Pretty Hostage

by Julia Sykes

  “You see those prison bars around the grounds?” he asked bitterly, drawing my attention to the tall iron fencing that served as a barrier around the property. “They’re not to keep dangerous people in. They’re to keep the criminals out.” His mouth pressed to an angry slash. “They don’t work.”

  He tore his gaze from the school, and the Porsche started moving again.

  “So, what do you think?” he asked coldly, not deigning to glance over at me. “What are your first impressions of home sweet home?”

  “This isn’t your home,” I murmured.

  The angry, resentful man in the car beside me wasn’t the Mateo I knew. Not even the criminal version that I’d been living with for the last three weeks. This man was full of bitterness, and despite the way his massive muscles flexed and bulged, there was something weak about him. I sensed that his rage had no outlet, no clear target, and it ate at his insides.

  “It’s the place that made me what I am,” he countered grimly. “I’m the kind of man who hurts people for money and makes deals to claim innocent little virgins. And I don’t feel guilty about any of it.”

  At the outset of this journey, he’d told me he was trying to help me understand him better. I’d assumed that his intent was to make me more sympathetic to how and why he lived his lawless life.

  But now that we were here, surrounded by the ghosts that clearly haunted him, he seemed to have lost track of his objective.

  The anger that masked his pain was far more effective at drawing forth my compassion for him than any manipulative spin he could have put on this place.

  “I’m not sure what you want me to say,” I replied quietly. He wasn’t intimidating me, and I didn’t feel any disdain for his impoverished upbringing. Mateo was bleeding inside, and he was giving me a glimpse at the trauma that had wounded him so deeply.

  He remained silent for a moment, stewing in his dark emotions. “I don’t know what I want you to say, either.”

  We pulled up outside a dirty, cream stucco apartment complex with roof tiles the color of dried blood. He put the Porsche in park, glaring at the rotting building.

  “This is where I lived for the first seventeen years of my life.” He made the admission as though it was acid on his tongue.

  I kept my expression carefully neutral, not wanting to display any sort of emotion that might derail him from sharing.

  Before he’d announced this field trip, I’d had no desire to open my heart to Mateo or get to know him better. Keeping him at a distance was the only way to protect myself from getting hurt again.

  But now that he was revealing his secret past that caused him such anger and shame, I wanted to learn more. I couldn’t feel compassion for the criminal who had been holding me hostage, but I could sympathize with this man who was making himself vulnerable by allowing me to witness his hidden anguish.

  I was starting to put pieces together, bridging the gap between the man who had abducted me and the boy who had grown up in this hellhole.

  Mateo had been seventeen the first time I’d met him. The young man I’d instantly swooned for at one of my father’s lavish parties must have only just moved out of this decaying apartment building. He’d appeared aloof that night—a muscular, sexy enigma.

  How foreign he must have felt in our multi-million-dollar mansion, surrounded by people wearing designer clothes and sipping champagne.

  I was beginning to suspect that despite his new wealth, Mateo still didn’t feel like he belonged there.

  “You see that graffiti there?” he asked, pointing at one of the numerous black scrawls painted onto the stucco. “One of my gang members tagged the place. Marking our territory.”

  I noticed how he said our, how his eyes were shifting out of focus as his brain pulled him back into a dark place he’d kept locked away for years.

  Without considering my actions, I reached over and placed my hand atop his clenched fist.

  He blinked and looked down at where I touched him, as though baffled by the contact.

  “You don’t belong here,” I told him. “You’re not part of this place anymore.”

  His black eyes lifted to mine, his brows drawn in a challenge. “Only because I fought my way out. I escaped violence with more violence. But at least with Adrián, I’m free to make my own choices. And I have the resources to keep the people I care about safe.”

  “How did you end up with Adrián?” I pressed, seeking more information to connect the dots.

  His scowl returned. “Why do you care?” he lashed out, pushing me away from his pain.

