by Logan Fox
There were only two, in fact; Javier’s bodyguards. Strangely, Javier was nowhere in sight.
She paused at the edge of the patio steps.
One of the sicarios gave her a long stare and a too-friendly smile, which she didn’t return. Was she early? Javier insisted she be on time for breakfast each morning at nine. And, even though it was becoming harder to wake up on time, she knew it had to be quarter to.
She gripped her dusty-pink skirt in a fist, twining the intricate fabric lace around her hand. The halter neck dress came to mid-thigh, had a layered skirt, and clung to her like a second skin. It was something she would never have worn…but her closet was decidedly lacking in the types of clothes she preferred. When she’d looked in the mirror, she’d almost puked. Admittedly, her mother of a hangover could have been the reason. But she was convinced it was the fact that she looked like a high-end call girl.
If Finn ever saw her in this dress…
Cora swallowed hard, trying to urge away the knot in her throat.
But it stuck, as it always did, when she thought about Finn or Lars. Finn would probably think her dress was ridiculous and impractical. Lars…he might just compare her with a piece of candy frosted in pink sugar.
Did they ever think about her?
A few days after she’d been dragged back to the manor, Javier had come to tell her that Finn and Lars had been sent back to New Mexico. Which made it sound like they’d still been alive. That in itself was a blessing she thanked Santa Muerte for every night.
She couldn’t stop replaying that night in her head. It made her giddy just thinking about it, and always brought a deep blush to her face. As the weeks went by, she began thinking more and more that she’d made it up. But the way her body tingled whenever she thought about it…
Was it selfish that she’d wished they were still here? She didn’t feel in the least bit threatened—except when Javier sent one of his sicarios to guard her door at night—but she craved their presence. Maybe she’d become too dependent on them. Which meant it was probably a good thing that they weren’t here anymore. Javier would just have used them to get his way. She’d tried more than once to find out where Javier had sent them. If there was a way she could call them. But anyone she spoke to brushed her off and told her to stop asking questions.
Some nights, when it was so quiet that she could hear her own heart beating in her ears…those nights she could sometimes still feel them. As if Finn and Lars were nearby. Not close enough to touch, but almost.
Those were the nights she slept well. She would have no nightmares of the English man reaching to touch her with that burned, disfigured hand of his. No visions of her mother’s resigned face as she pressed a key into little Elle’s palm in that stinking shed.
Cora put her palms over her eyes, pressing until she saw stars. Why the hell had her thoughts turned so morbid?
She should wait in the entertainment area. That way, Javier’s two sicarios couldn’t see her losing her shit.
Cora turned, and walked into Javier.
His smile inched up, and he grabbed her shoulders with a loud, “Whoa!” and a laugh that made lights dance in his eyes. “Leaving so soon?”
“I…I thought I was too early.”
“Don’t frown so, mi reinita,” Javier murmured, running the pad of his thumb between her brows as if to smooth away the crease. “You’ll wrinkle your pretty face.”
He pulled out her usual chair for her, and she sat, glancing at the entertainment door as it opened. Expecting to see Silvia or Ana—those two were always in close proximity to Javier.
Instead, a dark-haired woman wearing a boho-style jumpsuit in pale silk exited the villa. The outfit, paired with massive sunglasses and a wide-brimmed sun hat, made her look like a runway model on her day off at the beach. Golden sling-back heels click-clacked on the tiles as she walked up to the table.
Javier laid a hand on Cora’s shoulder. “I don’t believe you’ve met my wife. Elle, this is Gabriella.”
“Gabriella.” Cora stood, walked a few steps closer, and put out her hand. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
Whether Gabriella was even looking in her direction, Cora couldn’t say. The woman paused at the opposite end of the table from where Javier sat, and stood pointedly waiting until Javier came around and pulled out her chair for her. Cora’s hand she ignored. In fact, Cora she ignored.
