Midnight (29 page)

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Authors: Ellen Connor

Tags: #Science Fiction, #Romance, #Fantasy

BOOK: Midnight
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Chris walked over to them, noticing the gentle softening in both of their postures. Closer. More relaxed. If they hadn’t slept together yet, the wait would not be long.
“Evenin’, Doc,” Ex said. Allison added her salutation. “We’re going to dinner. Join us?”
“Thanks. Appreciate it.”
That odd sense of belonging stole over him again. He was becoming more than just the doctor. His responsibility had become easier to bear with so many recent successes. He was a member of the community now. He liked it. He liked it so much that the idea of leaving took on a painful edge that had nothing to do with Rosa.
Dinner at the
taberna
was noisy and boisterous as usual. He, Ex, and Allison grabbed plates of food from where Jameson was on cafeteria duty. No one particularly liked the job of cooking and serving the communal evening meal, so Viv had drafted a system of trading off weeks. Chris found it amusing to see gruff, badass bravos slopping stew. He didn’t feel bad about his amusement, because they sure as hell had laughed at his piss-poor culinary disasters.
“No rest, even for the new father?” he asked Jameson.
Dark circles looped under the man’s eyes, but he hadn’t stopped smiling for weeks. “Viv is a vicious sergeant,
mano
. Espi was up six times last night, and still I cook.”
Ex sniffed his plate of beans. “Smells . . . edible?”
“You’ll eat it even if it’s not.” Jameson grinned, then dropped his ladle. He fished around in his vest pocket and withdrew a piece of paper. “I almost forgot, Doc. This is for you.”
Chris took it. “Where in the hell did you find paper?”
“Don’t ask me. It’s from Tilly. Now move it. You’re holding up the line.”
Falco and Lem banged in through the tavern doors, their voices loud and suspiciously close to drunk. Where had they scrounged alcohol? Chris frowned but followed Ex and Allison to the table they’d picked out. He ate quickly, having realized long ago that hot food was, by far, tastier food.
Once his stomach was stuffed with really decent beans and some sort of bread made with cornmeal—an unexpected treat—he opened the letter.
Dear Chris,
My family was the traditional sort, which meant writing thank-you notes was ingrained in me since childhood. Birthday parties, Christmas gifts—we always wrote a note of thanks. My mother said it was just good manners, even in the face of chaos. That may not mean a lot to most folks now, but I think it might mean something to you.
 
 
Chris smiled. He’d become used to thinking of everyone in Valle as, essentially, well-meaning but irredeemably rough. Tilly was an obstinate reminder of the past, sometimes painfully. Even her formal way of speaking and writing echoed a time when such things mattered.
The only problem, however, in writing this note is that no words seem adequate. How can I possibly thank you for what you did for Jameson and me?
Our Esperanza is alive and well because of you. Please don’t denigrate your contribution by saying that I would’ve been fine without you. All I know is that I would have continued panicking without you there. Jameson, for all his strength in a fight, would have been crippled by how much he cares for me. You calmed us both. You gave us direction. For that I will always be grateful.
You asked me once, your expression slightly befuddled, how a blue blood like me wound up with a street tough like Jameson. Luck, I think. I don’t see how I’d still be alive without him, and, right or wrong, needing someone can turn into love. It’s been a blessing for us both, just like you are.
With eternal thanks,
Tilly
 
