by Logan Fox
But Javier stepped forward instead, brushing Miguel away, and frisked her himself. She lifted a hand to Finn as soon as Javier touched her, already feeling the air bristling. Javier seemed more focused on pissing off her men than actually checking her; which suited her just fine.
Satisfied that none of them were packing, Javier swiped a hand at her as he took his position at the start of the aisle.
From somewhere inside the park, the wedding march began to play.
Cora’s stomach coiled in on itself. She looked up at Finn, and he caught her chin in his fingers. He kissed her, so softly that she was still leaning into him for more when he pulled back.
Javier made an impatient sound and beckoned her closer with another swipe of his hand.
But she turned to Bailey, who stood about a foot behind Finn, and tugged on the lapel of his tuxedo to draw him forward. He kissed her with more passion than she’d ever felt from him, leaving her breathless.
Which was when Lars elbowed him aside and scooped her into his arms.
“Enough of this,” came Javier’s harsh whisper.
Lars threw him the finger, leaned Cora back, and kissed her until her toes curled in her silk slippers.
She heard urgent footsteps, and looked up in time to see Finn step in front of a charging Javier. He looked about to shove Finn out of the way, but she touched fingers to her mouth and pushed herself away from Lars with a giggle.
That seemed to rankle Javier more than her unabashed display. He spun on his heel and stood pointedly waiting at the top of the aisle again, an arm held out beside him.
Because he was walking her down the aisle, not her father.
Ice water doused her. She blinked hard as the ground became spongy under her feet and her heart galloped like an escaped horse in her chest. Her men walked past, trudging down the aisle and taking their place on the platform across from Silvia and Ana who, it turned out, had been appointed as her bridesmaids.
What did it say about her that Javier’s mistresses were the only two women she knew? And that only one of them she would even consider a friend?
But she’d made it this far. With the help of Finn, and Lars, and Bailey…with Santa Muerte watching over her.
Now it was time to end this.
The sun was busy setting on the distant horizon. It washed the park in hues of rosy gold. Cora realized, as Javier walked her down the aisle, that he’d planned this to perfection. If she’d been wearing her wedding dress, she’d have been bathed in a golden glow. His tuxedo glimmered like molten sun beside her. But instead, of her gown dazzling as it refracted the light…her blood-dark dress drank it in.
Shadows lengthened as she passed, sticking to her link strings of tar. She swept darkness behind her, and it muted the gasps of awe and amazement to an uneasy murmur of concerned voices.
Javier’s arm tightened under her feather-light touch. His eyes darted first to the left, then to the right.
No eyes were on him anymore. They were all on her, in her inky black dress that looked like fresh blood when it caught the light just right.
Even the bouquet of white roses she held seemed gray and wilted.
It might have been the residual effects of the drugs coursing through her veins but, if that was the case, she wouldn’t have noticed everyone’s eyes drop when she looked at them.
By the time she arrived at the small platform where the arch had been constructed, the crowd behind were deathly silent.
As if everyone was holding their breath.
Ana and Sylvia waited on the altar. Finn, Bailey, and Lars arrived a few seconds ahead of her. The wedding march, after all, was deliberately slow. How else could everyone drink in the beauty of the bride? The intricate design of her dress? The dazzling perfection of her hair? She was a perfect caricature of a woman caught in that last moment of youth, before her life would change forever.
Javier held out his hand, moving ahead to help her up the stairs. But she ignored his hand, lifted her skirts, and ascended the two steps onto the platform as gracefully as if she was ascending her throne. Which, she realized when she turned to the assembled crowd and saw the mixture of uneasy anticipation and confusion in their eyes, was exactly what she was doing.
She turned to Neo, who stood with his hands clasped in front of him, head down.
Her muscles tightened.
“Neo?” she murmured, taking a step forward before she could stop herself.
The man lifted his face. His brown eyes were red rimmed and smudged with despair. He looked pale, and desperate, and livid.
She swallowed hard, suddenly feeling overly conspicuous and vulnerable in her black dress on this white platform with golden sunlight slanting across it.
Her eyes fluttered past Neo, and found Finn. He pushed back his shoulders and lifted his chin, eyes auguring into her like sharpened sapphires.
So she pushed back her shoulders.
Lifted her chin.
And gripped her bouquet in a stranglehold as the minister began the ceremony.
70
Slay the Dragon
Neo’s hands trembled in hers. His eyes stared through her to something so terrible, nausea welled inside her. What had happened? Was it the wedding making him so upset?
