by Tillie Cole
Marco, my driver, took us through the country roads to the village. Vincente was in the passenger seat. Music played quietly from the radio, but the tension in the car was as thick as fog. Privacy glass separated me and Tanner from Vincente and Marco. They wouldn’t hear a thing unless I pressed the button and allowed them to. But I had nothing to say to Tanner that needed to be kept out of earshot of my guards, and by the way he sat far away, looking out of the window with a sour expression on his face, I could tell he had nothing to say either. If he wanted to act like what I’d seen last night hadn’t happened, I could play his game. What did it matter anyhow?
All I could think of was of the way I’d slapped his cheek by the pool. Pressed my lips to his to make him stop. To shut up the White Prince and his annoying superior attitude. I hadn’t expected him to kiss me back. It was only for a few seconds, but his mouth had taken control of mine.
I didn’t like it . . . I didn’t. I didn’t like the way he held me down. I was angered by him as much as he was by me.
The movement of his hand on his knee caught my attention. His hand was fisted, as was mine. I risked another quick glance at his face and found him watching me. I didn’t look away. I refused. I wouldn’t let him see that he had been on my mind. That this Nazi prince had in any way affected me. That last night, in the hallway, and at dinner, I had felt some kind of kinship with him as his father beat him, as he pushed him out of the business he was brought here to conduct. That I had seen that, like me, he was under the iron fist of his father—we the puppets dancing on paternal strings.
My heart beat faster and faster the longer he looked at me. Needing to say something, to break the stifling silence that had befallen the back of the stretch town car, I said, “You will not be offensive to these people.” Tanner’s eyes narrowed, the only tell that my order had pissed him off. Good. His very presence pissed me off on a daily basis. The fact that he was in my country reluctantly—the country that I loved—pissed me off. He felt we were below him. But he, with his superior attitude and narrow-mindedness, was what didn’t belong.
I shifted to face him, relaxing my hand, masking the fact my pulse was racing. “These people have it hard. You will not walk amongst them and shame them. Shame them for being proudly Mexican and devoted to my family. They are not from our world. They walk in the light, not in the dark. They do not know of the Ku Klux Klan, know people who will hate them before knowing them simply for being darker in skin.”
“I couldn’t give a fuck about them,” Tanner said, his voice unable to hide the tightness that was clearly blocking his throat.
“Get through this, Tanner Ayers, then you will soon leave this country you detest.”
Tanner looked forward, away from me, but his eyes locked straight ahead on something. Vincente. Vincente was watching us with suspicious eyes. Tanner glared at him. Vincente’s gaze moved to me. I smiled, trying my best to convince him that all was okay. When he put his attention back to the tree-lined roads, I relaxed.
“I have never disliked anyone in my life the way I dislike you,” I whispered so as not to draw attention. I looked out at the fields that had begun to peek though the thinning trees, just to avoid having to look at Tanner’s miserable face.
“The feeling’s mutual, princess,” Tanner spat. I gritted my teeth, practically vibrating with animosity. With frustration. At how a man so good looking could make himself so repulsive by the hate that poured from his blue eyes. I was brought up by the most ruthless cartel boss that had ever graced Mexican soil. I was fully aware that the luxury I was awarded came from money made from the blood of our adversaries. Of people with drug addictions. It was life. It was my life. Tanner Ayers had walked a similar path. Only his days consisted of hatred. Hatred for those who didn’t fit into his perfect WASP box. And he loved his ideology so much that he wore it on his skin for everyone to see. Symbols of hate and oppression. Racism and prejudice etched on his flesh in stark black lines.
What must it be to live with that level of hate in one’s heart? Was he even capable of love? Or was it as foreign to him as the country he now looked upon from the window?
He must have seen that my attention had drifted to him along with my wayward thoughts, because he glared at me. The brief flicker of sympathy I had just felt for him again melted away with that one look . . . but then, for a fraction of a second, his hatred fell, disappeared from his eyes, and his gaze moved to my lips. Tanner’s mouth parted and he exhaled a quick, frustrated breath.