“Must we eat out here?” Gabriella asked, crossing her legs and carefully taking off her hat. She began fanning herself with it hard enough to send her lustrous dark hair into a swirl around her heart-shaped face. “It’s so hot.”
“You won’t melt, my love.” Javier bent down and gave his wife a kiss on the cheek. “Where is Neo?”
“Rough-housing with the staff, of course,” Gabriella replied whiplash quick. Disdain oozed from her words.
“Boys will be boys.” Javier sounded only slightly put out by Gabriella’s answer; he gave Cora a rueful smile on his way back to his end of the table.
Neo?
A servant materialized from one of those secret hallways that twined through the villa, pushing a tray covered in serving dishes.
Surprisingly—or perhaps not that surprisingly—Ana and Silvia never did join them. The table felt incredibly empty with just the three of them, and Gabriella all the way at the other end. The stately woman said not another word except murmuring something to a servant when she was presented with a coffee decanter. Her breakfast consisted of some yogurt and a tablespoon of fruit. No wonder she was as stick-thin as a super model.
“Eleodora.”
Cora almost dropped her fork, a piece of bacon en-route to her mouth. She glanced up guiltily at Gabriella, and hurriedly swallowed. Had she been eating too fast? “Yes?” she managed, hurriedly dabbing a napkin against her mouth.
What was it about the woman that brought out the twelve-year-old in her? Her own mother had never been strict, especially at the dinner table. But being within a yard of Gabriella made her feel as if something terrible would happen to her if she put her elbows on the table.
“I am sorry to hear about Antonio. I am sure his passing has grieved you deeply.” Gabriella’s voice was deep, lightly accented, and utterly devoid of emotion.
Cora broke eye contact. She was still processing what had happened the other day. Some days, it felt like she was doing all she could not to think about it.
A few weeks ago, she’d thought she would feel something if her father died. An intangible pain that would confirm her father had passed. But that had been the child in her, of course. She’d felt nothing when her father died, because there was nothing to feel. They’d never been connected on some deeper level. All of that was just—
“My husband says you’ve agreed to stay with us for a while. I think it’s a wise decision. A young woman like yourself shouldn’t have to face the world alone.”
So that’s what Javier had told her? Cora didn’t look across at Gabriella, instead grabbing her coffee cup and taking a sip. Javier made a happy sound, barely audible. He cut off a tip of a breakfast sausage and ate it, using his fork to point at Cora.
“Luckily, Elle has more common sense than most.”
Gabriella leaned back in her chair, waving at a servant to take away her barely touched breakfast. She nursed a cup of black coffee and slowly took off her sunglasses, folding them closed against her leg and setting them down on the table.
Her eyes were dark, but the dusky makeup expertly applied around them made them glow. Her thick lashes looked real, but simply couldn’t have been. She tapped a long, golden nail against her coffee cup, studying Cora over the brim until she couldn’t bear to keep eye contact any more.
“So, tell me, my love, was the trip everything you expected it to be?”
Cora half-turned to Javier at the sound of his voice, so when she turned back to Gabriella and saw a half-naked man running up to her, arms spread, her fingers went instinctively to the small of her back. But a dress like this had
no place for a Taurus; she’d left it in her room.
The man wrapped Gabriella in a hug.
The woman squealed, if in a very stately manner. Her body went rigid, and then she slapped the man’s upper arm. “Dios mio, you’re filthy! Get off, Neo!”
She wasn’t exaggerating; he was covered in sweat, and his three-quarter white shorts were streaked with grass stains. His bare feet slapped on the tiles as he released Gabriella and came down the table, arms extended toward Javier.
Javier stood so fast, his chair skidded backward. “Neo!” Despite his bright and clean clothes, he had no compulsions about gathering Neo into a fierce bear hug.
“You know it takes three hours to get here?” Neo asked. His voice sounded a lot like Javier’s, if not as deep. “When are we moving to the city?”
