by Zoe Blake
Don’t worry, that had little to do with why I moved onto Water Street—it’s just such a nice area, with an amazing view of the city. And I’m certain, one day, fate will have me run into him.
One Click White Pawn here!
Stealing Beauty
By Julia Sykes
Pale green eyes sliced into my chest, their cutting gaze keener than I remembered. They practically glowed as he glowered at me from across the church: a panther deciding whether his prey was worth bothering with the hunt. His full lips curled in a sneer, those beautiful, terrifying eyes scanning my body.
Whatever he saw in me, he decided I wasn’t worth his time. He blinked and looked away, his attention turning back to the stunning blonde draped on his arm.
I sucked in a gasp, remembering how to breathe. My fingers trembled at my sides as a hit of adrenaline surged through my system.
I’d known Adrián would be here. I’d told myself I was ready to face him. I’d told myself that I’d be able to mask my ire and put on the pretty, pleasant smile that was expected of me.
But I hadn’t been prepared for the hatred in his burning stare. Ten long years had passed since I’d last looked into those hypnotic green eyes. Once, they’d shined with devotion when he looked at me.
Now, it seemed he loathed me as much as I despised him.
I collected my wits, clenching my fists at my sides to still my shaking fingers. My perfectly manicured nails bit into my palms, but I welcomed the little flare of pain. It helped ground me. Pain reminded me of my role, my duties.
I’d receive a lot more of it if I didn’t play my part perfectly: devoted wife to Hugo Sánchez, the second most powerful man in Bogotá.
The most powerful man, Vicente Rodríguez, was the reason I was here, participating in this farce.
A visible shiver raced through the young woman—barely more than a girl—who stood at the altar. Camila Gómez had the misfortune of catching Vicente’s eye a year ago. The eighteen-year-old had gotten pregnant, giving him a son. He’d decided to force her into this marriage to ensure the boy’s legitimacy. A secondary heir to his cocaine empire, in case something were to happen to Adrián.
Adrián Rodríguez. I could hardly believe the boy I’d loved all those years ago had turned into the hard, frightening man who’d taken his place in the church pew behind me. I couldn’t see him, but I could feel his cruel glare on my back. It made my skin pebble with a prey’s awareness, my body instinctively sensing the threat.
For the last decade, he’d been in America, consolidating the power of his father’s cartel in California. I’d never expected to see him again, but Vicente’s wedding to poor Camila had brought the prodigal son home to Colombia.
The girl’s petite frame appeared smaller than ever as she shrank in Vicente’s shadow. He’d waited long enough for her slender body to return to its youthful perfection after she’d given birth—no doubt, she was kept on a careful regimen to ensure her beauty for this day.
I was far too familiar with the practice: the restricted diet and proscribed exercise to keep my natural curves just the right size to please my husband. Mercifully, Hugo stood at Vicente’s side rather than mine. As Vicente’s lapdog, Hugo was a natural choice to play the part of best man at this sham wedding.
My husband’s beady black eyes fixed on me, and his thin lips curved into a malicious smile. An involuntary shudder wracked my body. He’d looked at me with the exact same expression ten years ago, when I’d been the one in the pretty white dress, forced to the altar against my will. I was only sixteen at the time, but Hugo hadn’t minded being wedded to a child. He’d waited too long for his turn with me to care.
And as my guardian, Vicente had given me away to his best friend, gifting me to him in exchange for his years of loyalty.
I could hardly bear to look at either of the disgusting, lecherous men. Somehow, I lifted my chin and straightened my spine. I couldn’t allow anyone in the church to sense that my fear-drenched memories of my wedding night were playing through my mind.
Hugo delighted in my fear, but he also expected me to maintain the façade of perfect, loving wife when we were in public. He might be short and stocky, but his rounded belly didn’t diminish his strength. His thinning black hair and ruddy cheeks were showing the signs of his age, but the years hadn’t caused him to grow frail. He was as brutal as he’d been on the day I’d met him, when I was fourteen years old.