My heart kicked into a sprint. My face heated as if I were suddenly before a blazing fire. But then Tanner ripped his gaze from me and turned to look back out of the window. I saw him breathing heavily and clenching his fists so tightly I thought he might snap his bandaged fingers.
My mind cleared the second the car stopped. A second car had followed behind. More guards. My father had many enemies, and any trip out of the heavily guarded hacienda was a risk. My father kept me safe, but sometimes that safety was an iron cage. The trips to the village were one of my only outlets.
Vincente got out of the car and opened my door. Tanner followed and walked around the car to stand beside me. I had never been more aware of his presence than I was right now. Since yesterday. Since he’d put his hands on me. And I’d put mine on him. I regretted kissing him. I regretted giving him any of my attention these past few weeks.
Guards gathered around me as we walked to the village. The minute we entered the small square, people came out of their houses. I nodded to the guards to start handing out the money we had brought. They did, and the people reached for my hand in thanks. I hugged the children I saw each week, listening to their stories of what they had been learning in school. Money went to the teachers, the parents, and the elderly.
I looked behind me, wondering where Tanner had gone. He was standing at the back of the crowd, watching. His arms were crossed over his wide chest, his tight white shirt stretched over the heavy muscles. He wore a scowl on his face, yet there was almost an echo of bewilderment in his expression too. People stared at the large American who was covered in ink. Some of the children even tried to speak to him. He ignored them. I had expected nothing less.
He was silent, hanging at the back, as we walked through the factory, then in the school. He didn’t say a thing the entire time. No slights or slurs. Tanner just watched with fierce intensity. I had no idea what he was thinking.
It bothered me that I seemed to care.
When we climbed into the back of the car and pulled away, I glanced over to him. He was watching the outside world go by. Dusk was falling, casting the rolling golden fields in a shroud of orange light. “My favorite time of the day,” I whispered. I saw him tense as I spoke. I didn’t care. I would speak when I wanted to. I was Adelita Quintana. And I had a voice. I was sick and tired of men telling me when I could and couldn’t speak. That my thoughts and opinions did not matter in this world. “You may feel that we Mexicans are nothing but the dirt on your so-called superior American shoes, but you are wrong. We are people of integrity, hard work, and family.” I pointed to the fields. “And even you, White Prince, cannot deny the beauty of this Mexican sunset.”
Tanner exhaled and slowly turned his head to me. I saw the hunger in his eyes the minute our gazes collided. I swallowed at the sudden thickness in my throat. I opened my mouth to say something—anything—else, when a deafening gunshot sounded outside. Suddenly, the car swerved and something crashed into us, feeling like a boulder smashing into a cliff and sounding like thunder deafening the sky. The metal of the car crunched and we were sent hurtling into the side of the road.
What the hell? I thought. What’s happening? I blinked, trying to see outside the car as we slammed into something that caused the car to stop and our bodies to thrash against the seatbelts. Looking up, head spinning, I saw blood on the glass that separated the front of the car from the back. Panic cut through me.
“You okay?” A voice was trying to push through the heavy white noise
that was buzzing in my ears and the seemingly slow-motion visuals outside the car. Gunshots fired in quick succession somewhere in the near distance. My body quickly unfroze . . . but it was to a stark realization.
Tanner was lying across me.
Covering me.
Protecting me.
His blue eyes were looking into mine as he asked again, “Adelita? You okay? We have to move.”
His thick, tattooed arm was an iron seatbelt across my waist. He had kept me safe. He had made sure I wasn’t injured as the car veered into the ditch at the side of the road. Blood trickled from his nose and from a gash in his head. He’d been hurt. Hurt protecting me.
I could hardly breathe at that fact.
And he’d called me by my name. Even with all the chaos, the blood and gunshots, it occurred to me . . . he had called me by my name.
“We need to move,” Tanner said again, moving back from me. Shock rendered me speechless when he took my hand in his. He pulled me to his side of the car, and the door flew open. I held my breath, fearing it would be the attackers, but my fear was quelled when I saw it was Vincente.
