Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 80139 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80139 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Not exactly destiny material.
Besides, Cruz and I have known each other for what? Days? Days full of fear, threats, locked doors, running, lies, and whatever the hell this feeling is between us.
Mercedes gathers the card back into the deck and looks at me. “Now you.”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Yes,” Esmeralda says.
“I don’t need a reading.”
“Everyone needs a reading.”
“I really don’t.”
Mercedes shuffles again. “The ones who say that need it most.”
Señora Valentina mutters something in Spanish under her breath that I don’t catch.
“Cut,” Mercedes says, setting the deck in front of me.
I stare at it.
I don’t believe in fortune-telling.
I don’t believe a deck of cards can see the future.
But my hand still feels strangely heavy when I reach for the deck.
Maybe because Cruz is watching.
Maybe because after everything that has happened, the idea of one more unknown thing waiting to be revealed makes my skin prickle.
I cut the deck.
Mercedes takes the top card and flips it.
Ace of Spades.
The room changes, as if half the air is sucked out of it.
Mercedes gasps and covers her mouth with one hand.
Esmeralda does the same.
The playfulness drains from both their faces so completely that my pulse skips.
I look at the card.
I don’t know much about playing-card symbolism, but I know enough to understand this is not getting the same delighted reaction Cruz’s card got.
“What?” I ask.
Neither of them answers.
Cruz has gone still.
Very still.
His eyes are on the card, his expression unreadable again, but the muscle in his jaw has tightened.
“What does it mean?” I ask.
Mercedes lowers her hand. “It can mean many things.”
“That’s vague.”
“It is supposed to be vague,” Esmeralda says, but her voice is softer now.
“No. What does the Ace of Spades mean?”
Mercedes swallows. “It can simply mean finality.”
Finality.
The word lands cold in my stomach.
“Or,” Esmeralda says, “that something is about to change.”
I let out a small breath.
Okay.
That isn’t necessarily bad.
Change can be good. Change can mean escape. It can mean leaving Colombia for good. It can mean getting back to the United States, back to my family, back to a life where I understand the rules. Maybe not a safe life—clearly safety was an illusion all along—but at least my life.
A change of scenery would be a good thing.
I can go home. I can tell my brothers everything. I can find out what happened to Belinda. I can help Daniela.
Finality.
The end of this nightmare.
Maybe that’s all it means.
But as soon as the thought of home forms, another one follows.
Going home means leaving here.
Leaving Cruz.
Why does that make my chest ache?
Ugh.
No.
Absolutely not.
I do not have feelings for Cruz Moreno.
I have complicated emotional baggage from a terrifying experience involving a physically attractive man who saved my life after participating in the system that endangered it.
That is not romance.
That is not destiny.
That is not the Ace of Hearts doing whatever the hell Mercedes thinks it’s doing.
“What else?” I ask.
Mercedes blinks. “What?”
“You said it can mean finality. Change. What else can it mean?”
Señora Valentina again says something under her breath in Spanish.
Cruz leans forward. “Robin—”
“No.” I keep my eyes on Mercedes and Esmeralda. “Don’t do that. Don’t all look at each other like I’m too delicate to hear whatever superstition you’re suddenly afraid of. It’s a card. Tell me.”
Esmeralda reaches across the table and touches the edge of the Ace of Spades with one finger as if the card itself might be dangerous. “It doesn’t always mean this,” she says.
“Mean what?”
Mercedes looks at Esmeralda.
Esmeralda looks at Mercedes.
Then both of them look at me.
Their voices are hushed when they answer in unison.
“Death.”
30
CRUZ
Death.
For a moment, no one moves.
Robin stares at the Ace of Spades as if it might rise off the table and slit her throat.
I go cold, but not because of the card.
Because of Robin’s face.
I stand so abruptly that my chair scrapes against the floor. “Enough.”
All four women look at me.
Mercedes’s eyes widen. “Cruz—”
“No.” I point at the card. “Stop freaking us out.”
Robin blinks.
“It’s only a reading,” Esmeralda says.
“Exactly.” I reach for the card, flip it face down, and slide it back toward the deck. “It’s only a reading. A game.”
Mercedes straightens. “Cartomancy is not a game.”
I grit my teeth. “It is absolutely a game.”
“It’s an ancient art.”
“It’s a deck of cards you bought at Éxito.”
Mercedes gasps. “These cards have been with me for twelve years.”
“Then they are old grocery-store cards.”
Robin looks from the deck to me and then back to Mercedes and Esmeralda. “Have any of your predictions come true?”
Mercedes hesitates.
Esmeralda doesn’t. “In a way.”
Robin raises an eyebrow. “In a way?”
“As far as we know,” Mercedes adds, “all of them have come true.”
Robin goes very still.
I give Mercedes a fuck-you look.
She lifts both hands. “What? She asked.”
“In a way,” I repeat.
Esmeralda nods, as if this distinction matters. “Yes. Sometimes the cards draw a very clear path.”
“And sometimes?” Robin asks.
Mercedes clears her throat. “Sometimes the cards require very creative interpretations to match the outcome.”