Beth reached into the woman’s pocket, finding a California State driver’s license. “Pleasure to meet you, Tasha Baker. I will be sure to tell your parole agent how we became acquainted.”
“Bitch, I don’t got no parole officer.”
“Really? Because that ugly tattoo on your neck tells me you’re with the Crips. And the one on your wrist told me you served time. So don’t lie to me. You have a parole officer. Chances are you just got your kid back. So right after I speak to your parole officer I’m going to speak to your kid’s social worker. All this because you couldn’t listen. Next time when someone says don’t mess with them, don’t mess with them. Or better yet just don’t mess with people. It’s all about human decency. Get some, Tasha.”
Beth turned to the little girl. “Baby Girl, listen to me. Make better choices. Your mama has a hard time. She will probably let you down a lot along the way. Be strong and make better choices.” Beth could only sigh. The cards were stacked high against this poor kid. But she could still make it. She had to tell herself that.
Beth returned her stare to Tasha. “I am going to let you go now. You are going to take your child and walk back to your car. If you try anything stupid, like say trying to hit me again, I will hit you back. Hard. And that would be embarrassing. In front of your kid and all. And then I will take you to the ground and I will sit with my knee in your spine until the police send someone to arrest you. All very embarrassing for you, Tash. Can I call you Tash? I feel like we are at that level now. Since you’ve pulled my hair and I’ve made you scream. So Tash, walk away and don’t look back. And buy your kid a clean pacifier. I personally think she is old enough to do without but you’re her mama, so I’m going to cut her some slack.”
Beth sighed as she settled into the driver’s seat. She sat and just stared out at the bare trees. God this had been a shit day. But still nothing, she felt nothing. No that was a lie, she felt like the trees, bare, stripped down to the point where life was merely nominal. But the leaves would be back. There would be a spring and the flowers would bloom.
She would too. She had to believe that, the same way she believed the little girl had a chance.
She shook her head. Once upon a time she had been better at lying to herself. Maybe it was this place; it was hard to believe in a happy ever after when you were sitting in a prison parking lot.
She really wasn’t going to miss California any more.
Beth reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a bag of M&Ms. This day called from M&M therapy. She knew it would and had planned ahead and bought a family size bag. There was no way four ounces was going to cover it this time. She remembered there being a time when half a dozen pieces would do the trick. She sucked on them one at a time, never biting into them, letting them dissolve on her tongue. The combination of slow breathing and the spike in her blood sugar always lifted her mood, at least temporarily. Like any drug, the effects were short-lived and she needed more and more to get her fix…but they would do until she could get home and see Torres. He was a far more powerful opiate. The withdrawal from him would be a bitch…
It was just after 9pm when Beth arrived home. She was still having a hard time adjusting to calling her new house home. She knew it would take a while before she stopped thinking of her small bungalow as home. They had moved to a nicer house, a bigger house in a gated community. The move made sense, Torres barely fit in her bungalow and the new house had the security they needed. There was a protective detail assigned to Alejandra around the clock. After what happened to Paige, she was taking no chances. Alejandra would grow up shadowed by a bodyguard until Beth brought down El Escorpion.
Beth tiptoed up the stairs to Alejandra’s bedroom. She was lying on her tummy, arms above her head, fast asleep. Beth pulled the blanket up over her shoulders and leaned down and pressed a small kiss to her cheek. “I’ve missed you, Pretty Girl,” she said to her sleeping form. She had been gone less than twenty-four hours but it was too long. Beth stood and stared at her child for a while, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest.
She is safe. The tight knot in Beth’s stomach loosened a little. She is safe. Beth repeated the words to herself over and over until she almost believed them. She never fully would, and that was OK, because that meant she would never let her guard down again. She couldn’t save Paige, but she would protect Alejandra.
Eventually she kissed her cheek again and then went to look for Torres. She knew where he would be. Where he always was, in the garage working, cutting or sanding. A rush of anticipation shot through her when she thought of her husband. That was one emotion that has not been dulled, the thrill she got when she was with Torres. Sometimes it was the only way she felt alive.
Beth held on to the cold wrought-iron banister as she rushed down the steps.
“Hey,” Beth said when she reached him. He was bent over a workbench. His shirt stretched taut over his biceps. His skin looked darker from the contrast of his white shirt.
He looked up and gave her his trademark half smile. Her heart faltered. He was so perfect, scars and all. She didn’t even notice the slash on his cheek any more. It wasn’t until people reacted to his appearance, that she remembered. Objectively he was a terrifying sight, he was six feet of scars and muscles and tattoos. But to her, he was just Torres, her gorgeous husband; the one who held her when she cried, and kissed her until she was breathless. He was hers for now and that was all that mattered tonight.
“Hola, Mami.”
Beth crossed to him wordlessly. She stood on her tiptoes and pressed her mouth against his. His lips opened to her, returning the same urgency. His hands dropped to her hips, pulling her hard against him. She reached between them, pulling up his shirt. She needed to feel him, the smooth knotted scars of his burned chest.
She pulled back just enough to speak. “Take off your shirt.”
“Giving orders now, Gatita?”
Once upon a time she did give him orders. He was her recruit; she had trained him. And now he was her husband. “I just want to see you.” She didn’t wait for him to lift his arms before she started pulling up.
“Hard day?”
Beth didn’t look at him; instead she studied the think black lines of his Santa Muerte tattoo and the scar it covered. She hadn’t told him she was going to Folsom to see her dad. She told him she was in the office catching up on paperwork. “Yeah,” she murmured. That much wasn’t a lie; it had been a hard day.
She had lied to him and she did not regret it even a little. Torres knew about her dad, that he was in prison. That was more than she had ever told another man. He didn’t need to know that she went to see him today. That would make it too real. It was done now, that was all that mattered.
Beth circled her index finger trough a loop in his belt and pulled him closer to her. She needed him. It wasn’t lust or desire, though they were there, it was something deeper; she needed him to feel alive, to feel anything that wasn’t wrapped up in fear and anxiety.
With Torres, everything else disappeared. There was no room for anything else.
“Let’s go to bed,” she murmured against his lips, pulling him towards the door.
Torres never slept more than four hours a night. Every night after she was asleep, he got up again to work in his shop until 2:00 or 3:00. Sleep had never come easily to him, but it was worse now since he escaped from Colombia. He never said anything. She just knew. She could feel it in the tautness of his