“Come, Lita. We need to get you to a safe house.” Another round of gunfire sounded in the distance. My attention was drawn to the mass of red blood on the panel of glass between the seats.
“Marco . . .” I said, my stomach cramping in panic as I saw his eyes wide open, staring at me coldly . . . dead. “No!” I whispered.
“Adelita, come, we need to move,” Vincente said. “We have the attackers busy further down the road, but we need to get you out of here now while we wait for backup. They are strong, and we don’t have enough men to keep you safe.” Tanner pulled me out, keeping me by his side. I was scared, in danger . . . yet I could only concentrate on how Tanner was keeping me close . . . not letting go. My heart stuttered as he shielded me as he scanned the road. I reminded myself of all the awful things he’d said, that he’d done. The way he looked at me. Just to remind myself he wasn’t a good man.
But then I replayed his father hitting him, and Tanner just letting him. Of his words . . . Do you ever feel like your life is not your own . . .?
On Vincente’s command, one of the guards from the second car came over, pulling me from my thoughts. “Get them to the safe house a few miles north,” Vincente ordered. The guard nodded and, holding his gun high, went to make sure the entrance to the forest was clear. Vincente addressed me and Tanner. “Stay there until help arrives. There are supplies if this takes time. An emergency phone to check in on the situation. Cameras to keep watch for anyone approaching.”
“I’m staying to fight,” Tanner said. He looked bloodthirsty, his eyes flaring with adrenaline, the muscles in his neck tensing. My stomach fell at the thought of him staying . . . I tried to push the stupid feeling away. Why did I care if he joined the fight? My father’s guards would protect me. Always had. Let the White Prince fight. Let him take on my father’s enemies and risk his life for the sake of his pride.
Yet the sinking feeling in my stomach didn’t go, no matter how much I tried to convince myself I didn’t care.
I shouldn’t care.
I didn’t want to care.
Do you ever feel like your life is not your own?
Vincente smirked, unmoved by Tanner’s domineering, intimidating presence. “You’ll go with Adelita. I like my life, and if something happened to the Klan heir on my watch, I would lose it. No help from you is worth that.” Tanner gritted his teeth like he was going to argue, but when the guard signaled for us to move, he cursed under his breath and dragged me into the mouth of the forest. He yanked on my arm so strongly that I wasn’t sure I’d keep up with him. He was pissed. I could see that. But pissed at the situation? Or the fact he had to stay with me? If that was so, why protect me? Unless it was so the deal wasn’t broken with my father . . . Was that his motivation? Why did I care if it was?
We didn’t stop, instead diving deeper into the forest. My ankles strained with every step I took; my shoes were not appropriate for hiking. But we kept going . . . and all the time Tanner didn’t release my hand. I should have been watching for threats, but instead I watched him as his eyes roved around the forest, never letting down his guard. I knew he must have been trained for this somehow. The way he was acting, it was like he knew how to keep safe. American military, maybe?
Up ahead, my father’s man moved swiftly along the uneven path that led to one of the many safe houses my father had around this land. My heart raced, the fear of the attack leaving me reeling and on edge. As the daughter of Quintana, this was not the first, or even the tenth attempt on my life. But I never got used to it. And my mind was overwhelmed with the fear that this time would be the time that took me away.
It was no doubt a rival cartel. It always was. Men hungry for the wealth and power my father possessed. I was always going to be the best leverage for any of my father’s enemies. Everyone knew I was the Achilles’ heel of Alfonso Quintana.
Time passed and darkness fell. The forest became thicker and thicker, making it harder and harder to see. Still, Tanner never released me. His hand in mine felt unyielding and strong. In a break in the tree-lined darkness, I saw my almond skin against his tattooed white hand. The brief slices of moonlight made them look not so different as Tanner believed.
My legs were tiring and the incline became steep. My arms were heavy, my feet stumbling the more exhaustion set in, the more I lost energy. A twig suddenly snapped somewhere beside us. Before we even had a chance to hide, a series of gunshots rang out, cutting into bark and dead leaves. We dropped to the ground, I assumed for coverage, but when Tanner exhaled a pained breath I realized something was wrong. A gap in the high tree above let in enough moonlight for me to see blood trickling from his bicep. “Tanner,” I whispered, just as the guard got to his feet and started firing.
