Cartel

by Lili St. Germain

  I heard the beeps of someone pressing the pin code into the keypad outside, and then a click as the front door lock disengaged. A slight creak and the door opened; another, and it closed, revealing the man who had come to consume my every thought.

  I leaned forward against the kitchen counter. The travel magazine in front of me was all but forgotten as I watched my dark lover approach.

  He dropped his helmet on the tiles, just like he always did. It bounced once and rolled into the corner, forgotten, as Dornan Ross moved down the dimly lit hallway towards me. He moved like a predator, that possessive lust in his black eyes that had once been a glimmer, now a forest fire that threatened to consume us both. He was drenched from the rain that had been falling all evening, a rain that still wasn’t taking the heat away. It made me feel like I was back in sticky, humid Colombia.

  He was wearing new clothes. A tight black tee that hugged his defined arms, black jeans and his leather cut. Dressed all in black, he looked like the sexiest motherfucking Grim Reaper I could imagine.

  He grinned as he approached me. I started to turn, to greet him, but his hands wrapped around my waist, pulling my ass firmly into his erection. Butterflies swirled in my stomach as he lifted up the bottom of my black silk nightgown, gathering the material in his hands until my panties and lower back were exposed. He squeezed his hands around my hips, rocking his hardness against me, only our clothes separating our bodies.

  He reached one hand around to the front of my panties and dipped his fingers in. I shuddered as soon as his fingers brushed against me, it was so powerful.

  ‘I got back as quickly as I could,’ he murmured in my ear as he continued to graze his fingers along my wetness. I was breathing fast, panting under his touch. I wanted more. I wanted it all.

  ‘You’re so wet,’ he whispered.

  There was something very wrong with me. Something dark had blossomed inside me, spreading like a cancer that obliterated everything else within. In the moments when his hands were rough against my skin, as he bent me to his own desires, I existed because of him. I existed only for him.

  ‘Do you want me?’ he asked. I nodded.

  He fisted one hand in my hair and yanked; not enough to hurt, but enough to make me take notice. ‘Say it,’ he demanded.

  ‘Yes,’ I whispered, writhing against him. ‘Yes, I want you.’

  Palms flat on the counter, I couldn’t see what was happening. I could only feel as my panties were yanked down to my ankles, a knee between my legs forcing them wider apart.

  Then he pushed inside me, the friction and the pressure enough to make me gasp. My nightgown still up around my waist, he dug his fingers into my skin hard enough to leave bruises as he began to move inside me. He was rough, he was fast, and it was exactly what I needed.

  ‘Fuck!’ I cried, as he slid deeper inside me. It felt like each stroke erased a part of me and replaced it with something new. Something dark.

  Pressure had already been building inside of me, and I felt my legs drop away as the most powerful orgasm I’d ever experienced rocked through my body. I opened my mouth, letting out a guttural moan as he held me up and stopped me from falling.

  ‘That was fuckin’ amazing,’ I heard him say, through the haze. I dropped my forehead onto the counter, utterly exhausted, my whole body still tingling with aftershocks. He continued to thrust behind me, and I heard an unmistakable groan, followed by his strong body curled around mine.

  We both struggled to catch our breath.

  ‘That,’ I panted, ‘was fucking amazing.’

  He pulled out of me and laughed, spinning me around so I was facing him.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ I asked, crossing my legs to stop his salty fluids from running down them and onto the floor.

  He kissed my forehead, an oddly intimate thing for him to do. ‘You never used to say the word fuck so much,’ he said teasingly. ‘Look what I’ve done to you.’

  I felt bold. ‘You never used to smile so much,’ I countered. ‘Look at what I’ve done to you.’

  Dornan just shook his head and kept on smiling.

  In the shower, after Dornan had bent me over the kitchen counter and fucked me senseless, he pressed the top of my arm until he found the small rod that was embedded just under the surface.

  ‘How long is this good for?’ he asked me, stroking my skin with his warm fingers as water and the scent of sandalwood surrounded us.

