Portia"Jesus!" I'm startled at the look of the very large and very excited German Shepherd that comes through the door.Callahan turns to look at me with a grin on his face-asshole which is gone the instant the giant hound sniffs me then sets his head on my lap, tail wagging like we're old friends.I admit, this is a scary looking dog but they're usually the sweetest. It's the little fuckers you have to watch for. I still remember a friend's yappy poodle chasing me around the dining room table on my first visit to her house when I was barely five."Well, hi there. What's your name, sweetie?" I ask him in a voice that makes Callahan roll his eyes as I lean down to cuddle the dog.Callahan mutters something under his breath. I don't hear what it is, but he sounds annoyed. Good."Cerberus. Here." He points beside him, but Callahan nuzzles his nose into my hair behind my ear. "Christ," he mutters and tugs the dog away. “Sit.""Hey!"The dog whines but sits, just barely, tail still waggin

CallahanI don't look at my mother's portrait when I pass it, but turn the corner into a darker corridor. I make my way to my study thinking about what Portia said. That I have my mother's eyes. It's such a strange comment to make. Especially from her.Once inside, I close the door. The desk lamp is on. I set the whiskey bottle down, pull my sweater over my head, and sit before pouring another into a glass Lenore left on the desk. She worked for us before, too, and has been living with her family for the ten years since the massacre. She was one of the few people who knew Antonio and I were alive.I took three bullets during the attack. Two to my torso, One to my head. They'd mistaken me for a soldier or I'm sure I would be dead now. No execution style killing for me. But I did watch from my place on the bloody marble floor that mom loved so much. I remember how cold it felt, even in the July heat. How that small, inconsequential detail stood out.My older brother and father were al

PortiaI wake to a violent pounding in my head. I groan, turn over, burying my face in the pillow, the unfamiliar feel of it — mine is softer.And mine doesn't smell like him. My eyelids fly open and bright sunlight makes my head hurt worse.This is the second day now I'm waking with a headache. This one I did to myself.Whiskey.Too much of it.It takes me a long minute to get up the courage to look behind me. But when I do, I find the bed empty and realize what that sound is. The shower.He did sleep here, I realize. I still see the indentation from his head on the pillow and when I reach to touch it tentatively, it's still warm.I wanted this, right? To be passed out when he touched me? So, I wouldn't remember it.What do I remember? Not much.Lifting the comforter, I peer underneath, surprised to find I'm still wearing his clothes.The tie is gone, and the pants are down around my ankles, but I don't feel anything. I would feel it if he'd touched me. I've had sex before. I know ho

Callahan"Here." He hands me a folder out of his briefcase. He's old-school. Leave no electronic trail. Ever. It's probably what's kept him out of prison.I open the folder and the first thing I see is a grainy photo of the man who orchestrated my family's massacre.The younger Fernando Mancini.I flip through the photos, look at the vast, empty land around him. I look at the men in their pickup trucks, the porch of the house he's stepping into. The bigger house I don't recognize.“He's in Mexico?"My uncle nods. “Making an alliance between the Esmeralda Cartel, which he considers himself the head of since he is engaged to Portia — ”"He can consider himself the fucking king of England for all I care. It makes no difference to me. Like I said, he's no longer engaged to Portia. She told me she'd rather kill herself than fuck him."“Well, that'll be news to him then.""Go on. I recognize the Esmeralda house. But what's this one? With whom is he forging this alliance?""Felix Pérez. Heat

Portia"I'm sorry," I blubber. “I'm so sorry that happened."“That didn't just happen," he spits. "Don't you get it? They did it. They made it happen. Your brothers. Your fiancé." He shakes his head then, abruptly releasing his hold on my hair and stepping backward so I fall forward onto my hands.He turns away, walking to the sink.I watch from my place on the floor as he turns on the tap and washes his face, mutters a curse into the towel he uses to dry himself.Cerberus whines from the corner."I'm sorry," I say again. “I'm sorry I said those things to you when I knew you hadn't touched me. I'm sorry that my brothers hurt your family like they did. I'm so sorry that it was my family who did that to yours. I'm sorry.." I trail off, sitting back on my heels, thinking, blubbering now because I am sorry.I'm sorry for all of it.I rub my face, look up to find him watching me.“I understand if you need to hurt me. Punish me for what happened. I do. And if you'll let my cousin go — ”"We