  I kept my hand on his, refusing to break contact. “You brought me here to give me context,” I reminded him calmly. “Explain this to me.”

  He looked down at our hands again, staring at my much smaller fingers clasping his meaty fist. After a tense moment, he unfurled his fingers and turned his palm so that it pressed against mine. He took a breath and briefly closed his eyes, as though my touch brought him palpable peace.

  “My gang dared me to steal from Adrián,” he began, rubbing his thumb over my wrist as he spoke, feeling my pulse. That seemed to soothe him even more, and the tension eased from his huge body. “I was getting jacked by then, and I was throwing my weight around, using my size to instill fear and provide security for my mom. If everyone was terrified of me, they wouldn’t go near her.

  “Adrián is the scariest motherfucker in the city, but I’m one of the biggest. I was taunted into trying to humiliate Adrián, and I couldn’t back down once the challenge was issued. Not without losing face and weakening my reputation. My mom needed me to protect her, and I couldn’t risk her by letting anyone think I couldn’t stand up for myself.”

  “She lived here with you?” I asked when he paused to glower at the dilapidated building again, as though he wished he could destroy it with his fists.

  “Yeah.” He spat the confirmation. “But not after that night. I went to steal from Adrián at his club, even though I knew that walking into his territory and insulting him would end with me dead if he caught me. Once my mom’s safety was on the line, I had to risk it.

  “Of course, he did catch me. Adrián commands a small army of ruthless killers, and he’s not stupid enough to sit around undefended. I managed to take down five of his best men before I got knifed.”

  My fingers tightened around his palm, an automatic reflex to the idea of Mateo being gravely injured.

  He continued stroking my wrist, and I wasn’t sure which of us was soothing the other anymore.

  “Adrián could have killed me right then and there,” he continued, “but he hired me instead. He handed me a fat roll of cash, and I managed to stay on my feet long enough to come back here and pick up my mom. We left that night and never looked back.”

  “Where is she now?” I asked, knowing Mateo wouldn’t have left her unprotected. Not after everything he’d just told me. His affection for her had been obvious ever since I’d woken up in his house and he cooked breakfast for me that first morning. He’d told me how she taught him to cook, how he’d helped her with chores while growing up in this rotting apartment.

  He might hate where he came from, but he loved her.

  “I bought her a house in Santa Monica.” His chest swelled with pride when he told me how he provided for her. “Now, she lives in the comfort she deserves.”

  “Do you want to show me?” I realized that it would be important to him if I could see the safe home he’d procured for her, especially after showing me this decaying place where his demons lived.

  He hesitated, fresh tension gripping his brawny frame.

  “I’d like to see the house you bought for her,” I pressed gently. “You’ve shown me the place where you grew up, but this isn’t context that helps me understand who you are. It tells me where you came from, but not who you are.”

  He gave my hand a little squeeze before reluctantly releasing me, so he could put the car in gear. “Okay,” he agreed. “I’ll take you to meet my mom.�
�

  Something about the prospect of our meeting troubled him, but he didn’t offer further insight.

  We were both so preoccupied with the intensity of Mateo’s confessions that neither of us noticed when a burgundy SUV followed the Porsche out of the neighborhood, ghosts from his past trailing after us.

  Chapter 18

  Mateo

  As we drove away from old nightmares in Boyle Heights, I struggled to break free of the toxic emotions that clouded my thought processes. I’d planned to share just enough of my past so that Sofia could understand that my world was about survival, not cruelty. It still wasn’t a pretty place, but my motivations might make me less of a monster in her eyes.

  But as soon as we’d driven into the neighborhood, the ugly emotions that had ruled me when I lived in that hell had surfaced from where I’d buried them deep. My formative years had been fueled by hunger, hatred, and resentment of anyone who had more than I did. Even when I’d built my body to be bigger and stronger than anyone I knew, I’d still been pathetically weak.

  The gang had locked me within its confines from an early age, preying on my fears for my mom to trap me in a cage of guilt and duty masquerading as safety and brotherhood.