  ‘Two more years,’ I said, without thinking.

  ‘We’ll have to make sure we get you a new one then,’ he replied, moving it underneath my skin. ‘I think I’ve got enough kids, don’t you?’ He was teasing, but I froze as his words sank in.

  Two years. I’d been in the apartment for mere weeks, and I couldn’t imagine two more years of this strange and terrifying existence. I had to get out. I was never getting out.

  It was too much to bear. Instead, I focused on Dornan’s fingers as they travelled down my naked stomach and began to rub my sensitive nub again. It might have been devastating each time I let him touch me, but it was equally a welcome relief from the dark thoughts that plagued my mind. And the lighter ones, too. The ones that terrified me the most. When Dornan wasn’t there, I missed him. Longed for his touch. Craved his company. And for a girl who had watched her boyfriend bleed to death in front of her, it wasn’t acceptable to feel those things.

  I tried to push down the feelings that blossomed inside me. I was determined not to let myself get sucked into the fantasy of having a man save me from his horrid father, from a life as a slave. But my heart had a life of its own, and it wandered happily even as I tried to rein it back.

  He was all I had. Those five words played on a constant loop in my mind.

  During the moments in between, I cried. A lot. No amount of concealer could cover up the suitcases that had taken up permanent residence underneath my eyes. In those still moments when I was alone, I often thought of my family. I thought of my little boy, even though the mere memory of him was enough to drive me to madness. How my arms ached to hold him in them. I recalled the crumpled photograph in Murphy’s pocket and felt sick that he held that piece of my soul with him.

  The next morning, I woke up alone. Loneliness and melancholy spiked in my chest, and I wondered how I would get to the office. There was a keypad that I didn’t know the code to, and if there was a fire in the apartment I actually would be burned to death. Dornan almost never gave me notice of plans, he just randomly showed up. I let myself sleep in an extra five minutes before I took a shower and dressed in work clothes.

  This time, I wore panties. Emilio wasn’t getting his dirty hands near my pussy again. I had a sudden violent daydream of murdering him with a stapler as I started the coffee machine in the kitchen.

  The day before, I’d worked hard to clean up the books, and what I found was very dirty indeed. Someone had made a small fortune by siphoning funds from the burlesque club and several other businesses that were fronts for the Il Sangue Cartel and for the Gypsy Brothers. I was still a little confused about the dynamic between the two, to be honest. There was no clear line delineating where one finished and the other began. Although there was no denying that Emilio was in charge of everyone. Owned everyone, with secrets and lies and threats. It sickened me. How much power, how much money and dominance, did one man actually need? And when did that need become a greed that obliterated everything in its path?

  I feared he’d crossed that line a long time ago.

  Soon, it was 8 a.m., and I was ready. Dressed in a sleeveless black shift dress that reached to my knees and zipped up at the back. I’d managed to get the zip three-quarters of the way up and I figured I’d ask Dornan to zip it the rest of the way up. I was standing at the breakfast bar, drinking coffee and looking at a box of Cheerios with disdain. I’d completely lost my appetite in the last few weeks.

  There was a knock at the door, and without thinking, I walked towards it. It was only when I got to the door and put my hand on the handle
that I realised I couldn’t open it. I didn’t have a bloody code.

  It didn’t seem to matter, though. The person on the other side hit the keypad in a series of muted beeps, and I heard the lock disengage. I didn’t move. I assumed it would be Dornan.

  Big. Fucking. Mistake.

  Before I could slam the door shut, Murphy was inside, pushing me down the hallway with a strength I had no hope of beating. His smile was cocky and full of excitement.

  ‘Good morning,’ he proclaimed loudly, stalking me with methodical precision as I backed down the hallway. The kitchen. There were knives in the kitchen.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I asked, trying to make sure I didn’t trip and fall on my ass. ‘How’d you even know I was here?’

