by Kenya Wright
“Okay...”
“Goodnight, Reece.” I wasn’t excited about this talk with Reece, or the one I had to have with grandma about her damn spells and where she’d found so much blood.
Chapter 13
Elle
Not much passed between us as we approached the stairs. What else could we say after seeing such a horrific scene like that? Although my guards walked four feet behind me, icicles of terror sliced throughout my body. I’d never seen a dead person before, and hoped I would never have to see one again.
I should’ve let go of his hand. I was a strong woman, right? I’d been through rough things by myself and survived. Yet Alvarez’s presence gave me a sense of safety, more than the bodyguards or even the tons of guards that now surrounded the perimeter of the castle, and much more than all of the cops that combed the property for clues and traces of the killer. Just being next to Alvarez decreased my booming heart to a steady beat and enveloped my mind with him, instead of the images of the cold corpse carved out between her legs.
I gulped down my fear. He probably had hundreds of things to do right now, most of them more important than spending time with a scared woman. “That looked like a pretty intense phone conversation between you and your assistant. That was her, right?”
“It was.” Tension crept over Alvarez’s face. “I have a bunch of things to do and she somewhat, well, without intending to do it, presented a new problem I don’t want to deal with.”
“I see.” I let go of his hand, but he seized it again. “I should let you go deal with all those problems.”
“I would rather not.”
“But do you have to?”
“Yeah.” He stared at the first step on the stairwell. “However, I’m starting to learn that no matter how quickly or slowly I solve a situation, another one comes right up to take its place. It’s like battling a forest fire with nothing but a worn out hose.”
“That sucks.”
“Pretty much.” He closed his eyes for a minute. “Would you like to have a drink with me? I promise not to keep you up too much longer.”
“A drink is exactly what I need. Maybe even several drinks. I think the question I should offer you is, would you mind me getting so sloshed that you have to carry me upstairs?”
“That actually sounds like fun after what we’ve seen tonight.”
“Then direct me toward the bar.”
“Let’s go to my office.” He guided me upstairs and toward the east wing, one of the few places I hadn’t seen when one of the servants carried my bags to my room and gave me a short tour.
The person who decorated the castle did so with vibrant earthy tones. Most of the rooms were filled with grassy greens, light coffee browns, clay reds, sandy shades, and flaming oranges. There was also a strong Cuban influence—captivating paintings draped the walls depicting men pounding hour glass drums as curvy women danced in brightly colored gowns. Others portrayed people eating exotic foods among bustling cafes where women of many shades sat as the center of attention and men surrounded them strumming a guitar or handing them roses.
“All of these works are really romantic,” I said.
“We’re Cuban.”
I snorted. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Romance runs through our blood.” He paused at walnut double doors and opened them. My guards remained in the hallway. Alvarez gestured to a dark brown leather couch along the opposite wall and went over to a bar in the corner. “What would you like to drink? Wine, something mixed, or really strong?”
“I’m usually a white wine drinker, but I think the night calls for something strong, just not too much for a light-weight like me.”
His space represented my idea of him—striking, yet a controlled quiet with a secret edge. Rich walnut wood dominated the room. A tan color coated the walls. Thick, beige carpet covered the floors. Heaps of papers stacked on his desk, but not in a clutter. They all had their place, their own organized category to rest in. Unlike the other rooms we’d passed, there were no paintings in here, just pictures of his family, but none of himself. In fact, there were tons of framed pictures on shelves or at the edge of his desk with a young Hex and less wrinkled grandma, not one of him.
Where are all the pictures of him? Does he not like taking them?
The only thing in the room that seemed out of place was the stack of new, bright orange candles resting in the center of his desk.
“I’ll make you one of my specialties.” He pulled out two short glasses. “When I was in the navy I would make this drink and some of my buddies called it Al’s W.H.L.”
“What does that mean?”
“What happened last night? After someone drinks it they always asked everyone the next day what happened.”
A happy giggle fled from my lips. It felt so good to just lean into the smooth leather of his couch and truly be taken away by something as simple as a funny story. “Well, I would like a double W.H.L. and should I ask you what is in it?”
“I’m sorry, but only I know the true ingredients of W.H.L. I promised myself I will die with that secret.” He kept his back to me as he picked up many different bottles and poured the contents into two glasses.
“So serious.” I grinned. “Since you won’t tell me what’s in this mind erasing drink, maybe you can return to your earlier theory about romance running through your blood.”
“All Cuban men,” he corrected.
“And what about the Cuban women?”
“I don’t know. I’m a man and can only tell you about my experiences.”
“And apparently you’re full of romance.”
“It’s how I was born. It’s how all of our men are born.” He carried a glass to me full of ice cubes and dark liquid. “My grandpa told me that Cuban men are born with an extra heart, one to live with and the other to give to the special lady in their life. But until we find the special one, we’re to fill that extra heart with love, encouragement, compassion, and all the things our special lady may need. We’re to spend our lives filling it, in anticipation for that day.”
