Page 79 of Love Me Darkly
“Answer me,” he hissed.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Sort of. I … it’s complicated.”
Mateo snorted and rolled his eyes. “Save it. I don’t want to know the details. I don’t need to know how things went down between you and your daddy.”
Melody’s knees gave out, and she nearly collapsed at the realization that this was about more than what Mateo knew. It was about what he had heard and possibly seen. She choked down vomit and lowered her head with a pained groan, humiliated and ashamed. It was bad enough he knew about her and Roman, but for him to witness it, to see or hear her that way … it was more than she could bear.
Mateo caught her up by her other arm and kept her on her feet. His expression was one of gleeful smugness as he digested her reaction.
“Yes,” he said. “I heard everything. Everything, Melody. You think I wouldn’t recognize your voice while you moaned for that bastard?”
“Oh God,” she whimpered, letting her head fall forward toward his chest, praying he wouldn’t let her go. “Oh God, no.”
She felt as if she might collapse. More than that, she actually reveled in the feel of his hands on her, his nearness. She wanted to sink into Mateo and beg him not to let go. Melody nestled against his chest, drawing in the scents of leather, pepper, and tobacco, begging silently for his forgiveness.
Mateo stiffened and his hands on her arms went still. For a moment, he seemed almost uncertain of what was happening. As if instinct made him want to gentle his hands on her. His body eased some of its tightness, just a bit. Just enough that she knew he was wavering.
But then, his fingers tightened on her arms and he was pushing her away from him, staring down at her with eyes gone passionless. Dead. He was finished with her.
“Are you embarrassed at being overheard, or upset because you can’t manipulate me anymore?”
Heat flushed her face and smothered her anguish and fear. She slammed her palms into his chest, throwing him back a few steps. Her nerves were frayed, and while she was sorry for lying to him, she’d had just about enough of his insults. “Fuck you, Mateo!”
A sarcastic smile curved his mouth and he huffed. “You already did. So good I forgot how to do my fucking job. I forgot to pay attention to what was right in front of me. The signs were there—your credit card statements, your familiarity with the people at Solstice, your caginess about being seen with me, the burner phone with calls to only one number. His fucking number. But I didn’t want to see it. I wanted …”
Melody took a step toward him and then faltered, thinking better of it. She had wanted a clean break, hadn’t she? She needed to push Mateo away, hoping it would be enough to protect him. Now, she didn’t have to worry that he would be seen near her. He would likely stay as far away from her as possible after this. She could hardly bear the ache that thought sent spreading through her chest, but she ignored the feeling and did what she had always done. What was necessary to survive.
“Am I under arrest, Agent Garcia?”
She saw him react to her question and flat tone from the corner of her eye, but refused to look at him. If she looked at him, he would see her heart in her eyes. He would see that this was tearing her to shreds.
“No,” he replied curtly. “Not yet.”
“Are there any more questions I can answer for you?”
“Korenic mentioned transport to Memphis. When’s it going down?”
Melody shook her head. “I don’t know. Roman hardly ever talks business in front of me, and when he does, he never mentions things he wouldn’t want me to repeat.”
Mateo drew closer, his gaze leveled at her profile. She could feel it searing through her, as he attempted, as always, to see through her. To see the truth. She raised her chin and went on avoiding his stare.
Suddenly, his fingers closed around her throat, and he jerked her toward him, until his nose and lips were pressed against her cheek. His words whispered hotly against her skin. The bite of Scotch hit her nostrils, tangling with his heady cologne.
“This isn’t just about me,” he rasped. “I have a little girl, Melody. Do you get that? If anything happens to her … if I find myself unable to get back to her because you opened your mouth to Roman …”
Melody closed her eyes and swallowed. The pressure of his fingers was just enough to render her immobile, remind her of the fragility of her body. “I understand.”
“No, you don’t, so let me make it clear. You’ve worked in a known front for a trafficking ring for a year. That’s an accessory charge, at minimum, add aiding and abetting if you helped them cover their tracks. I could throw conspiracy, obstruction, and fraud on top of that if I’m feeling especially cruel, and Melody … if anything happens to Angelica, I will feel especially cruel. I could bury you with a phone call, and with your record, you’ll go away for a long time. Long enough that you’ll forget the sight of the sun and the taste of the wind.”
Her chest felt as if it had been cleaved open with a machete, but she managed to keep her mask of aloofness firmly in place. “Like. I. Said. I understand.”
He released her and slowly backed away. Then, he turned to leave without a look back. He went out the way he came—through the front door, slamming it shut. Melody held her breath and listened to the sounds of his retreat. Her hands shook as he pounded down the stairs, and her knees gave out once his car roared to life. She sat back on her haunches and fought against the invisible force pressing her down to the carpet, demanding she prostrate herself and weep until she was empty. The force won out, and before she knew it, she had fallen onto her hands, the tears coming in hot, fat drops that stained her fingers.
Choking back sobs, she fought to breathe. Every inhale filled her lungs with fire, and every exhale released her hope in a cloud of misery. Falling onto her side, she curled into the fetal position and gave herself over to grief. She needed to get up and fix her ruined makeup. She was going to be late for her shift. She was going to piss Roman off by ruining Glow Night when she showed up with red eyes and a sullen disposition.
But she couldn’t bring herself to care. Finally releasing the sobs she’d held in her chest, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to feel—the anger, the sadness, the anxiety, the grief. It swept over her like a tidal wave and pulled her under, until she was drowning in her own tears. Mateo’s voice echoed in her ears, harsh and filled with derision, hurling accusations.
Baby girl. But not an endearment. A curse. An epithet.
