Words of Love

chapter FOURTEEN



Frederico kicked in the flimsy wooden door.

The two men at the table jumped.

Tomás immediately dropped his spoon and stood up, knocking over his chair.

Ernesto froze in place, his open mouth full of beans, his fist gripping a tortilla.

As Tomás backed into the far wall of the tiny hut, he clutched his bandaged hand to his chest. The bloody circle on the end marked the place where his pinky had been.

Frederico watched Tomás’s eyes become riveted to the machete. Rain dripped from the front of Frederico’s cowboy hat as he tilted it forward. He smirked at Tomás through the drips and slowly turned to Ernesto, whose mouth was still open.

“Tomorrow,” Frederico growled. “Bring a gun and burlap sacks. Meet me at the boat at sunrise.”

Ernesto finally closed his mouth. As though he were surprised to find food there, he blinked and swallowed hard.

Frederico turned to go. Outside, the rain was definitely less. By tomorrow, the storm would be past. He took a step toward the front door but paused.

“And bring a gun with bullets that fit,” he said over his shoulder. He adjusted his hat. “Otherwise, there might be an accident, like the kind your brother had.”

He didn’t bother looking back and he didn’t bother closing the door.