Page 27 of Refrain (Beautiful Monsters #2)

“Talk…” The other man frowns at his cereal bowl and then sets it aside, unperturbed by the pool of blood occupying the same space.

He wipes his hands on his jeans and then stands in a single fluid motion.

He’s tall. Nearly as tall as Arno, but the slight height difference doesn’t tip the scales of power in either’s favor .

This man, he must be Jose. Only now does it strike me that I have heard of him before, just by another name. We called him “The Shredder of the Cartel” around the precinct. It was the nicest term to describe what he did to his victims.

The horror stories clash with his smiling facade. I’m almost fooled by it—until the moment he comes to a stop inches away from Arno and meets the other man’s gaze directly.

“You come into my house, unannounced…” His tone deepens, revealing a hint of the danger lurking underneath. “You interrupt the lovely breakfast I was having with Julio here. For what? To talk .” He throws his head back and laughs.

It’s a beautiful, charming sound that serves as a violent contrast to the way his hand shoots out and finds my neck. White explodes behind my eyelids. I can’t breathe. His grip is the only thing holding me upright as he yanks me closer to him and out of Arno’s reach.

“Pretty friend,” he says while my eyes stream and my lungs constrict.

My heart surges, desperate to panic, but an old familiar instinct keeps it at bay. It’s been years since I’ve had to anticipate the violence, but my body remembers how to react. Stay still. Hold your breath. Count…

It’s the only way to keep from blacking out too soon.

One. Two. Three.

“She smells like a Russian spy,” Jose says. “Is there a reason that you brought her onto my property, Arno?”

“You kill her, and she can’t tell you what she knows.” There’s a rehearsed calmness to Arno’s tone. He’s been through this before.

Jose’s grip tightens, his fingers digging in. Ironically, the thoughts floating through my brain seem oddly detached given the current circumstances. I’ll bruise if he lets me go. I’ll suffocate if he doesn’t.

Four. Five.

“You hear…about…Russians? ”

I catch bits and pieces of the words as Arno spits them out. Black… I blink frantically but only seeshadow.

“Who took them out?” Arno asks. “Think your fucking operation isn’t next?”

My lungs shrivel, collapsing in on themselves. I’m vaguely aware of the moment death slowly begins to creep…

“Fine.”

Air! My owngaspis deafening. I’m choking, down on my hands and knees, as twotanfeet pad out of my peripheral vision.

“Let’s hear her talk,” Jose commands.

But I don’t know if I’ll ever find my voice again. He was careless. Spiteful. Piotr always made sure never to damage my windpipe during his attempts to drag whatever words he wanted out of me. Words like— Fuck me. I love you. I’m yours.

Jose got carried away. While I gasp, Arno’s forced to pick up the beginning of the story for me.

“Someone set up that hit and took out nearly a third of the Russian Syndicate overnight. Shit like that doesn’t happen on a lucky whim. It was planned.”

“Keep talking, hombre ,” Jose says.

I glance up and find him pacing the sliver of concrete before the body on the floor. From thisangle,I can see the man’s face—what’s left of it. One of his eyes lies loose in its socket while the other stares dead ahead, unseeing.

“You know who’s behind it?”

Jose chuckles. “ Hombre , if I knew that, I would have a few more guests for breakfast .”

A shiver racks my spine at the gleeful, murderous tone. Even Piotr wouldn’t make torture seem synonymous with…simple fun.

“Do you know?”

Arno shakes his head. “But I think I have a lead. I just need your help to follow it.”

“And your little friend?” Jose smirks at me. “What stories does she have to tell? I have some stories of my own. Like about our dear little Espi—”

“You don’t fucking talk about him,” Arno says, his voice still dangerously level. Only a subtle cracking of his knuckles betrays the calm.

“Word on the street is that he’s crawling around, desperate for cash,” Jose says. “Could your boy be planning to run away? I wonder why. Ah…maybe he’s figured out your little secret—”

“ One of the raids was carried out using a gun that belonged to the interim police chief ,” I manage to croak entirely in Spanish, drawing attention to myself.

“So she can speak.” Jose flashes a beautiful, dangerous smile. “Is what she said true? You think this little game might stretch higher than some punk-ass gang trying to make their markonthe world?”

If he does, Arno doesn’t admit as much out loud. “You share what you know, and I’ll share what I know.”

Jose considers the proposal while I struggle to my feet. My eyes are still streaming. It’s hard to breathe without wheezing, but I manage to stay upright.

“Fair enough,” Jose says finally. “I’ll have one of my men come by for a little visit when I get my information. That might happen sooner rather than later if you let Julio and me return to our little breakfast…” He nudges the seemingly dead man with his foot, eliciting a pained groan.

Let’s go. Arno doesn’t even have to say the words out loud, but I’m by his side in an instant. His hand finds my shoulder, steering me along as he barges through the door and past the men still stationed out front.

The man in the truck fires the engine up, and Arno shoves me inside the cabin. The moment he climbs in after me, the truck takes off.

My throat is on fire by the time we finally reach the bar. I think that will be the worst of it—a sore throat for a few days and maybe a pulsing headache.

But I’m barely out of the truck before a familiar figure appears at the side entrance ofMulligan’s.

He’s wearing another hoodie, his hair windswept, his eyes lined with the shadows of exhaustion.

He’s…he’s angry, and it paints a dark, terrifying picture over his features.

The angel’s grown fangs, but unlikeJose,he’s quiet in his rage.

The moment he spots Arno, all he does isshrug.

“Fuck. Don’t give me that look,” Arno snarls, but his plea is ignored.

“You took her to Jose.”

There’s a cold familiarity in the wayEspisidoutters that name. I take it his experience with The Shredder of the Cartel is similar to mine. My mind returns to his scars, paired with Arno’s defensiveness when Jose uttered his name.

“Have you gone fucking crazy, Arno?” Espi asks.

Arno stiffens, crossing his arms over his chest. “Maybe I have?You gota fucking problem with that? I’ve been hearing shit on the grapevine, Espi. You want to cut and run out on me too?”

Anger smolders between them, hot and wild, but surprisingly, it doesn’t seem to be directed at each other. At least not outright. Something else is fraying their bond. Jose is just the catalyst to a bigger strain.

Espisidoshakes his head. His eyes drift over to meet mine, and I’m frozen in place. My hand keeps strayingtomy throat no matter how hard I try to pin itbymy side. He sees the marks my trembling fingers try to hide, and I don’t know what reaction to expect. Pity? Anger?

He just stares, his gaze unreadable, and I’m ill-equipped to decipher the elusive emotions.

“I got a lead. That’s all that fucking matters,” Arno says behind me. “If Dante’s got anything to do with this shit, we’ll know soon enough.” He barges his way past, leaving me and the driver beside the truck. His steps slow beforeEspisido,who hasn’t budged from the doorway.

For a moment, it seems like he won’t. I’m not sure how much time passes before he finally steps aside.

Arno pushes by him without a word, but it’s not over between them.

It’s a strange dynamic they share. Brothers one minute.

Friends the next. Enemies at tense moments sprinkled throughout.

But never once do I sense the loyalty between them fade.

If anything, their bond only seems stronger.

It’s evident in the way Espisidomerely sighs when his gaze sweeps over me again. He makes no move to rush over and fawn all over my new injuries. He doesn’t even glance at my arm to ensure that the stitches have held. His eyes meet mine directly instead.

“You okay?”

I just nod. He sighs again, taking the assurance at face value. Then he turns and heads back into the bar. Within minutes, I know he’ll be out on the other side,gonefor the day.

I just watch him go, and he never does look back.