  ‘I’m picking you up for work, sweetie,’ he drawled, with a saccharine sweetness that made me want to puke in my mouth. His eyes were brighter than ever this morning, his demeanour terrifying. ‘And I know everything, remember?’

  ‘Where’s Dornan?’ I asked, almost at the kitchen counter. Almost at the knife block. I glanced behind me. Just a few more steps —

  I’d looked away for less than a second, and he’d used my inattention to pounce, grabbing my wrists and throwing me up against the counter with a ferocity that frightened me. I braced myself on the lip of the sink behind me and struggled to think of how I could get out of this. Jesus! I was so stupid. It could have been anyone standing out there! Someone coming to hurt me. Someone coming to kill me. Somebody coming to rape me. Murphy, who looked like he wanted to do all three.

  ‘Your big bad biker got called away,’ he said, his voice dripping with mockery. He might have been dying to fuck me, but he hated me, I realised. Hated me because I wouldn’t willingly give him what he wanted.

  ‘Emilio will expect me,’ I blurted out.

  He crowded over me, forcing my top half to bend backwards uncomfortably until the back of my head was almost dipping into the cloudy dishwater I’d used to wash up earlier.

  ‘He’s with the big bad biker,’ he said, shrugging his shoulders as he grinned wickedly.

  No. NO. If he was telling the truth, I was alone. With him. In an apartment I couldn’t get out of.

  And nobody was coming to save me.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Emilio

  He’d beaten Bella almost to death, but the bitch was stubborn. She was still protesting her innocence, even after Emilio had had Mariana’s figures checked and double-checked by his associates. The girl had done well. She’d picked up in three hours what Emilio had been trying to figure out for months: where his money was going. And there had been a lot of fucking money going.

  He stood above the thieving little cunt, watching her bleed from her latest wound, a jagged slice in her forehead that was dripping blood into her eyes.

  He’d already sliced a pretty patchwork of designs over her naked form, but she was strong-willed. She still hadn’t broken down. The little bitch blinked rapidly, her eyelashes fluttering as blood pooled under her eyes. She was a brunette, but her pretty brown locks were almost entirely red now, coated in her own blood.

  ‘Tell me why,’ Emilio asked, holding the knife close to her eyeball, so close the metal was almost scratching at the white of her eye.

  She gulped, trying to pull back, but her head was locked tight in his other hand, his fist gripping a handful of hair at the base of her skull.

  ‘Why does anyone steal?’ she’d answered him finally, after a day of torture and starvation. A day of being fed nothing but cock and straight liquor and being beaten black and blue. In a sick way, he admired her ability to hold out. ‘Because I wanted pretty things. Because I wanted a better life.’

  The bitch was strong.

  Bitch was a thief, too. He reminded himself of that when he was cutting into her skin while she screamed. She had been diabolical, manipulative, and all the diamonds in the world couldn’t save her now.

  That gave him pause. Yes. She could choke on her own greed. He wanted to watch her struggle as she fought to breathe, as sharp, precious rocks crowded her airway. It would be a fitting death, and afterwards he would cut her open and extract the jewels, and hope to recoup at least some of the funds she’d channelled into fake accounts over the two years she’d been cooking their books.

  But she hadn’t quite suffered enough yet.

  ‘If you let me go, I’ll tell you where the money is,’ she pleaded.

  He grinned.

  ‘If you tell me where the money is, I’ll let you go.’

  The last shred of hope died in her eyes. Emilio Ross didn’t let people go once they’d crossed him, no matter how slight their mis-step. Bella had witnessed enough deaths in the few short years she’d worked for them to understand her fate.

  He sauntered over to the small table he’d had Jimmy drag into the dank little room. On it were a variety of makeshift torture devices, but there was one that he hadn’t used yet, but wanted to. The bite gag. He smiled, selected the crude device from the pile, and set the long butcher’s knife down.