“Never, Neo,” Javier said in the tired voice of someone who’d been asked that question many times over the years. “Son, I’d like you to meet—”
“Elle, yeah.” Neo turned to her, that bright smile fading from his mouth. He was tall like his father, and as muscled as if he spent several hours a day in the gym. He leaned over the table, sticking out his hand. “Gees, aren’t you a tiny little thing?”
She didn’t quite know what to make of the comment, so she ignored it. Her smile felt a little too forced, but it was better than scowling at someone she’d just met. “Nice to meet you,” she said through her teeth. Neo gripped her hand, almost crushing it, and gave it a hard pump. His hands were surprisingly dry and clean compared with the rest of him.
And then he disappeared through the entertainment door, not looking back at anyone at the table.
Javier let out a quiet chuckle as he sat back in his chair and began dusting himself off as if he’d only just seen how much grime his son had deposited on his clean clothes. “I thought he’d be tired from the trip.”
“Our Neo?” Gabriella scoffed, setting down her empty cup. “He has too much energy. I barely saw him more than an hour a day. Heaven knows where he went, but I think he’s seen more of France in this one trip than I have my entire life.” As if this speech had exhausted her, Gabriella waved a hand toward Javier. “I think I’ll go upstairs. The trip might not have exhausted our son, but I could sleep for a week.”
Javier drained his glass and rose, tossing his napkin on his plate as he walked around the table to take his wife’s hand. He slid an arm around her waist as they walked into the villa.
Cora stared after them for the longest time, and then slowly ate the last of her bacon. A few minutes later, servants appeared to begin clearing the table, leaving her with the last inch of her cold coffee and a napkin.
She sank back into her chair and breathed a soft sigh of relief.
After that talk at the edge of his vast poppy plantation, Javier had not mentioned another word about the cartel to her. Her days had been filled with manicures and visits to the villa’s spa—Ana had insisted they go today after breakfast. Swimming, when there weren’t a ton of people around the pool. She’d even managed to slip away some days and spend a few hours reading in the library. Until Ana found her, of course.
She’d been too shit-scared to bring it up, of course. The cartel, her ‘place’ in it. It would suit her just fine if Javier forgot.
Would suit her just fine.
6
Well, fuck
It was a strange, colorless day. Winter had arrived in all its glory, but out here in Texas on a random midweek afternoon, it felt like early spring even though the nights would drop into the minus. Perhaps frost would glitter on some of the vegetation before dawn’s first cold rays pierced the veil of night and melted them.
Perhaps not.
Finn reached to take off his sunglasses, but then hesitated. Not until he’d found out what the hell Javier had planned for him and Lars.
He knew why Javier had kept him and Lars close; they were malleable puppets he could deform and control however he wished. All he had to do was mention something—anything—that could be construed as a threat against Cora’s life…
It would have been better if Javier had killed them. Not because of the pain—that had been inconsequential.
If they were dead, Javier couldn’t use them against Cora.
A hand clapped over his shoulder, and he flinched as he glanced at Lars.
“Daydreaming again?” Lars asked. “Thought you’d had enough time for that shit.”
Finn shrugged the man’s hand off his shoulder.
“Well, fuck. I’m not standing here all day,” Lars muttered, and walked past Finn.
He pushed back his shoulders and caught up, taking the lead. This wasn’t the time to get caught up in idle fancies. There was never a time for that shit, but now especially.
Javier’s sicario had paused ahead, and started forward when they approached. They were being led back to the villa. Javier’s clinic-cum-hospital had been built far away from the villa, behind the stables, as if he was worried the sick inside would infect him. He’d been to see them once, smiling that smug smile of his the whole while. But his words had been nothing but vague reassurances and empty promises. Wishing them a speedy recovery, as if his ring-bedazzled fists hadn’t been what put them into their cots in the first place.
The two guards positioned at a staff entrance leading into the villa turned to study him and Lars when they came closer. But they made no move to come forward and frisk them.
It was a stark contrast to when he’d last been in the villa’s vicinity; when he’d barely made it around the corner as a hail of bullets chased after him.
