Page 34 of The Coldest: Stay Dangerous Part 2

“What’s your name?” he asks.

I wipe the excess water off my face, ignoring the mirror.

“Wynter. What’s yours?”

He grins, showing tiny spaced out teeth. “Mars Lamine Alvarez. I was born eleven-eleven, but I’m five.” He holds out five fingers, like he practiced this.

I shake his hand, confirming that his hands are as sticky as his face. “Nice to meet you, Mars. Why are your hands sticky?”

His smile turns sheepish. “Miele let me have an Oreo sundae.”

“Well, come here.” I pick him up–thankfully, he does most of the heavy lifting, jumping, so my body only screams a little–and set him on the sink counter. Wetting a clean towel, I wipe his hands and his face, giggling with him.

“There. All clean.”

“Let’s go!” He hops down, takes my hand, and leads me through the maze of the villa to a courtyard.

“Can you slow down a little?” I huff, tears prickling in my eyes. Geez, my back hurts. My throat hurts. I know I look a mess, but Mars doesn’t care at all.

He drives that point home when he tightens his damp hold on my hand and starts running faster, his little feet slapping against stone, and then wood floors again.

“Nan! She was up!” Mars announces as he drags us into a dining room of sorts.

My eyes bug out. It’s like ten people, all different shades of brown, eating hella food.

With Rico at the head of the table, lording over everyone with an eye patch on that’s quickly becoming hilarious.

Mars walks us over to two empty seats, and I take his hint and sit next to him, with who I’m assuming is Miele on the other side of me.

She beams at me, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out how old she is.

Her eyes dart to my hand and she tsks at me. “I’ll clean that up. Eat first.”

I snatch my hand to my lap as she begins to load up my plate. Another woman on the far end of the table asks something in Spanish, and there’s a sort of hush that falls over the room.

Everyone looks to Rico, who is wiping his hands with a napkin. He runs his tongue over his teeth before he glances at me.

“Snow is my guest. Treat her as–”

“Familia,” Nan interrupts him, grinning at Mars. “Trátala como familia.”

I may not know Spanish, but I know that word, and it makes my shoulders hunch a little.

Me and Rico are nowhere near family.

And I refuse to acknowledge the thump in my chest when I hear the word.

I focus on my food instead. As soon as I take one bite of rice and peas, I dig in. How long has it been since I’ve eaten?

Polite conversation resumes, drowning out the tics in my jaw as I chew. My cut pulls with each swipe of my fork, but the pain grounds me in the moment. It keeps me from wondering if anyone is gawking at my bald head, freckles, or broken spirit.

“Slow down, girl,” Miele giggles. “You coming out on the boat with us later?”

“Uh–”

“Miele.”

My body flinches at the sound of his voice. My gaze darts to Miele, wondering if she’s just as scared as I am.