  He approached Bella, who was hanging from the ceiling naked, secured by her wrists, covered in blood and blooming bruises that had painted her skin various shades of black and blue and purple. Emilio noticed new bruises where he’d dug his fingers into her tits. Her pink nipples were hard from the cold and he pinched one, making her groan painfully. She was only a few colours short of a fucking rainbow, he surmised as he released her nipple and used both hands to wrap the contraption around her face.

  She attempted to whip her head from side to side, but screamed as soon as she did. Emilio smiled, taking the opportunity to shove the rubber gag bit into her mouth and press it into her cheeks, forcing her mouth open into a perfect O. One clip at the back, and it was secured. Now, if she tried to bite down, she’d bite through her own cheeks before anything else.

  He smiled as fear replaced the dazed look on her face.

  ‘I knew you’d be hard to break,’ Emilio said, sticking his finger into the perfect open hole that went all the way down to her throat. She gagged as he hit the back of her throat, and he withdrew before she vomited. He didn’t want her stomach contents anywhere near him.

  ‘You know what happens next, don’t you, Bella?’

  She screamed. It sounded strange with her mouth prised open in such a fashion, but it still made his chest puff out with pride.

  She had tried to steal his power when she stole his money, and now he would show her who was truly in control.

  There was a short rap at the door, and then Jimmy and Viper were there. Two of the sickest fucks he’d ever met, and that was saying a lot. Viper was holding a bottle of bourbon and a hose, and they both looked ready for anything. That was the thing with these fucking bikers. At first, he’d been horrified that his son had decided to form his own motorcycle club, but the things they could do, the depravity these men nursed within their own souls — it was very handy, indeed. It made Il Sangue more than just a cartel. They owned the entire west coast, from San Francisco deep down into South America. In short, they were untouchable.

  Emilio backed away from Bella with a wry smile. ‘Go for it, boys.’

  As he closed the door behind him, Emilio heard an unmistakable gagging noise and figured the boys would give the bitch exactly what she deserved.

  Nobody thieved from Emilio Ross and lived to enjoy it.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Mariana

  Murphy pressed against me, trapping me against the counter as he grinned like a son of a bitch.

  ‘What do you want?’ I snapped.

  His shit-eating grin said ‘fuck you’ as clearly as if he’d spoken the words. My back was screaming as he bent me backwards, using his body weight to trap me as he pinned my wrists to my sides. He was hard against my hip, and I wanted to be sick, knowing exactly what he wanted already.

  ‘I want to know if you’re a moaner …’ he drawled, ‘or a screamer.’

  I gathered all of my strength
, every bit of my anger and sadness, and directed it into my forehead. Then, praying that I wouldn’t pass out from the impact, I drove my head forward and barrelled my forehead into his mouth. He let go of me and staggered back, and I straightened, holding my forehead in one hand as it buzzed angrily.

  He took a handkerchief from his top suit pocket and dabbed at the blood that was coming from his split lip. Huh. I’d gotten so used to Dornan’s fascination with blood, I’d forgotten other people didn’t appreciate it so much. The thought that I’d hurt Murphy made me smile.

  He didn’t seem to like that.

  ‘Come here,’ he ordered, tucking the bloodied handkerchief away. ‘You can try and fight me all you want, but I’ve got all day, honey.’

  He had that glint in his eye, and I didn’t trust him one inch. But Dornan was gone, and Emilio with him, and I was backed into a corner with nothing to protect myself. Not even shoes on my feet to kick him with.

  Murphy reached into his pocket again and withdrew the photo of Luis.

  ‘You don’t want the boss to find out about this, right?’

  My heart sank.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘let’s make a deal.’

  I swallowed, my eyes fixed on the photo. ‘I’m listening.’

  He smirked. ‘You do whatever I want for today, and I’ll give this back to you and pretend like I never saw it.’

  I chewed on the inside of my lip and looked between his crazy blue eyes and the photo. My baby. I missed him more than anything. It frightened me that I’d already started to forget little things, like the exact shape of his face and whether his hair in the photo had been dark brown or completely black. I felt shame at such things, and wondered if my mind was simply blocking out things that were too painful for me to deal with.