And where was Gabriella?
Cora glanced around. Javier’s two lieutenants weren’t here either. Was that just a coincidence?
Javier stood behind his son, wearing a beautiful smile. He almost looked happy—but snakes were incapable of feeling joy.
“Do you, Neo Vazquez Martin, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
White spots appeared on Neo’s cheeks. His mouth quivered as he let out a tight, “Yes.”
“And do you, Eleodora Rivera, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
The wedding should have been over already. The air should have been filled with screams.
But something was wrong with Neo. Javier stood out of reach. And the air had begun smelling of char.
It wasn’t only her that noticed it, either, so it couldn’t have been her imagination. Finn had turned his head, nose up as if he was sniffing the air. Lars kept glancing left and right, scanning everything with narrowed eyes. Bailey watched her, mouth grim and eyes wide, as if she was dying right in front of him.
“Do you?” the priest prompted, sounding put out that she wasn’t answering.
Her eyes darted to the side, watching something white fluttering down in the air. It might have been a feather, or a dandelion. It was too far to tell.
Cora cleared her throat. Her own hands had begun to shake.
Something brushed her cheek, and she touched a hand to her face. Gray ash.
She looked up.
The air was filled with ash.
The priest warbled out, “Eleodora…”
She looked down, meeting Javier’s eyes. He was rubbing the fingers of one hand together, as if he’d also caught a piece of ash from the sky.
Somewhere, something was burning. But to Javier, it didn’t matter as much as this moment right now. Right here.
“I do,” she said, getting the words out as quickly as possible.
Javier’s smile double in size. She’d expected Finn and Lars to turn to her, but they were both inspecting the ash floating down on the wedding party.
The guests were starting to shift as well, a low murmur growing.
A charred petal landed on the back of Cora’s hand where Neo held her.
The poppy fields.
She twisted her hand, hurriedly shaking the petal free. Javier’s dark eyes took this in, swept his eyes to the confused crowd, and made a quick gesture toward the priest.
“Then I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the priest said. “You may kiss the bride.”
Neo’s jaw bunched. But he leaned forward just as she did, and touched his lips to hers. She drew back an instant later.
Javier stretched out his arms to Neo. “Congratulations, my son.”
Neo got a hug
and a slap on the back. Then Javier turned to her—just like she’d known he would—and came forward for an embrace.
She stepped up to him, closing the distance in a rush. Surprise briefly drew at his eyebrows, but then his smile was back.
He slid his arms around her, pulling her close. He turned his head, as if to kiss her cheek, but she turned her mouth towards his.
The crowd gasped as she pressed herself up on tip toes, her arm going around the back of Javier’s neck.
He tasted like whiskey and cigars, and he responded instantly to her kiss. He ground his mouth against hers, his hot, eager breath washing over her face.
Javier pulled back, drawing his bottom lip through his teeth as he murmured, “Congratulations, mi reinita.”
She smiled at him, but it probably looked as fake as it felt. Her hand was at her breast and, before Javier could step away, she plucked out the knife she’d been hiding in her cleavage and slammed it into his heart.
His eyes went wide. But no one except her and Javier seemed to have noticed what had happened. Perhaps, to the crowd, it looked like she’d playfully thumped his chest. But her hand stayed where it was, holding that tiny, insignificant-looking dagger in place as more ash rained from the sky. There were more petals too, looking like dirty snow as they sifted through the air.
“I’m not your little queen anymore, you motherfucker,” she whispered furiously as she twisted the knife. “My name is La Sombra.”
She stepped back, dragging the knife free. Above the slit of his breast pocket, red bloomed like a tiny carnation. Someone in the crowd finally screamed, and the sound coursed through Cora like molten lava.
“That’s for killing my mother!” she yelled.
Javier grasped at his breast, but seemed unable to find the source of his sudden weakness. He blinked at her, lips parting in slow confusion.
“And this?” She darted forward and whipped the knife across his throat. “This is for my father!”
The noise of the erupting crowd crashed into her, making her ears sing. The stink of burning poppies choked the air. Boots clomped across the platform, and hands clutched her.
But she tore free of them and lunged forward again, as Javier was folding to his knees. She slashed his throat again, not bothering to step back when it sprayed over her dress.
She fell to her knees in front of him. Cora fumbled over his body, hunting for what she knew she’d find. Javier reached for her, and she let him run his bloody hands over her as she dragged her Taurus from the inner lining of his blood-drenched tuxedo. He clamped a feeble hand over the two slits in his throat, but he shouldn’t have bothered.