A few of the plants in the manicured gardens at the center of the villa had begun to bloom. Perhaps chosen specifically so they would add color in winter. But the air smelled flat and lifeless; he couldn’t find the scent of a single blossom as they walked through the corridors.
Or Cora. How often he’d taken a huge breath through his nose, hoping for just a hint of her citrusy smell.
“Where are we going?” Finn asked, when Santino led them past Javier’s study, and towards the hallway leading up to the second level of the villa where the bedrooms were.
“¿Que?” Santino gave them a brief once-over, and then shifted his assault rifle as if it was chafing him.
“I thought you were taking us to Javier?”
“Don Javier,” Santino corrected, showing them his teeth, “is busy.” The guard used his assault rifle to point upstairs, in the general direction of the guest rooms. “Third door down. You ‘settle in’ so long.” He put special emphasis on the words, as if the phrase amused him greatly.
“Where’s Cora?” Finn asked. He’d expected Lars to roll his eyes, but instead the man turned as if waiting to hear the guard’s reply.
“Who?”
Finn pressed his eyes closed for a second, taking a deep breath. “Princesa Eleodora,” he muttered.
“Spa.”
“Spa?” He and Lars both said.
The guard gave them a small shrug. “Spa,” he said again. Slower this time, as if he wasn’t sure he was using the right word. And then he patted his cheeks and neck as if he was putting on aftershave.
“Fucking spa,” Lars murmured. “Because why the fuck not?”
“Lars—”
“Si. Spa.” Santino grinned at them and then buggered off without a backward glance.
Finn had to tug at Lars’s arm to get the man moving.
“Why do you think he’s letting us roam loose?” Finn murmured as they headed toward the stairs.
“’Cos he thinks we’re not a threat.” Lars lifted a shoulder. “’Cos we probably ain’t. Seeing as he just dangles her in front of us and we sit and give paw like the well trained bitches we are.”
Another deep breath, but it was far from calming. “Lars—”
“No, you know what?” Lars spun around, holding out a hand to Finn. “I’m glad she’s not here. So fucking glad.”
“Lars—”
“Breakfast time, isn’t it?” Lars
gripped the banister and took the stairs three at a time, leaving Finn to glance behind him before he took the turn that would put the garden out of view. “Think El Guapo’s going to feed us, or just let us starve?”
“You just ate,” Finn said through a sigh.
“Gruel, Finn. That shit was Oliver Twist-style gruel. I wouldn’t call it food if someone was holding a Baretta to my head.”
Finn huffed quietly in response. Something about the silence in the villa was making him itch to take his pistol from his holster. Where were the servants? Or did they get time off when Javier wasn’t around? It seemed highly unlikely. It was still early but he’d have imagined someone would be around.
Lars disappeared inside their room with a brief grin for Finn and a mock salute. Finn came in behind him, taking in the room with a sweeping look.
Two double beds, separated by a nightstand. A small sitting room, en-suite bathroom, two closets.
On the coffee table, were their weapons, holsters, and Finn’s boot knife.
A pair of hand-held radios sat next to each other, ominously silent.
“Well, fuck,” Lars muttered with feeling.
He commiserated with a quiet, “Well, fuck.”
7
Thank god for paternity tests
Doctor Gomez told Tony he was a lucky man. The bullet had passed through his chest an inch away from his heart. It had been a clean shot—no shrapnel, pristine exit wound. He was on solid food before Javier came to see him again. Time was still tricky—it felt like a few days from Javier’s last visit, but could have been a few weeks. His brain seemed reluctant to keep track, as if knowing it would only be to his detriment. If he hadn’t been handcuffed to the bedrails, he’d have gotten out of this godforsaken bed as soon as Javier had left.
The doctor wouldn’t speak to him about anything that wasn’t medical. He had no idea where he was, how long he’d been here, or if anyone even knew he was alive. He doubted anyone did; surely he’d have seen Cora by now if that was the case.