I took the glass from him, but was suspicious about taking a sip. “And where is your extra heart?”
“Right here.” He touched his chest. “It’s practically bursting at the seam.”
“Why haven’t you given it away to anybody?”
“I’ve been putting off looking for her.”
“I don’t believe that. You’re good looking. You’ve never been married or anything?”
He paused for a few seconds. “Well. . . I was married for a short time, but it didn’t go well. She was. . . mentally unstable.”
“Oh.” An awkward silence settled between us. “What happened?”
“We separated, in a way. We’re no longer together and legally divorced, but I still take care of her when I can.”
“And you haven’t fallen in love again?”
“No. Hex and my grandma keep me busy. I’m hoping that after this collection comes out at the end of the summer, things will die down and I’ll have the time to hire more assistants.”
“And then you’ll have time to search for that someone to give your extra heart to, right?”
His gaze hit my face and spread warmth all over my skin. “I may not need to search at all, but I do believe I’ll have to figure out a way to convince her I’m worthy. Now stop stalling and try W.H.L.”
I cringed, but went ahead and took a sip. A licorice flavor hit my taste buds and then a burn came and heated my mouth and throat. I coughed few times. “Goodness gracious. No wonder no one can remember anything the next day. I think after I drink half of this I won’t even remember what happened this month.”
“That might be a good thing.”
“You have no idea.” I giggled and against my better judgment swallowed down some more of the wretched liquid.
“What happened to you this month?” He sat down next to me. In that moment, I got a whiff of his woodsy cologne, something I’d noticed during our dancing.
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“I’d rather not talk about it. In fact, let’s only talk about fun things.” I held my glass next to his and did a cheers. “To only talking about things that make us laugh.”
“That’s just what the doctor ordered.”
“Now back to this claim of Cuban men and romance.”
He turned his body on the couch so that his huge frame faced me. “I’m starting to think you don’t believe me.”
“I don’t. I’ve never heard about any human race having more than one heart.”
“It’s a secret among my people.”
I tossed him a skeptical look. “Sure it is.”
“You don’t know anything about my culture, so how can you decide if it’s not true? I think you should just believe everything I’m saying.”
I opened my mouth in mock shock. “I know things about the Cuban culture.”
It was his turn to throw me a skeptical look. “Name one song.”
I twisted my lips to the side and considered it for a minute. “Guantanamera?”
He laughed. “Well, it is one of the best known Cuban songs out there. But fine, I’ll prove my point with that. Do you know what it means?”
“No.” I took another sip. With each swallow, W.H.L. was getting easier and easier to take.
“The song is based on a poem by Jose Marti about his fascination with this beautiful girl. Guantanamera means girl from Guantanamo. It was actually one of the many poems my grandpa made Hex and I memorize.”
“Do you still know it?”
“Of course.”
“Tell me some of it.”
He formed his lips into a smile.
“I am a truthful man
from where the palm tree grows.
And before dying I want
to let out the verses of my soul.”
The tension and stress in my shoulders dissipated into a soothing wave of calm. It could’ve been due to the W.H.L. working its magic on my muscles, the relaxing company of Alvarez, or even the simple passion in the poem, but for once this month I was content with just staying where I was and never leaving.
“My verse is light green
and it is flaming red.
My verse is a wounded stag
who seeks refuge on the mountain.”
Alvarez tucked a stray strand behind my ear. The easy gesture delivered sizzling sparks across my skin.
“I grow a white rose
in July just as in January,
for the honest friend
who gives me his open hand.”
I risked a few more sips before setting my glass on the coffee table in front of me.
“Then in the song, of course,
the singer would sing,
‘girl from Guantanamo,
oh that peasant from Guantanamo.”
I grinned. “Sing it to me, please.”
“If you promise to sing to me.”
I wagged my finger from side to side. “My singing brings howling dogs to the window. Trust me when I say this, you don’t need me singing anything tonight.”
He set his almost full glass on the table.
“You’ve barely had any of it.” I pointed to the glass.
“I’ve found that talking to you has calmed me enough. I don’t need it.”
“Or are you trying to get me drunk so that you can take advantage of me?”
“I don’t need liquor to do the things I want to do to you tonight. What I need is peace around this property and the time to do it.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Oh really? You just need time and peace? Not for me to be a willing party?”
“You’re willing.”
“I never said that.”
“Your lips did.”
As if he’d touched them again, my mouth remembered the kiss from the dance floor and tingled with a wish that he’d press against them again. “That was a Happy New Year’s kiss, nothing more.”
“Even though today isn’t New Year’s day?”
“Exactly.”
“So that was my last kiss?”