Cora knew he was already dead. She could sense Santa Muerte waiting in the shadows as the last sliver of daylight sped away to hide.
Not from the death saint, but from her.
Cora drove that tiny knife into Javier’s eye, and pushed him away from her with a scream that clawed at her throat.
Hands drew her up, and she let them. Neo stood to one side, face white, but dark eyes glittering with hate.
Not staring at her, but staring down at Javier. As Finn and Lars tried to drag her from the platform, Neo took a step forward and spat on the convulsing body of his father.
Cora spun to the guests.
The crowds raced away from her, and she let them.
But, before they were gone, she stumbled to the edge of the platform, pointed her Taurus at the sky, and squeezed off a single round.
“My name is La Sombra!”
71
Ashes
Finn had his arm around her shoulders, Lars one around her waist. Bailey stood to the side, leaning forward as he gripped the railing.
They were standing on the platform looking out over the fire that ravaged what was left of the poppy fields.
It had been a long time since any of them had spoken. Lars had used his satin handkerchief and some spit to try cleaning her face, but she’d twisted away from him like a grumpy child until he gave up.
Flames crackled, surprisingly loud, and made the deepening night glow with smoke.
“So I guess it’s all over then,” Lars said, squeezing her a little.
“That was quite the fucking wedding,” Finn murmured, grazing his knuckles over her cheek.
She shifted a little, and drew a deep breath. It was filled with smoke and the taste of blood.
Victory.
She’d fought a war.
And she’d won.
“We should probably get going,” Bailey said, stepping into her peripheral vision. “I don’t think the cartel’s going to be too happy about all of this.”
Lars and Finn made sounds of agreement.
She wriggled free of them and stepped forward, gripping the rails. Then she turned her back on the smoldering poppy fields. Her three men’s faces were bathed in choppy orange light from the hungry fire behind her.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said, glancing away as she ran her hands over the top of the railings.
“But the cartel—” Bailey began.
“Is mine,” she cut in. She ran her gaze over them, tilting her chin up.
Bailey shied away from her gaze, biting the inside of his cheek.
Lars tilted his head and regarded her with a faint, quizzical smile.
Finn’s gaze was hard.
Unrelenting.
And proud as fuck.
72
Epilogue
As the last of the day’s light and warmth left the circular courtyard, the lion began to pace the length of his cage.
He would never be used to this confinement. Never become accustomed to the lifeless smell of concrete and the hard press of brick against his flank.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Two humans sat nearby on a bench. One watched him through the bars, while the other cleaned its blood-streaked skin.
The lion shook his mane, and worked a rough tongue against his teeth.
He’d been fed today, and that was good. It had been a substantial meal…and that was good.
But he couldn’t endure the strings tangled around his teeth. They irritated him, and made him want to gnaw at the bars.
The lower the sun moved, the darker his enclosure became. He let out a cough that echoed hollowly back to him, and retreated into the deeper recesses of his cage.
There, he still had some meat. He was full, but he’d eat it all. It was his nature—there was no telling when his next meal would arrive.
The lion slumped onto his belly, using one of his enormous paws to drag what remained of his meal closer.
He paused, again working his tongue against his teeth, and managed to free one of the long, black hairs from his mouth.
Then he twisted a bloodstained leg around on the concrete, biting down where a white bone stuck through the flesh. It crunched, splintering in his mouth, and he adjusted his grip.
Using a paw to hold down the long, tapered foot with its perfectly painted golden toenails, he went to work finishing his meal while the pair of humans watched.
The End
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About the Author
L. D. Fox writes deliciously dark and twisted stories for people that, like her, enjoy reading it.
Having grown up on names like Graham Masterton, Dean Koontz, James Herbert, Stephen King, Robert Jordan, and Terry Pratchett, her stories are an eclectic mix of the sadistically twisted, the epic, and the darkly comedic. She strives to create characters that are as immersive as the worlds she raises around them. Expect more than your average amount of plot twists, superb dialog, characters you'll either love or loathe, and a book hangover that's guaranteed to last at least few days, if not longer. She doesn't hold any punches - nor should she, for that's what she expects in the books she reads and what she offers to her readers in return.
She hails from the four-seasons-in-a-day suburb of Johannesburg, South Africa. She's so busy writing she doesn't have time for much else except the occasional indulgent Netflix binge. She loves hearing from readers, so don't be why to contact her and tell her what you thought of her writing.