Page 91 of Raphael

It was the only fucking time my father bowed his head. In church. Maybe it was to seek forgiveness so he could do more fucked up shit. Or maybe he thought he could buy his absolution, who the fuck knew.

I walked past the full pews filled with extended family, soldiers, politicians. Even rivals. I narrowed my gaze on Santiago Tijuana seated there with some bimbo with fake boobs that came up to her chin. He had the most horrid taste in women.

Without acknowledging him, I continued to the front. Three more steps. Two. One.

It was then that my father finally spotted me.

“It should be you in that casket,” my father sputtered in Spanish. “Not my firstborn.”

Nothing like a family reunion in which you were wished dead!

“Funny, I could wish you dead too,” I warned, giving my father my full attention for the first time in years. As suspected, he turned bright red, ready to blow a gasket. Now that could be entertaining.

“Be careful, mi hijo,” he hissed. It was the first time in over a decade that he called me his son. I could have gone another decade without it. “Or I could find a way for you to visit your mother.”

I was my mother’s favorite. Vincent was Father’s. And my old man knew exactly how to ensure allegiances.

“Your mother doesn't need makeup when her face is purple, blue, and swollen," he drawled and fury shot through me like heroin. A slow smirk spread across his face, and I wish I could beat his old ass. "I love hearing her scream."

You’d think a mother would come to her son’s funeral. But we weren’t an ordinary family. We were fucked up, the whole nine yards. My mother gave birth to Vincent, but he stopped being her son with the first rape he committed. Under her roof. She hated him as much as my father. After all, it was how we came to be. The old fat prick forced himself on her.

Last time Father saw her, she was bloodied, bruised, and trembling so badly; she had to be untied and carried out of his bedroom. My chest tightened at that disgusting memory and my composure slipped for a fraction. I had never wanted to kill my father more than in moments when he found torturing my mother a form of entertainment.

My mother was my weakness. She didn’t deserve this fucked up fate nor that old bastard of her husband.

No woman deserved that shit.

And still I didn’t save her. My eyes lowered to my wife in my arms.

I’d save this one, even if I had to die in the process.

ChapterThirty-Eight

SAILOR

Iwoke up, and the first thing I saw was the clear blue sea with a great Kiskadee bird, sitting confidently solo atop a branch. The dramatic white stripe on his black face made him one of the unique birds on the Colombian coast.

Honeymoon. Then slowly the events of the last day came rushing through. The wedding. Our trip to the Rosario Islands. Colombia. Our honeymoon.

We arrived last night to the island off the Colombian coast that has been on my bucket list for a very long time. Go figure that Raphael would pick that for our destination. I freaking loved it. Gabriel was with Aurora, Alexei, and Willow. They’d stay with him until the day we were scheduled to return.

The sun shone into the bedroom, the humid, tropical air thick. I breathed in, then exhaled as I listened to the rustle of the trees, waves, and chirping of birds.

The spot next to me was empty and I sat up to find Raphael sitting at the foot of the bed.

“Good morning.”

Smoothing my hair, I combed my fingers through it. “Morning.” He handed me a cup of coffee, and I reached for it. “Thanks.”

“Did you sleep well?”

Heat rushed to my cheeks. He chuckled. “Sailor, I tasted every inch of your body last night, and you’re going to blush when I ask you how you slept?”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine. I slept just fine.”

He grinned, a self-satisfying grin.

“Want to go for a swim?”