Rock Chick Regret
Page 112
I was stuck on his earlier point.
“Do you think they poisoned Harvey?” I asked.
“Poison isn’t Seth’s style. He doesn’t mind mess. He likes to make a statement.”
He was talking about my father and his words made my blood run cold.
Hector went on, “Marty has a chemistry set. We know he roofies girls he wants to f**k who won’t give him the time of day. Likes to do the same to adversaries, makes it easier to kick the shit out of them. Word is, he’s got an interest, he does research, plays around with pharmaceuticals just to see what they’d do. Eddie says there were two deaths by poison last year, both enemies of the Balduccis.”
I stared at Hector.
Veronica Mars had been “roofied”, in other words, slipped a date rape sedative so she’d go incoherent before she passed out and when she did, the creepy, weak, homicidal high school kid had his way with her (but also her cute, sweet high school ex-boyfriend did too but he had an excuse, he’d also been roofied, it wasn’t a good night for our plucky Veronica).
“That’s gross,” I said to Hector.
“That’s Marty,” Hector said back.
“What’s Plan B?”
“You don’t have to know what Plan B is but while it’s happenin’, you aren’t outside touching distance of me or one of the boys. Clear?”
“Clear,” I agreed. “But I think I want to know what Plan B is.”
He shook his head.
“Hector –” I started.
“You agreed I’d take care of you, I’m takin’ care of you. That’s all you need to know.”
“Hector!”
He gave me a squeeze, his eyes went narrow and then, obviously because this was important, for good measure, he gave me a shake.
“Sadie, I’m askin’ you to trust me.”
I pulled in my lips, bit them and stared at him.
I’d made this bed, I’d tested that trust, I’d let him know it and now I was lying in said bed.
Blooming heck!
I had only one choice.
“Oh, all right,” I gave in and watched his face start to relax. “But only if you let me paint your living room whatever color I want.”
It was his turn to stare.
And he did this for awhile.
Finally, he said, “Mamita, you’re a little crazy.”
Maybe I was.
But I was also on a mission.
“Do I get to paint your living room?” I asked.
He sighed then rested his forehead against mine. This time, he kept it there.
Then it was his turn to give in. “Just not pink.”
“I’m not going to paint your living room pink!” I yelled, pulling my head away. “I can’t believe you’d even think that.”
At my outburst, his face went warm and, for some bizarre reason, he muttered, “Will of f**kin’ steel.”
“What?” I asked.
“Shit keeps comin’ at you. Bad shit. Rape, your mother’s murder, arson, kidnapping and you’re standin’ here wantin’ to paint my living room. You got a will of f**kin’ steel.”
I didn’t know what to say to that so I didn’t say anything but Hector did.
“And before you ask, mi corazón, that’s good,” he told me quietly.
My belly went into melt mode, he touched his lips to mine, soft, sweet and way too short.
I decided to change the subject from my “will of steel” (even though I liked that he thought that about me, it felt good).
“I need to talk to you about what Jerry and my father said.”
“You had breakfast?”
“Jerry gave me a bowl of cereal.”
He let me go, stepped away but curled his arm around my neck and headed us to the door.
“I’ll feed you, you tell me then we’ll go to Home Depot, get you some paint.”
I smiled at him. I couldn’t help it because there it was again.
I had a trauma.
I survived it.
Then Hector made life better again.
I stopped our progress to the door by planting my feet, putting a hand to his stomach and pressing into his side. I leaned up on tiptoes and, this time, I touched my mouth to his.
“Thanks, babe,” I said softly against his mouth.
At my words, I watched, close up, as his eyes flared, he curled me fully to his front, his mouth came down on mine and he gave me a kiss that was so far from a touch on the lips, it wasn’t even funny.
When he was done, he lifted his head. I was leaned into him, arms around him, unable to hold myself up and he had that possessive look in his eye.
“There she is,” he whispered.
“Who?” I asked.
“My Sadie.”
And, indeed, there I was.
And being there, Hector’s Sadie smiled.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Fred and Wilma
Sadie
I felt warmth at my neck, it moved up and then fingers sifted into my hair.
This was such a pleasant sensation, my mind decided to come awake, I opened my eyes and looked up.
“Hi,” I said softly to Hector who was sitting on the edge of the couch. I was on my side, hands in prayer position under my cheek, my knees bent and his h*ps were in the crook of my lap.
“If I didn’t see it for myself, mamita, I’d ask if you got any paint on the wall,” he said right before his hand left my hair and his index finger slid across my cheek and down the side of my mouth. I knew he was tracing a paint mark, just one of many.
I ignored what his soft touch did to my body and got up on an elbow, one hand pulling the hair away from my face and getting stuck in the paint-clogged tangles.
“Painting’s kind of messy,” I informed him.
His eyes gave me a hair, face and torso scan. “It’s not that messy.”
I grinned and pushed all the way up, going behind him, and got to my feet. I leaned in, grabbed his hand, pulled him up and said, “Come look.”
I dragged him from the north room to the south room and we stood in the middle.
I was thrilled with the results. The dusky gray went great with the dusky gray-blue of the other room. There were all sorts of ways to tie the rooms together, toss pillows, throws, pictures, the mind boggled with the options (at least mine did). It was perfect.
I dropped his hand and pointed to the bottom of the walls.
“You said don’t worry about the skirting boards, you were going to put wood ones in. Look!” I cried happily. “Matt helped by yanking off the old ones. He threw them in a pile in the backyard.”
