance to redeem myself. I just need to convince her that we are safer together. Because she’ll never be safe as long as there’s a hit on her head.
It took a lot of sweet talking on my part to get Princess Amica to agree to let me finish this job. She wanted to hand the job over to my friend, Crow, but as the only other person who was there with me that night in London, he knows I won’t give this one up. He knows I wouldn’t have come out of retirement for just any case. There may be no loyalty amongst thieves, but there’s a different code of ethics for hit men. Crow remains loyal to me.
But $20 million is a lot of money. He’s still hanging around the island, helping me with intelligence and waiting for me to screw this up so he can step in and finish the job. I don’t care how many years we’ve been friends, if he so much as breathes on Alex, I will gut him faster than a sea bass.
The image of that dead boy’s face flashes in my mind again and I take a seat at the small table near the galley kitchen. I grit my teeth against the memory and the mental self-flagellation that always follows. The inner voice telling me I don’t deserve to live after committing such a heinous act. That child didn’t deserve to die.
I went three years barely clinging to a long list of excuses to keep on living. It wasn’t until I started following Alex that I began to see what my purpose is. My purpose is to save her. To love her. And I will stop at nothing to do just that.
***
The Arkham Bar is housed inside a small, blue building with a clay tile roof. It has a warm, Spanish-island feel on the outside, but the modern, artsy interior feels cold. I feel a bit exposed in this tiny place, but that’s why I brought Crow here. Because if I feel a bit exposed, he’s going to feel downright naked.
The bartender asks for our drink order as soon as we take our seats in the uncomfortable white barstools. Crow keeps his black hoodie pulled tightly around his face as he sits next to me and we both order an Alhambra lager. We wait in silence as he retrieves the beers from a cooler under the bar and flips off the caps before he slides them to us. I pay for the beers and tip the bartender generously, then I let him know we’re not to be interrupted.
