Page 62 of Blurred Red Lines

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By midnight, I’d had enough.

Mateo and Emilio took turns keeping watch while the other slept. Apparently neither had gotten much of the latter in the last few days, the evidence rimming their dark eyes.

But sleep had no place on my agenda. Val had been locked in his office for over six hours. One of the lower-ranking men had brought sandwiches and drinks to the house, and no one bothered to knock on his door to offer any.

When Val said to leave him alone, apparently his word served as gospel.

I’d given it as long as I could. I’d watched television, paced the floor, picked at a turkey sub while my stomach did flips. In the end, I couldn’t stand the silence any longer.

While Mateo watched the front door and Emilio snored on the couch, I grabbed a ham sandwich and bag of chips. Pressing my back against the wall, I moved quietly down the hallway toward Val’s office. Out of habit, I first tried the doorknob, not surprised when it didn’t budge.

Raising my knuckles, I gave a soft knock. “Val? It’s me.” Before he had a chance to reject me, I added, “I know you’re in there and you haven’t eaten all day. Fine, don’t talk, but at least take some food.”

After a few moments, a slight commotion ensued from within, and I took a step back as the door cracked. Val’s tired, frowning face emerged, his eyes cast down toward the plate in my hand. “I hate ham.” He moved to close the door. Reacting on pure adrenaline, I shoved my foot in between the door and the frame, catching it mid-slam.

“Oooof.” Wincing as pain shot up my shin, I shoved the plate into his chest. “Okay, then eat the damn bread.”

“Eden, I’m not in the mood to talk. Go away.”

I’d been so focused on getting him to open the door, I didn’t think beyond it. Flustered, I said the first thing that came to mind. “Emilio pulled a gun on me.”

Technically, it wasn’t a lie. He had.

When Val had been standing there.

Val’s eyes flared, and he swung the door open wide with a growl. “I’ll kill him.”

With catlike precision, I slipped under his arm and into the middle of his office. Turning to face him, I offered an apologetic smile. “Don’t bother. I handled it hours ago.”

“Eden, I don’t have time for this.” Swearing under his breath, he stomped back to his desk, flopping back into his oversized mahogany chair as it creaked with his weight. His desk stood littered with papers and a bottle of half-empty tequila.

“Val, you can’t just keep all this inside and not deal with it. Your father was murdered, for Christ’s sake!”

“Shit happens.”

“Shit happens? Excuse me, did you just say ‘shit happens?’” I tried to control my reaction, to no avail. “This is your father.”

“He was an evil son of a bitch.”

“He was your dad, Val.”

Curling his lip into a sneer, he cocked his chin toward me. “He was my father. The man was no dad. No dad would’ve brought a young boy into this life.”

“But, still—”

Swiping a stack of papers off his desk and onto the floor with a flick of his wrist, his eyes flashed with anger. “Still, nothing, Eden. You want me to say it? Fine, let’s just put on the table how much of my father’s blood runs through my veins.” Propping his feet up on the edge of his desk, he spread his arms wide. “I’m glad the bastard is dead. Okay? There, I said it. He terrorized my mother, he destroyed my family, and he…” Trailing off, he shifted a glance away.

“He what?”

“He ordered your execution.”

I swallowed the boulder in my throat. “By who?”

A sadistic grin crept along the seams of his mouth. “Me.”

I staggered backward at his confession. As twisted as mine and Val’s relationship was, something inside refused to let me believe he’d hurt me.