Page 22 of Unspoken Lies

His hands are shaking as he nods, standing to walk me out. I’m fully armed, though many of my weapons are hidden. My tank top and jeans have a jacket thrown over top, and there’s every possibility someone may think I’m weak for it.

I’ll never be weak again.

I walk through the warehouse as if I own it, my hair in my face as I watch where everyone is. It’ll be difficult for someone to identify me this way, but I’m putting faces to names in my portfolio as I move through the warehouse.

“Santiago!” Maurice calls out sharply. A guy with bad skin and hair glances over, appearing surprised. He hisses at the man in front of him, and Maurice’s son turns to face me.

Santiago has deep green eyes, wild curly brown hair, and is just a little taller than me. He attempts to give me a flirtatious smile, but I’m pretty sure my pussy is drier than it has ever been.

I’m not at all interested. It’s not his fault, I’m simply broken. He’s also someone I may have to torture and kill to set an example. I won’t shit where I eat, thanks.

“Yes, Dad?” he says, walking over to us. “Who is this?”

“That’s up to her if she tells you,” Maurice grunts. “Please explain what happened today after your classes.”

“Ah, I went to get some food with some friends,” he says. “They started talking a lot of shit and things got heated.”

Tilting my head back a little, I notice that there’s an impressive cut under his eye.

“What does the other guy look like?” I ask, almost teasing. At least that’s what it would sound like if my tone wasn’t so dead and toneless.

Santiago flinches as if I had hit him, but forces himself to breathe through it.

“If I’m honest, I chose to leave because the guns were coming out and I was alone,” he says. “I got into my car and left while they shot at me.”

“Why did things get heated?” I ask.

‘“You know, they thought I was encroaching on their territory when all I wanted was to eat,” he sighs. “They said some shit about my father I couldn’t ignore, even though I should have.”

His eyes have a difficult time meeting mine as I continue to stare at him, and I decide there’s a fifty-fifty chance that the bastard is lying to me. I’ll just have to continue my plan to bar hop at the college bars this weekend.

I should go tonight, but I think I’m going to dress like a slut and see if anyone makes the mistake of trying to force themselves on me. I need a reason to kill someone so that I don’t stab anyone I shouldn’t.

“You should make better decisions so you don’t give your father a heart attack,” I say mildly. “Why don’t you tell me exactly what they said about him?”

Santiago swallows hard before telling me, but I can tell that it’s a fabricated story. He trips on his words, repeats himself, and I quickly find myself losing patience.

“Alright,” I interrupt. “I want you to stay out of Goleta. Find another place to eat. It’s clear that you’re on their radar, and I don’t want to deal with your funeral if you wind up dead.”

“What?” Santiago asks, confused.

“She stated things plainly,” Maurice snarls. “She’s not someone you make repeat herself.”

“I don’t know who she is,” his son complains. “Who doesn’t introduce themselves?”

“Who I am doesn’t matter in this conversation,” I say. “You’re going to get killed if you don’t get your shit together.”

My words are a warning of many different facets. If he’s actually is supplying and selling the date rape drug, there will be hell to pay.

IGNACIO

I’ve been in prison for two years today. There’s nothing like feeling sorry for yourself on a day like this one.

My father came to visit me this morning, but his sad eyes just made it all worse. I asked him about Liliana, and he told me to write her my damn self.

Fuck, I hate when he’s right. I have a stack of letters that I’ve read and put aside in my bunk, too sad to respond back. The letters have dried water on them, and sometimes the letters are smeared. I want to wrap my arms around her and mourn with her.

Instead, I’m in here, trapped like a fucking animal. I feel like a coward that I’ve never responded back, but I know my letters would be monitored. I won’t be able to tell her everything that I want to, and so I will stay silent.