I close my eyes and focus on the day I found out he was gone. Just like that, the rage settles back into its familiar place in my heart.
“Where is it?” someone snarls. The voice is close, right outside the closet in the bedroom.
I clamp my lips shut. There will be no whimpering. Not without a fight, anyway. But I’m losing and my breaths are shallower, my heart pounding against my sternum. Tomas runs his hands down my shoulders and arms. It helps calm me, but I’m keeping it to myself. Tomas is on a need-to-know basis. And he doesn’t need to know what his touch still does to me.
I focus on the argument outside. “I don’t fuckin’ know,” a second voice responds. Their voices are deep and foreign. “Gio said the cash is here. Presidential suite #1409.”
The other guy chuckles. “Hey, Joe. Check