Footsteps drew near. My heart beat faster as the attacker approached. And then a gurgled sound came from the guard. Fear held me in its grip. My heartbeat echoed in my ears. Then the guard dropped to the ground, immediately fighting to get back up like a wounded animal would do. Tanner scrambled to where the guard lay. “How far to the safe house?” he asked him. The guard held onto Tanner, trying to fight, to cling onto life, but then he lost strength and something like acceptance settled in his dark eyes. Acceptance that he wasn’t going to survive. My chest tightened in sympathy. In sadness.
“One more mile . . . that way . . .” the guard managed, pointing west. He handed Tanner a key from his suit pocket. I could see the guard was dying; his labored breathing echoed like cracks of thunder in the silent forest. Tanner took the gun from the guard’s hand, then reached for me, pushing me to hide in the nearby trees. He waited, like a statue, for the gunman to betray his location. Breath held, I watched Tanner, heart firing in my chest. In the area we were in, blood was everywhere, red blotting out the green of the grass and trees. I could see the blood running down Tanner’s arm. Blood had stained his face from the impact of the crash. His hands were soaked in blood from the guard’s wound. I glanced at the guard to see his eyes were closed and his chest no longer rose and fell.
The sound of rustling leaves came from opposite where I hid. Tanner didn’t even wait to see what the attacker would do. He darted from the ground and dived into the coverage of the trees. I froze, eyes wide as I heard the sound of fighting. I tried to follow the brief flashes of arms and legs, until two bodies came barreling from the bushes. I blinked, trying to focus. Tanner was holding the attacker in his grip, a knife pressed to the man’s throat. The attacker flailed, trying to get away, but Tanner held him tightly in his strong arms.
“Tell me who the fuck you work for.” He yanked the attacker’s head up by his hair.
The attacker smiled in defiance, his teeth stained with blood. It only infuriated Tanner more. Taking the knife, he stabbed it into the attacker’s shoulder. The man paled. Tanner pulled the knife out, put his mouth to the man’s ear, and repeated, “Tell me who the fuck you
work for.”
Noticing a pin on the attacker’s suit, I stepped out of the trees. The man’s mouth curled in disgust as he saw me. I walked to him and met his eyes. I flicked my gaze to Tanner to see a surprised expression flash across his face. “Valdez,” I said and ripped the pin from his suit. I held it out to Tanner, showing him the emblem that I knew all too well. “He works for Valdez.” Valdez was my father’s biggest opponent. I wasn’t surprised this was all due to him.
“You fucking bitch!” the attacker snarled. “You’re gonna die. The Quintana family will all die—”
Before he could even finish the threat, Tanner sliced the knife across his throat. Blood poured from the wound. I watched him die with a detached fascination. I had grown up with threats and death and blood as part of my life. The sight of death didn’t haunt me at night. These days, it barely inspired any reaction in me at all.
When the man dropped to his knees, Tanner used his heavy boot to kick his back and send him sprawling across the floor while his body drained of blood.
“You understood what he said?” I asked. Of course, the man had spoken in Spanish. Tanner shook his head. I frowned. “Then why—”
“I didn’t like his motherfucking tone.” Tanner only held my questioning gaze for a moment before he ducked his head and stepped away from me. “We have to move.”
But as I followed him up the hill, toward the safe house, all I could think about was why he had chosen to kill the man then. Why, when he had spoken to me so badly, had Tanner cut off his words? Tanner hated me. Hated Mexicans, hated my family. Why would he care if someone talked badly of us?
I didn’t like his motherfucking tone.
I’d seen Tanner’s face as he’d glared at the man. I’d seen him snarl as the man spat his vitriol at me. I’d seen his muscles cord in his neck at the aggression shown toward me . . . and I had seen that flash of rage in his ice-blue eyes. In the blanket of the moon’s blue glow, I had seen Tanner kill in anger . . . and it seemed as though he was pissed at the way the attacker had threatened me.