“Do you think they poisoned Harvey?” I asked.
“Poison isn’t Seth’s style. He doesn’t mind mess. He likes to make a statement.”
He was talking about my father and his words made my blood run cold.
Hector went on, “Marty has a chemistry set. We know he roofies girls he wants to f**k who won’t give him the time of day. Likes to do the same to adversaries, makes it easier to kick the shit out of them. Word is, he’s got an interest, he does research, plays around with pharmaceuticals just to see what they’d do. Eddie says there were two deaths by poison last year, both enemies of the Balduccis.”
I stared at Hector.
Veronica Mars had been “roofied”, in other words, slipped a date rape sedative so she’d go incoherent before she passed out and when she did, the creepy, weak, homicidal high school kid had his way with her (but also her cute, sweet high school ex-boyfriend did too but he had an excuse, he’d also been roofied, it wasn’t a good night for our plucky Veronica).
“That’s gross,” I said to Hector.
“That’s Marty,” Hector said back.
“What’s Plan B?”
“You don’t have to know what Plan B is but while it’s happenin’, you aren’t outside touching distance of me or one of the boys. Clear?”
“Clear,” I agreed. “But I think I want to know what Plan B is.”
He shook his head.
“Hector –” I started.
“You agreed I’d take care of you, I’m takin’ care of you. That’s all you need to know.”
“Hector!”
He gave me a squeeze, his eyes went narrow and then, obviously because this was important, for good measure, he gave me a shake.
“Sadie, I’m askin’ you to trust me.”
I pulled in my lips, bit them and stared at him.
I’d made this bed, I’d tested that trust, I’d let him know it and now I was lying in said bed.
Blooming heck!
I had only one choice.
“Oh, all right,” I gave in and watched his face start to relax. “But only if you let me paint your living room whatever color I want.”
It was his turn to stare.
And he did this for awhile.
Finally, he said, “Mamita, you’re a little crazy.”
Maybe I was.
But I was also on a mission.
“Do I get to paint your living room?” I asked.
He sighed then rested his forehead against mine. This time, he kept it there.
Then it was his turn to give in. “Just not pink.”
“I’m not going to paint your living room pink!” I yelled, pulling my head away. “I can’t believe you’d even think that.”
At my outburst, his face went warm and, for some bizarre reason, he muttered, “Will of f**kin’ steel.”
“What?” I asked.
“Shit keeps comin’ at you. Bad shit. Rape, your mother’s murder, arson, kidnapping and you’re standin’ here wantin’ to paint my living room. You got a will of f**kin’ steel.”
I didn’t know what to say to that so I didn’t say anything but Hector did.
“And before you ask, mi corazón, that’s good,” he told me quietly.
My belly went into melt mode, he touched his lips to mine, soft, sweet and way too short.
I decided to change the subject from my “will of steel” (even though I liked that he thought that about me, it felt good).
“I need to talk to you about what Jerry and my father said.”
“You had breakfast?”
“Jerry gave me a bowl of cereal.”
He let me go, stepped away but curled his arm around my neck and headed us to the door.
“I’ll feed you, you tell me then we’ll go to Home Depot, get you some paint.”
I smiled at him. I couldn’t help it because there it was again.
I had a trauma.
I survived it.
Then Hector made life better again.
I stopped our progress to the door by planting my feet, putting a hand to his stomach and pressing into his side. I leaned up on tiptoes and, this time, I touched my mouth to his.
“Thanks, babe,” I said softly against his mouth.
At my words, I watched, close up, as his eyes flared, he curled me fully to his front, his mouth came down on mine and he gave me a kiss that was so far from a touch on the lips, it wasn’t even funny.
When he was done, he lifted his head. I was leaned into him, arms around him, unable to hold myself up and he had that possessive look in his eye.
“There she is,” he whispered.
“Who?” I asked.
“My Sadie.”
And, indeed, there I was.
And being there, Hector’s Sadie smiled.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Fred and Wilma
Sadie
I felt warmth at my neck, it moved up and then fingers sifted into my hair.
This was such a pleasant sensation, my mind decided to come awake, I opened my eyes and looked up.
“Hi,” I said softly to Hector who was sitting on the edge of the couch. I was on my side, hands in prayer position under my cheek, my knees bent and his h*ps were in the crook of my lap.
“If I didn’t see it for myself, mamita, I’d ask if you got any paint on the wall,” he said right before his hand left my hair and his index finger slid across my cheek and down the side of my mouth. I knew he was tracing a paint mark, just one of many.
I ignored what his soft touch did to my body and got up on an elbow, one hand pulling the hair away from my face and getting stuck in the paint-clogged tangles.
“Painting’s kind of messy,” I informed him.
His eyes gave me a hair, face and torso scan. “It’s not that messy.”
I grinned and pushed all the way up, going behind him, and got to my feet. I leaned in, grabbed his hand, pulled him up and said, “Come look.”
I dragged him from the north room to the south room and we stood in the middle.
I was thrilled with the results. The dusky gray went great with the dusky gray-blue of the other room. There were all sorts of ways to tie the rooms together, toss pillows, throws, pictures, the mind boggled with the options (at least mine did). It was perfect.
I dropped his hand and pointed to the bottom of the walls.
“You said don’t worry about the skirting boards, you were going to put wood ones in. Look!” I cried happily. “Matt helped by yanking off the old ones. He threw them in a pile in the backyard.”