  Adrián had freed me from all that. As long as I watched his back, he paid me mind-boggling amounts of money. When I wasn’t on the clock, my life was my own, with no obligations to anyone else. I could do whatever I wanted with my time, buy whatever pleased me with my newfound wealth.

  And I could finally keep my mom safe. I would never have to be scared that I might come home to find her broken and bleeding on the floor.

  I would never fail her again.

  Sofia was quiet while we drove to Santa Monica, but I didn’t sense any judgment or disgust in her silence. When I’d started losing my shit while parked out front of my childhood home, she’d remained calm and reached for me. Offering me comfort.

  My delicate little flower possessed more strength than I’d thought. Given the volatile way I’d behaved, she should have been frightened or repulsed. Or both.

  Instead, she’d held my hand and asked for more information. She’d asked to meet my mom.

  My stomach knotted with familiar guilt as I pulled up in front of Mom’s house: a pretty four-bedroom home in a safe neighborhood. I’d tried to get her to live farther outside the city, somewhere I could hide her down a long drive secured by a big gate. But she wanted to be close to the beach, and she’d lived through enough misery that I would give her anything that might make her happy.

  So, we’d compromised on this Spanish-style bungalow in Santa Monica. Only the roof of the house was visible over the ten-foot, solid wooden fence. An equally high hedge guarded the other three sides of the property. No one would be able to get close to my mom without breaching those barriers or tripping the highly advanced security system I’d installed.

  I parked my Porsche on the street, pulling up to the curb a few car lengths down from her front door. Another disadvantage to this city property: no garage to shelter my expensive vehicles.

  When I got out and went to open Sofia’s door, she took my offered hand without hesitation.

  I’d completely fucked up my plans for how I was going to manipulate her by showing her my old neighborhood, but my shitshow breakdown seemed to have worked even more effectively to win her back.

  She followed where I led, and we crossed the short distance from my Porsche to Mom’s house. I paused before I keyed in the code that would unlock the solid metal gate set into the fence line.

  “I should warn you before we go in,” I said, speaking the words aloud to convince myself to continue. “My mom has scars on her face. They can be alarming to someone who’s never seen her before. I thought you should know. She gets self-conscious when people stare.”

  Mom barely even went out in public. She lived with enough physical pain every day without dealing with the anguish of being gawked at.

  I lifted my hand to the keypad set beneath the gate handle, but Sofia’s slender fingers closed around mine.

  “Mateo.” I felt her say my name like a soft caress on my cheek. I hadn’t heard her speak to me in this sweet tone since the night she’d found out that I’d made a deal for her virginity.

  I turned to face her, grasping both of her dainty hands in mine. I was hungry for more of this softness from her, and now that she offered it, my first instinct was to draw her close and keep her there.

  Her lovely green eyes sparkled in the golden sunlight. For the first time in three weeks, she actually looked at me, peering straight into whatever I had left of my soul.

  “You said my scars upset you at first because of something to do with you, not me,” she said quietly. “You thought that someone had hurt me, and that’s why they upset you. Did someone hurt your mom?”

  My jaw clenched, a physical reaction to hold in painful admissions.

  But Sofia was touching me. She was looking at me.

  I couldn’t lose her again.

  “Yeah,” I rasped. “Someone hurt her.”

  “Will you tell me about it?” She wasn’t asking out of morbid curiosity. Now that I’d been stupid enough to lose control in front of her in my old neighborhood, she wanted to know more of my dark secrets.

  But my fuckup had somehow brought her back to me. I could give her more if my confession would keep her close.

  “Her boyfriend beat the shit out of her when I was fifteen.” The words were drawn from me, compelled by Sofia’s nearness. “He’d been supporting us for ten years, keeping my mom as a side piece and providing just enough money for rent and food. He was a gangbanger, and his relationship with her meant protection for both of us. She made him swear that he would leave me out of it.