“Yes.” The word came out as a whisper. I hoped it was the truth, even though an ache rose in my chest for him to touch me. There couldn’t be anything between us. For the past six months, I’d been reading self-help books to learn how to be happier in life. Granted, the biggest thing that had been blocking my happiness was my relationship with Michael. In one of them, they discussed many different personality traits. One in particular dealt with how the person was afraid to be alone and always sought happiness and pleasure through the people around them. Women like this always needed a man with them and could only be happy around them.
Was I like that? The question banged in my skull over and over. Was I that sad little woman who stuck to her man like a leech or a parasite sucking out all of the joy from the host? When Michael wasn’t around, I’d sat there in our condo, waiting for him to come back. I’d turned into this dependent little waif, craving his return each time he left and waiting like a loyal dog panting at the door to welcome her master home.
At that realization, I immediately began the book’s exercises—writing a journal, exploring hobbies and things I might like, contemplating what my future goals were outside of my relationships, and spending time away from Michael to learn how to enjoy my own company. A change slowly seeped into my life and relationship. Michael was on edge with this new change. When I went out on my own to poetry readings or similar events, Michael accused me of cheating. When I wrote in my journal, he read it, hoping to discover who my lover was.
And then instead of hiding his cheating, he paraded his lovers in front of me.
“What’s wrong?” Alvarez brought my thoughts back to him. “Your expression did this drastic change, from happy to pissed. In fact, whoever is on your mind, I’m worried for them. They may not be safe around you.”
That made me laugh. “That’s a very good guess.”
“Who were you thinking about?”
“No one important.”
“I’ll bet it was someone who broke your heart.”
“That’s your second good guess for the evening.” I clapped my hands.
“And he’s the reason why I won’t be getting any more kisses.”
“And now you’ve won the grand prize.” I couldn’t kiss him anymore. This voyage was about finding myself and being able to love and enjoy life without the presence of a man next to me. I didn’t want to be a lonely little leech. I yearned to be a free bird, soaring through the sky with a destination set in her mind.
“What is my grand prize?” he asked.
“I’ll need time to think about what I can give you.”
“I have many suggestions.”
“I’ll bet you do.”
Chapter 14
Alvarez
She needed time to think about what she could give me, but I didn’t need it. Her presence alone had made my year. So close, her scent drew me in. It was difficult not to touch or lick her skin. No. Licking would not be a good thing right now, especially when she was so adamant about not giving me a kiss.
But she will give me a kiss before the night is over with.
I could see it all over her face and in the delicate lines of her mouth, that she craved me as much as I did her. She just needed time. My list of things to do crashed in my head, and on that list I remembered that getting Elle a plane ticket away from here was on it. Did she still want to leave? Was it selfish of me to need her to stay in such a dangerous situation?
Yes. It was. I’ll have to help her leave if she wants to.
Wherever she went, she would only be a plane ride away. And I would keep someone monitoring her movements, making sure she was safe and some place where I could visit her again. Because I would go see her, wherever she decided to go off to. I would deal with this sick bastard who decided to cut beautiful girls’ bodies on my property. There were also hundreds of other things to do, but I’d already planned on those things being pushed aside.
Fuck everything else after this killer is found. I want her.
And I couldn’t just have her as a friend or lover, not even dating would be enough anymore. In this little time of her sitting on my couch in my office and wearing my jacket, things changed. She’s cast light into my dark little life. Grandma said she would, that Elle would brighten up the whole family with her presence. At the time, I’d thought Grandma was making things up, but now I wasn’t so sure.
Elle was a glowing light in my darkness.
I hadn’t been able to put my finger on it before, but it was always there, shining this grand bright light and illuminating the entire space around her. That light was what the electric sensation was about when I touched her hand for the first time. That light was where the surge in my groin came from, each time I heard her laugh or saw her face or for god’s sake witnessed those beautiful strands spilled across her bare flesh.
In two days, she altered the course of my plans for my life. Before Hex, Grandma, and Dayanara crowded my skull, a constant thumping of duties and dreaded messes to clean. They were all I thought of. When there was time to think of myself, I rushed off to a new play in downtown Miami, maybe caught a quick meal, and spent the rest of my evenings drinking and sleeping with women offered by Madam Miriam. Her and her women didn’t see me as the brother of the most famous artist or even a path to an easier life. They just saw me as a part of their job, and for once I could sit back and let someone else take care of me.
“Will Hex still need a model?” she asked. “Do you think he’ll still want to create after another girl was killed?”
“I don’t know, but I’m sure he will. Art isn’t a means for income when it comes to Hex. He would do it if he was trapped on an island by himself or the richest man in the world. For him, art is like breathing. He just has to do it.”
“Oh.”
“Why did you ask? Are you thinking about leaving?” I hated the sadness that decorated each word. “I know our agreement was that if things seemed unsafe, you would leave.”
She took off my jacket and exposed her bare arms and shoulders. The hungry man in me fought with my gentlemanly side and urged us to just seize the curve of her neck with our teeth and suck and lick to our hearts’ content. It was a tough battle, but I kept the both of us at bay, on the other side of the couch.