I plastered on a beatific smile, meeting my husband’s gaze. To any casual observer, I’d appear to be staring at him with love and devotion, remembering the false joy of our own wedding day.
Camila’s palpable terror made the dark memories I kept locked at the back of my mind push to the forefront. I shoved them away before I gagged. A metallic tang coated my tongue, and I realized I’d bitten the inside of my cheek.
The ceremony passed by in a blur. I drew in deep breaths to suppress my rising nausea. When the priest pronounced Vicente and Camila husband and wife, I managed a wide smile. My eyes watered with empathy for the girl, but I’d be able to pass it off as tears of joy.
I followed the stream of guests as we exited the white and gold opulence of the basilica, stepping out into the heavy dusk heat. Hugo waited by the black limo outside the church, gesturing that I should get in the car. Vicente and Camila were already in their vintage Rolls-Royce, which would take them to the reception space: an imposing, historic castillo located outside Bogotá.
I smiled at my husband and took his hand, allowing him to help me slide into the back seat. He settled in beside me, pressing his doughy body close to mine. The sickening scent of his amber cologne mingling with his sweat washed over me. I’d become accustomed to it over the years, but today, the overpowering reek made me want to retch.
Seconds later, my nausea intensified. My gut lurched as Adrián got into the limo, his stunning blonde date sliding into place at his side. Her dark eyebrows didn’t match her platinum locks, but the obvious dye job didn’t diminish her beauty.
I couldn’t focus on her, though. My eyes locked on Adrián’s burning green stare.
My breath caught, and my pretty smile melted.
Hugo’s meaty hand rested on my thigh, high enough to be indecent in front of strangers.
But Adrián wasn’t a stranger. He was a ghost from my past. A horrifying apparition that appeared all too corporeal. His massive body filled the space, his bulk obvious even beneath his sharply-tailored black suit.
I could feel Hugo’s hot breath on my face before he pressed a wet, stomach-turning kiss against my cheek. “Are you all right, cariña?”
Adrián’s nostrils flared, his full lips thinning. His square jaw hardened to granite, and his high cheekbones appeared sharper than ever.
For a moment, the world spun around me, the sickly-sweet stench of my husband powerful enough to make me lightheaded.
Hugo’s fingers dug into my thigh, a clear warning to behave myself.
The flare of pain helped me focus. I tore my eyes from Adrián’s, staring out the window instead.
“I’m fine,” I managed.
I couldn’t look at my husband. I could barely draw breath when he was so close, and Adrián’s hatred pressing against me like a tangible force didn’t help me breathe easier.
I tried to focus on the glittering lights as the city lit up around us, the historic sites of La Candelaria district beginning to glow against the falling darkness. The limo’s tires rumbled over cobblestones. I kept my attention on the soft, purring sound to soothe my raw nerves.
Eventually, the pavement evened out, and the city disappeared behind us. We made our way along a darker road to reach the castle where the wedding reception would be held.
The historic edifice appeared as we rounded a curve, the stone façade shining under golden lights. Vicente had spared no expense on this sham of a wedding, inviting hundreds of people to witness his defiling of a young, unwilling girl. The ostentatious display was disgusting, but everyone in attend
ance seemed to think it was a joyous occasion.
The limo slowed to a stop, and Hugo ushered me out of the car. We stepped onto a red carpet, which led us through the open, massive wooden doors. More golden light spilled out into the night, welcoming us with false cheer. Marble floors shined under the massive crystal chandelier that lit the foyer.
Hugo wrapped his arm around my waist, but I stepped away as my stomach lurched. Over the years, I’d become numb to his touch. Tonight, it made my skin crawl. The memories of my own wedding night threatened to bubble up, and bile rose in my throat.
“Excuse me,” I murmured. I couldn’t come up with a good reason to leave Hugo’s side, and I knew I’d pay for abandoning him later.
But all I could think about was fleeing from his slimy touch and rank scent.