  “That promise lasted until my tenth birthday. He got me to start dealing for him, threatening to leave us high and dry if I didn’t comply or if I told Mom. So, I did what he wanted. Over the next few years, I grew bigger, stronger. He started asking me to do heavier shit, and I did. But one day, Mom found out.”

  Her abject horror at the sight of blood on my hands was burned into my mind. For five years, I’d managed to hide the truth from her. She’d thought I was living as easy of a life as she could possibly provide for me, and seeing the bloody evidence of what I’d become had broken her heart.

  I suppressed a shudder and continued on. “She confronted her piece of shit boyfriend, so he beat her and left her to die for daring to question him. I came home after dealing one afternoon to find her…”

  I stopped myself before I confessed the nauseating details to Sofia. It would be upsetting enough for her to see my mother’s disfigured appearance. She didn’t need a graphic description of the gory sight I’d come home to. The man had taken his time hurting Mom, using his knife and his fists.

  “I called an ambulance, and they got to her in time,” I said. “While Mom was recovering in the hospital, I hunted down the motherfucker who hurt her and made sure he would never do it again.”

  More gory details Sofia didn’t need to know. The day I’d tortured him to exact my retribution had been the day I’d realized that there was no bloody task I was too squeamish to carry out.

  “After, I kept Mom as comfortable as I could in that shithole apartment, but I couldn’t leave the gang. They were the only protection we had left, and I needed the money from dealing to support us. Meeting Adrián was the best thing that ever happened to us.”

  By the time I finished, Sofia’s vibrant eyes were shining. “Mateo,” she said tremulously, a tear sliding down her cheek.

  I brushed it away with my thumb, and she leaned into my hand.

  “Your life is…more complicated than I realized.” She bit her lip, thinking through what she wanted to say. “Thank you for sharing with me.”

  I stroked her cheek, tracing the path of her tears until my fingers touched beneath her chin. She tipped back at the lightest pressure, inviting me to take the kiss I’d been craving for weeks.

 
The distinctive hiss of an aerosol spray paint can—a familiar sound from the ugly past I’d just revisited—was a gunshot to my senses, jolting me to instinctive action.

  I pushed Sofia out of harm’s way, tucking her between my back and the fence behind us as I searched for the threat.

  Several yards down the street, my pretty Porsche was being vandalized. One of my former friends was tagging my brand-new baby, scrawling our gang sign onto the perfect, cherry red paint job.

  I roared out a curse and launched myself at the motherfucker. Ruiz had either forgotten just how fast I could move, or he’d gotten slower with age, because Shit-for-brains didn’t drop the paint can quick enough to put distance between us.

  I tackled him to the pavement before he got three steps, and ruby blood sprayed onto the sidewalk when his front teeth busted against it. I turned him roughly onto his back. I wanted him to see my face when I killed him. No one fucked with what was mine.

  My hands wrapped around his throat, letting him feel the vise closing. “You thought you could follow me here and fuck up my shit?” I seethed, enraged that a demon from my former life had tailed me to the safe place I’d bought for Mom.

  His eyes rolled in terror, his mouth opening and closing in desperation to draw the breath that I denied him.

  Sofia’s soft cry hit me like a grappling hook, yanking my body away from Ruiz to slaughter whoever had frightened her.

  My stomach dropped to the pavement, and I froze in place. Medina, another one of my former demons, held a knife to her throat. Her lustrous curls were trapped in his fist, yanking her head back and baring her vulnerable artery to his blade.

  Rage and panic wracked my system, making my body vibrate with impotent fury. I couldn’t risk an attack, because he could slice her open before I even got close.

  “Give Ruiz your keys,” Medina ordered, the command harsh with malice. “You were stupid enough to think you could drive through your old hood and show off your fancy shit. You think you’re better than us, Ignazio?”

  I held up my hands, the show of attrition utterly foreign to me. “Let her go,” I snarled, knowing there was no power in my demand. From this distance, I couldn’t do anything to stop him from slitting her throat.