The Girl He Left Behind

•16•

I don't think I like love.

It gives you a kind of high, but it's like jumping out of an airplane. Flying is exhilarating, until you hit the ground...

And you break.

Except your wounds from love can't be fixed by doctors. They're wounds that may never heal at all.

I'm still not sure love is worth being forever broken.

•

I couldn't help but squirm under the intense gazes of the two men I had in front of me. I'm still shocked they didn't have me tied up and locked in a dungeon the minute I walked in. They actually seemed easygoing. Or at least the second brother did, from the way he eyed me.

He looked at me the way a dog looks at a new toy. Not sure if that's a good thing or bad thing, but I don't see a hint of evil in his eyes. Nor in his brothers but his brother had a harder face to read. He had more of a stone cold look that should have me shivering, but the crinkles at the corners of his eyes conveyed a different story. Maybe I'm wrong, but after studying the expressions and mannerisms of innocent and not so innocent people in court, I think I have a small clue as to who's good and who's not.

It wasn't hard to find these guys, once I started asking around. Of course, that lead to my dumbass walking right into their home and nearly getting shot. To be fair they weren't expecting a visitor and I didn't exactly walk through the front door. So in their defense I can understand why the psychos freaked.

"Muy bella," the man with the playful smile said as he stroked my chin, tilting it to make me meet his gaze, "can I keep her?" He asked the other man and I'd have been afraid if I couldn't read people so well.

(Very pretty)

"Very funny," I replied, glaring at him, "didn't your mother teach you how to woo a girl into your arms? Do you have to force them to get them to be with you?"

I was careful not to mention his father, men like these usually had ruthless and cold fathers. Chances are I'd strike a harder nerve mentioning him over the mother. Whether the mother was dead or not, they're usually the soft spot. The reminder that they're more than just killers, they're human.

"Que buscas aquí?" The second man said after the other one stiffened and moved away.

(What are you looking for here?)

"Evidencia," I replied, honestly as I met his glare head on.

(Evidence)

Smartest move ever, right? Tell the murderers you're looking for evidence that they did it? Yeah, no. I'm not looking for evidence that they did it. Just evidence that she didn't.

"Please elaborate," he said leaning back in his chair as the other went to sit beside him.

I sighed, tugging at the hem of my shirt as their gazes remained fixed on me. Inspecting me, reading me as if I were a book in a language they couldn't decipher.

"My friends name is Michelle, she's the daughter of Lucinda," I murmured, assuming they'd know who Lucinda was, "I need something to prove that she didn't commit the crime she's being blamed for."

"You mean the drug addict Lucinda? Mi reina you're not getting it here, we're the ones who planted the evidence. Si sabes eso verdad?" The more laid back one said.