 
Chris inhaled tightly and looked at the ceiling, swallowing.
An elbow clipped him on the back of the head. He swiveled around, still partly lost in the letter, to find Falco standing way too close. “Sorry, Doc. Didn’t see you there.”
“Don’t mention it,” Chris said, banking his dislike.
Falco had been spoiling for a fight for months. Against Rosa. Against Chris. He was the threat to Rosa’s control that scared her most consistently. For that reason alone Chris had reason to dislike the man. He also had a sneaking suspicion that Rosa wouldn’t be so scared of going public with their affair if Falco weren’t around.
Still, he didn’t want to be the one to break the uneasy peace. Rosa might not be speaking to him, but he wasn’t going to give her reason to accuse him of undermining Valle’s order.
“Whatcha got there?” Lem snatched the letter, ripping its corner as he did.
Fuck politics.
Chris didn’t even bother with words. He jumped up from the table and clocked Lem on the mouth. The man spun, stumbled, crashed into an empty table. Lem lay half sprawled on the floor. Blood oozed from the corner of his mouth.
With his boot on Lem’s wrist, Chris retrieved Tilly’s letter. “This is mine.”
“You can’t hit my man,” Falco snarled.
“Funny,” Chris said, tucking the folded paper into his back pocket. “I thought we were all bravos, yes? Rosa’s men?”
“Some more than others, you son of a bitch.”
The tavern went quiet. All scraping of forks on plates ceased. No one spoke; they hardly breathed. Ever since the initiation, the others had seemed to view Chris as Rosa’s quiet lieutenant. He’d helped defend the town. He’d brought women and made them well. He’d delivered Tilly’s baby. Any insult to Chris was, by degrees, an affront to her leadership.
Maybe he could have that fight after all. He gave himself permission to make it happen. Consequences were for another time.
He stretched his fingers, curled them into fists. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean that you and Rosa are close.” Falco raised his arms to those assembled. “I think we all deserve to know how close.”
“Why would you think that where I put my dick is any business of yours?”
“Because she’s off-limits, man. No stranger gets in line ahead of the rest of us.”
Rage bubbled in Chris’s veins. The image of men lining up to take a turn with Rosa was nauseating on too many levels, particularly knowing what he did about her past. He’d stick a knife in all of them before letting a single one touch her.
“A woman has the right to choose,” Chris said, his voice as much a warning as his stance. “Lem learned that lesson.”
“You bast—”
But Falco cut Lem off with a cold look. “You’re saying she chose you
?
”
Chris put every drop of masculine arrogance into his smile. “As I said, it’s none of your business.”
Falco’s punch came damn quick. Clutching his cheek, Chris staggered back against the table he’d just shared with Ex and Allison. They’d already retreated to a far wall. Most of the tavern’s occupants had—which suited Chris fine as he returned Falco’s blow. The man’s jaw gave way with a satisfying crunch. Falco grunted, then bellowed his anger. He lunged, plowing into Chris with his head and shoulders.
The air whooshed out of Chris’s lungs. Momentum slammed him into a countertop. Something in his vertebrae popped. Like lightning, pain shot up his spine. He hiked a knee in self-defense, at the same time slamming Falco’s chest down. Knee connected with sternum. The man staggered back a step, but renewed his assault.
The rational place in Chris’s mind went dark. Adrenaline flowed as powerful as whiskey, through his muscles and deep into his bones. Every action became sharper, senses on high alert.
He brought his fist down hard on Falco’s ear, followed by a slam to his gut, his nose, his kidney. Cracks and grunts were the sounds of victory. When Falco managed to land a punch or two, Chris was beyond feeling pain. He registered the contact as a mistake made, nothing more. He corrected those errors and continued the beating.
Falco swore and attacked again, but his left shoulder drooped. Dislocated. Chris grabbed the wounded arm and spun, pinning his opponent against the bar. Falco’s curses turned to a harsh exhale. He wasn’t beaten enough to scream. Yet.
Chris grabbed a fistful of hair and slammed the man down. Face met countertop.
A gunshot fired outside the tavern.
“¡Basta!”
Rushing back into himself, Chris felt drunk and dizzy. He looked down at his hands. Blood. Tufts of hair under his fingernails. Falco lay in a heap at his feet.
Rosa stood in the doorway, a smoking gun in hand. Her expression boiled with outrage, as much emotion as he’d seen from her in weeks. He couldn’t muster the will to care. He’d just saved her ass—her precious leadership. Again.
“I don’t mind brawling,” she growled, her voice tight with fury. “But I will not let you kill one another. We’re too few.”
Chris shrugged. “I’m done if he is.”
“You’re done when I say you are.”
“Sí, Jefa,”
he said mockingly. “I got that one memorized.”
Falco pulled up to his elbows. He was bleeding from his nose and ear. A tooth lay on the ground beside him. Chris wondered, in a weird disjointed way, if they’d be expected to play doctor and patient after everything was over.
With some effort, Falco clambered to his feet. “If he won’t answer, then you should. We’re loyal to you and we deserve the truth.”
She stilled. Bright spots of red colored the apples of her cheeks. On a girl it would’ve been a blush. But Rosa looked like she might spit acid. Chris could hardly sympathize. He was too angry still, and her power games were responsible for this showdown.
She slipped the gun into its holster, all smooth frost. “Tell you what, Falco?”
Defeated only in body, Falco shot a killing look between her and Chris.
“Once and for all, are you fucking him?”
TWENTY-NINE
 
Moment of truth.
The whole
taberna
waited for Rosa’s answer.
Quickly she ran the odds in her head. If
la jefa
didn’t back Chris, the rest of the bravos would array against him. Well, Falco’s cohorts, at least. She didn’t have a good sense of who remained on her side. Ex and Jameson, certainly. Probably Rio. But there was no way to be sure with the others. They kept their own counsel, so long as she wasn’t ordering them to do something stupid.
She’d already been leaning toward making the admission, based on logic alone. And then she saw Cristián’s face. He expected her to disavow him. As if in expectation of that hurt, he braced one hand on the bar. The
taberna
was so quiet that she could hear everyone breathing, as well as scared whimpers from Maryann, one of the rescued girls. She’d only recently started venturing out of the town hall, and now this had to happen.
Perdón, pobrecita.
This wasn’t meant to be a place where she had to be scared.
I’ll make it right.
“You’re way too interested in what I do in my private time,” she said softly. “
Pero, sí,
he’s my man.”
Falco hauled himself to his feet. “Damn it, I’ve fought for respect here. This fucks with the hierarchy—”
“You’re pissing me off,” Jameson said, twirling a simple kitchen knife as he would one of his weapons. “And I don’t get a lot of sleep these days. I’m not long on patience.”
Shaking her head, Rosa held up a hand and waved Jameson off. While she appreciated his backing, she didn’t need it. Not right now. “I’m not a prize that can be won. I make my own choices. If you don’t like it, you can leave. The dust pirates are looking for men with no honor and no conscience. Just know if you leave Valle tonight, I
will
kill you if you come back.”
“Me too.” Ex stepped away from Allison, flanking Rosa. “Look, Falco, it sucks not getting the woman you want. We’ve all been there. But sometimes being a man means letting go. If you’re
not
a man,
amigo
, then you don’t belong here.”
Slowly, Falco put up his hands. Everything about his posture bespoke defeat. What’s more, he seemed genuinely humbled by Ex’s censure. “You know that’s not who I am. I give. Doc beat me in a straight-up fight. I can yield. No more problems on my end.” As a sign of good faith, he offered a hand to Chris.
Eyeing it reluctantly, Chris accepted the offer of peace. Rosa wasn’t sure she believed it either, but Falco gave every sign of sincerity as he sketched a salute and limped out of the
taberna
. Lem supported him with one shoulder. Rosa had never known her second to go back on his word, so if Falco said it was done, she would take it on trust . . . unless he started trouble again.
If that came to pass, there would be no more warnings. Just an execution. He had to realize that.
With the show over, the others went back to drinking and dinner. Ex patted Rosa’s shoulder and returned to Allison, who was comforting Maryann. Conversations resumed and people stopped staring. Rosa let out a long sigh.

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