Page 44 of Great White
That statement actually makes me sad. This tough, formidable woman deserves so much more than just death in her life. She deserves more than the sorrow and pain that has been doled out to her in spades. And the captivity she clings to.
“You know what else should be a huge part of your life?”
“What?” Dove sips down some tequila.
“Love.”
She nearly spits it all over the table…and me.
“We had this discussion. There is no room for love in my life. Thanks, but no thanks.”
“I don’t think you know what you’re missing.”
“I know exactly what I’m missing. Heartache, pain, suffering, physical abuse, mental misuse . . . I can go on.”
“Not every relationship is like that.”
“Why the fuck do you care, Tate? Why the fuck do you care whether there is love in my life or not? Whether there is happiness in my life or not? Whatever the fuck those two things are anyway,” she explodes, gaining some unwanted attention from the guys sitting at the bar.
Why do I care? I know I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t care about her at all. But I do. I have from the minute I laid eyes on her. Our situation is tangled, at best. Any kind of relationship we form is doomed to crash and burn the minute she finds out exactly who I am, so why do I push? Why do I pursue her? “Because . . .” That's the best, worst answer I can divulge.
“Because?” she spews. “You’re all the fucking same.”
“That is one thing we are not. Not all men hit. Not all men hurt.” I lean forward strictly.
“I have yet to meet any of those men,” Dove hisses.
“One is sitting right across from you.”
Dove glowers. “He’s already taken.”
Whose fault is that?I want to scream at her, but I keep my composure. I grab the bottle by the neck and help myself to a big swig. Dove can titillate me and get under my skin like no other woman I have ever met.
“Ahem.” Someone clears their throat next to the table. A short man with tan skin, black eyes, and a brown Stetson is standing off to the side. “Miss Dove, is this guy bothering you?”
Dove sways a bit with glassy eyes. “No, Maurice. He’s harmless. Just a major pain in my ass. But I have a feeling you already know that. How do you say PITA in Spanish?” she asks me with warped amusement.
“Joda,” I translate flatly.
“That’s it? Disappointing.” Maurice and I both notice the alcohol is starting to take effect.
“I do know what ajodahe is,” Maurice confirms with a wry smile.
Dove doesn't know the half of it. Maurice vets all the candidates for the Deltoro gauntlet. He’s the gatekeeper. She also doesn’t know that he has a predilection for high-priced hookers and high-priced blow. Which is how we met. He got popped and flipped to save his own ass. He’s our informant now. There really is no honor among thieves. When he vouched for me, I got my in.
Maurice and I play it cool, but I can see the worry slithering around his dark pupils like snakes. For now, his secret is safe with me. And mine with him.
Dove drains the last of the tequila as Maurice and I look on. We share a knowing look. Thing about Maurice is he really isn’t a bad guy. Under different circumstances, we might even be friends. Or, at least, friendly. I honestly think his concern for Dove is genuine.
“You need some help with this?” he offers.
“I got it,” I assure him. But we both reckon a drunkTiburonawill be a handful.
“I love how you two are talking about me like I’m not here.” Dove almost sounds like she’s giggling.
“We know you’re here in body. It’s mind we are worried about.” Maurice states.
Dove slides out of the booth, wobbly on her feet. “I don’t need anybody to worry about me.” She looks Maurice dead in the eye. They are almost exactly the same height.