I moved too quickly as I headed for the stairs, seeking privacy on the second level of the castle. No guests lingered around the banister on the upper floor, and I darted for the solace of a quiet room, where I could break down without witnesses.
The only thing worse than leaving Hugo standing alone in the foyer would be making a public scene. He’d be able to shrug off my sudden absence as the result of illness—I was sure I’d appeared pinched and pale enough in the limo to warrant that excuse.
No matter if the guests accepted his reasoning, he wouldn’t allow me to go unpunished.
I could only hope that he’d wait until we were back on our estate. It was the most likely scenario. He wouldn’t want to leave marks on me at this garish event; above all, he wanted others to believe that I truly was his devoted, loving wife. Anything less would be humiliating.
The second most powerful man in Bogotá couldn’t have a disobedient wife. Hugo had made sure to break me and turn me into his adoring spouse a long time ago.
That had been after Adrián left me.
The boy I loved had left Colombia, and he’d never come back. He let Hugo torment me and turn me into his perfectly polished, soulless plaything.
Now, Adrián lurked downstairs with the rest of the sharks. The man who’d glowered at me in the church might wear the boy’s face, but he wasn’t here to rescue me.
I’d given up on that foolish fantasy a long time ago, anyway.
I slipped into the first open room I found, closing the door behind me. Books lined the walls, gold lettering gleaming on darkly colored spines. The unique scent of leather-bound books helped calm me. The library on Hugo’s estate was the place where I most often found solace from him, losing myself in fiction for hours. I took a deep breath, inhaling the familiar smell. It helped calm my nerves and my nausea.
The door clicked open behind me, and I spun with a shocked yelp.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Hugo’s ruddy cheeks were redder than usual, almost purple with rage.
I took a hasty step back, raising my hands to ward him off.
Surely, he wouldn’t strike me. Not here. Not now.
I hadn’t prepared myself for the pain of his fists yet.
He slammed the door shut behind him, advancing on me. I backed up farther, until my butt hit the desk behind me. He leaned over me, pressing his hips against mine to pin me in place.
“I’m sorry,” I squeaked. “I’m not feeling well.”
“I don’t give a fuck how you’re feeling.” His spittle hit my cheek, and I cringed away. “You think you can embarrass me in front of all our guests?”
I shook my head wildly. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry,” I repeated, desperate.
He leaned closer, so I could feel his putrid breath on my face. “I should bend you over this desk and fuck you raw.” His cock jerked against my thigh as his cruel arousal rose along with his violence. “But I’d rather not have anyone hear you scream. You want to show me how sorry you are?”
I nodded frantically. “Yes. I really am sorry.”
He stepped back. “Get on your knees. You know what to do.”
The sick feeling in my gut intensified, my stomach churning. I sank to my knees, playing the part of obedient wife.
He quickly freed his cock from his slacks. It jutted toward my face, seeking the reluctant heat of my mouth.
I swallowed against the tang of bile on my tongue.
“Suck it,” he seethed. “Show me you’re sorry, and I won’t beat the shit out of you when we get home.”
Tears stung at the corners of my eyes as humiliation washed over me. I blinked them back. I wouldn’t cry for him.
“Now,” he snarled, thrusting his hips toward my lips.
I turned my face in revulsion, and his pre-cum wet my cheek.
He gripped my jaw, holding my head steady. “You’ll pay for that later.”
The door to the library opened, and my shame spiked. I couldn’t bear to have anyone witness my degradation.
A fierce growl filled the room, and Hugo was ripped away from me. I watched in dumbstruck silence as Adrián tackled him to the floor. His massive fist connected with Hugo’s jaw. My husband’s head snapped to the side, blood spraying from his lips. Adrián didn’t stop. He pummeled Hugo’s face repeatedly, until crimson coated his knuckles and Hugo went completely still.
For a few long seconds, Adrián loomed over him, breathing hard. His lips peeled back from his teeth in a silent snarl, and his dark hair fell around his angular face, no longer arranged in its meticulous style.
