Page 76 of Blurred Red Lines

“I damned myself to hell just to get justice for the women you allowed to die. I dreamed of the day I’d be powerful enough to take you down and watch you crawl on your knees while I took everything away from you. Then I planned to kill you myself and run this goddamn cartelmyway.” Roaming a glance down his motionless corpse, a sadistic laugh tore from my throat. “Guess I’ll have to settle for the last part.”

“Mr. Carrera?” The door opened as the medical examiner stuck her no-nonsense ponytail through the crack. “Are you finished?”

With a last look at my father, I turned toward the door and smiled. “No, ma’am. I’m just getting started.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

EDEN

“Val’s fine. Stop dissecting your burrito, Eden. It’s dinner, not a science project.” Taking a slow drink of his beer, Mateo tipped the neck of the bottle toward the sleeveless, short black dress I wore. “And you can’t afford to skip any more meals.”

Dropping my fork with a clang against my plate, I ran my hands over the loose-fitting material self-consciously. “Are you trying to tell me I look like shit, Mateo?”

“Woman, you’ve been on some sort of self-imposed hunger strike since we met.” Lifting an eyebrow, he shook his head and brought his own overstuffed tortilla to his mouth. “A strong wind could carry you out to sea.”

“I had to exert some sort of control over my situation, you know,” I argued, picking my fork back up and trailing it through a glob of guacamole. “Being chained didn’t exactly lend itself to rational decision-making.”

“Cuffed.”

“What?”

“Cuffed. You said chained. You were cuffed not chained. You act like we had you hanging from a rafter in some dungeon.”

“Whatever,” I muttered, nibbling on a tortilla chip. It tasted like fried cardboard. My stomach churned, thinking of Val alone in the morgue with his father and raw emotions he’d kept bottled for years.

Sighing, Mateo finished chewing, then dropped his food back onto his plate, leveling an accusing stare at me. “Okay, truth or dare time, Eden.”

The chip crumbled in my hand as I returned his stare. “Be serious.”

“Oh, I’m very serious. Truth, or dare.”

I didn’t trust any questions Val’s right-hand man could possibly have for me, so the answer flew out before thought could piece together his game plan. “Dare.”

“Fine. I dare you to eat everything on your plate.” A smirk coated his face as he sat back and crossed his arms for dramatic effect.

Son of a bitch.

The thought of even biting into my chicken burrito make my mouth water, and not in the ‘oh, my God, I’m salivating for more,’ kind of way. No, a metallic taste filled every crevice, forcing me to swallow in more of a ‘oh, my God, I may just puke more than a drunk virgin on prom night,’ kind of way.

However, a dare was a dare.

Steeling my nerves, I tried to hold my breath as I bit into the vile concoction, but chewing and swallowing apparently required oxygen and use of fine motor skills. Gagging on impact, I immediately spit it all out in my napkin.

“I can’t do it, Mateo. God, I’m sorry. I just can’t. I’m too worked up to eat.”

His expression never changed as he simply nodded in acknowledgement. “Truth, it is.”

“No.”

“Then I suggest you open that napkin and start licking, Lachey.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Try me.”

If I had any clue where we were, or how to get back, I’d leave his ass just for being a dick. “Jesus, fine! Ask your stupid question.”

Leaning his elbows on the table, his eyes studied my every move. “What’s going on between you and my boss?”