The Isle Of Sin And Shadows - Keri Lake Page 0,160
of my head. A blast of cool air rushes over the damp surface of my skin, and I suck down as much air as I can through the tight fist over my lungs. Wheezing and coughing, I stumble down a shallow slope of a hill to an empty table and steady myself. With a trembling hand, I rub my forehead as I fight to catch my breath. It takes a good ten minutes of breathing before the grip relents and my body calms, and the quiet trickle of water draws my attention to the narrow canal.
Where the hell is Luc?
Finally turning around, I scan over the few surrounding partygoers. A man stands at the top of the slope, wearing a goat skull. Unlike the papier-mâché variety, his is bigger, the details sharper. Pointed at me.
Dressed in a gray suit and slacks, he’s definitely not Luc.
And the moment he steps in my direction, I spin on my heel and run.
41
Thierry
Burning flares through my arm, as I steer the vehicle onto the main strip toward Sinners and Saints. I expected some trouble picking Verónica up from the rendezvous, particularly as I decided to meet up in Matamoros, to ensure there was no issue with her first transporter coming through border patrol, so not exactly a surprise that gunfire got exchanged.
Three men--rival cartel, I’m guessing--had Verónica in their sites, the moment she stepped out of her transporter’s vehicle toward mine. The first transporter had his brain spilled across Las Americas, in front of some kids selling oranges on the side of the road. I took one of the shooters out, but not before a bullet grazed me. Thankfully, two of her father’s men that’d trailed behind in another vehicle chased the others down, allowing us safe passage across the bridge.
And for what?
The spoiled brat did nothing but bitch the whole ride, about how uncomfortable she was in the backseat of the Lincoln I picked up for this job. Once we were outside of Houston, I stopped at a rest area, where I confirmed there was no bullet hole where I’d been shot, and I haphazardly dressed the wound with a first aid kit I bought from a vending machine.
“Have you ever eaten ortolan?” she asks from the backseat, interrupting my thoughts, head tipped back after snorting some unidentifiable powder off the back of her hand. Residue still lingers on her top lip.
The way she’s decked out in full-on gold Versace, it’s a wonder we made it out alive, at all, with her practically announcing to every cartel member who she is.
I don’t bother to answer her question, and instead, shift my attention back to the gradually thickening traffic just off the bridge. Festival des Morts.
In an effort to avoid the crowd, I turn down one of the side streets that runs parallel to the main strip.
“It’s a songbird, kept in the dark, or blindfolded, while it’s fattened. Then it’s thrown into a vat of brandy to drown and marinate before it’s roasted. The bird is eaten in one bite, bones and all, and you have to wear a napkin over your head while doing so, to hide your gluttony from God. A delicacy. And illegal.” A glare in the rearview mirror shows her holding up a compact and slathering on red lipstick. Running her fingers along her lip, she smears the edges, giving her lips a slightly fuller look. “My father brought in a French chef who specializes in preparing the dish. I’ve had birds before. But there is no taste more heavenly than the forbidden. Don’t you agree?”
For whatever reason, her question brings to mind Céleste and the night I had her strapped to a tree branch. Her supple, delicate body, mine for the taking. I glutted on her for three days, and still, it wasn’t enough.
“For dinner this evening,” Verónica prattles on, an irritating noise I’ve suffered for the last nine hours. “I want a plate of shrimp salad on endives. A side of saffron risotto, and a cherry dessert. I’ll only eat cherry. Cherry and chocolate. And I will only sleep on pure charmeuse silk.” Her strong Spanish accent only mildly softens the ridiculous nature of her request, as she sits blotting her nose. It’s almost eleven at night, and this girl is worried about eating dinner. “I trust you’ll accompany me wherever I want to go. Whenever. Which means, you’ll be the one taking me shopping. A daytrip to the mainland.”