Finally, he pushed to his feet and turned to me. He towered over me where I remained on my knees, frozen in place by shock at the sudden, violent display. His pale green eyes burned into me, and another feral sound slipped between his clenched teeth.
He reached for me with bloody hands. I shrank back, but that didn’t deter him. His long fingers sank into my upper arms, yanking me to my feet.
He glowered at me for a moment, saying nothing. I shuddered in his grip, but I didn’t dare struggle against him. I’d learned a long time ago that struggling only earned me more pain.
Hugo groaned, stirring at our feet.
Adrián’s jaw ticked, but his shoulders relaxed, as though a decision had settled over him.
His grip shifted to my waist, and I shrieked as he tossed me over his shoulder.
His hand firmed on my upper thigh, squeezing hard enough to leave a mark. “Don’t fight me,” he ground out.
“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice shaking as fear suffused my system.
“I’m taking you.”
One Click Stealing Beauty here!
The Bratva’s Baby
By Jane Henry
The wrought iron park bench I sit on is ice cold, but I hardly feel it. I’m too intent on waiting for the girl to arrive. The Americans think this weather is freezing, but I grew up in the bitter cold of northern Russia. The cold doesn’t touch me. The ill-prepared people around me pull their coats tighter around their bodies and tighten their scarves around their necks. For a minute, I wonder if they’re shielding themselves from me, and not the icy wind.
If they knew what I’ve done… what I’m capable of… what I’m planning to do… they’d do more than cover their necks with scarves.
I scowl into the wind. I hate cowardice.
But this girl… this girl I’ve been commissioned to take as mine. Despite outward appearances, she’s no coward. And that intrigues me.
Sadie Ann Warren. Twenty-one years old. Fine brown hair, plain and mousy but fetching in the way it hangs in haphazard waves around her round face. Light brown eyes, pink cheeks, and full lips.
I wonder what she looks like when she cries. When she smiles. I’ve never seen her smile.
She’s five-foot-one and curvy, though you wouldn’t know it from the way she dresses in thick, bulky, black and gray muted clothing. I know her dress size, her shoe size, her bra size, and I’ve already ordered the type of clothing she’ll wear for me. I smile to myself, and a woman passing by catches the smile. It must look predatory, for her step quickens.
Sadie’s nondescript appearance makes her easily meld
into the masses as a nobody, which is perhaps exactly what she wants.
She has no friends. No relatives. And she has no idea that she’s worth millions.
Her boss, the ancient and somewhat senile head librarian of the small-town library where she works won’t even realize she hasn’t shown up for work for several days. My men will make sure her boss is well distracted yet unharmed. Sadie’s abduction, unlike the ones I’ve orchestrated in the past, will be an easy one. If trouble arises eventually, we’ll fake her death.
It’s almost as if it was meant to be. No one will know she’s gone. No one will miss her. She’s the perfect target.
I sip my bitter, steaming black coffee and watch as she makes her way up to the entrance of the library. It’s eight-thirty a.m. precisely, as it is every other day she goes to work. She arrives half an hour early, prepares for the day, then opens the doors at nine. Sadie is predictable and routinized, and I like that. The trademark of a woman who responds well to structure and expectations. She’ll easily conform to my standards… eventually.
To my left, a small cluster of girls giggles but quiets when they draw closer to me. They’re college-aged, or so. I normally like women much younger than I am. They’re more easily influenced, less jaded to the ways of men. These women, though, are barely women. Compared to Sadie’s maturity, they’re barely more than girls. I look away, but can feel their eyes taking me in, as if they think I’m stupid enough to not know they’re staring. I’m wearing a tan work jacket, worn jeans, and boots, the ones I let stay scuffed and marked as if I’m a construction worker taking a break. With my large stature, I attract attention of the female variety wherever I go. It’s better I look like a worker, an easy role to assume. No one would ever suspect what my real work entails.