by Julia Sykes
Gehovany’s cruel nature paled in comparison to Raúl’s life of casual brutality.
I shook my head in weak denial. I wouldn’t bother saying that I didn’t want Raúl—we both knew that would be a lie—but I could deny my own compulsion to surrender. I refused to give in to my darkest impulses, no matter how they tempted me. It wasn’t worth the pain.
I doubted I’d survive the fallout a second time. And how many people around me would suffer the consequences for my sin?
Never again.
“I can’t,” I whispered. He hadn’t released my jaw, but I dropped my eyes, hiding behind my lowered lashes. “I can’t give you want you want. If that’s what you expect in exchange for all this…” I plucked at the pretty dress he’d bought for me. “I can’t stay with you.”
“This isn’t a transaction,” he snapped back. “I’m not providing these things for you because I intend to buy you. You’re staying with me, but I have no desire to keep you in rags. You’ll be comfortable and safe. You have no reason to leave.”
He applied more pressure beneath my jaw. “Look at me.” My eyes snapped up to his, compelled by his command. “You are not allowed to leave. If you try to run from me again, there will be consequences. I’ve decided to overlook your last escape attempt—when you left me for dead,” he added tersely, twisting the knife of guilt that was still lodged deep in my gut. “I won’t be so forgiving next time. No matter how sweetly you apologize.”
I swallowed hard, but no words came to mind. Traitorous heat had gathered at my core as he issued his low, rumbling threats. I should scream at him that he couldn’t keep me here against my will, that I wanted my freedom.
But he had provided for me. And he’d made it abundantly clear that my desperate plan to seek asylum in America was nothing more than a cruel fantasy. What freedom was I even seeking anymore? I couldn’t return home, but I had nowhere to go. There was no longer a dream of a safe haven at the end of my torturous journey.
Defeat settled over my shoulders. Staying with Raúl was dangerous. The longer I remained with him, the harder it would become to resist the fiery allure of the combustible chemistry between us.
There was nowhere in the world that was safe for me, not even in the strong arms of my fierce protector.
Chapter 11
Marisol
“Come on,” Raúl prompted, seeming to realize that I couldn’t muster up a response to his threats of consequences if I tried to run. He released my jaw and shifted his confining hold on my hand, wrapping his fingers around mine and urging me to my feet. “I’ll show you around the house.”
I followed where he led, too mired in my glum mood to pay much attention at first. But as we walked through the lounge and passed Raúl’s bedroom, we entered uncharted territory. I perked up, curiosity distracting me from my concerns over my dark nature and my dangerous attachment to Raúl. If I was going to stay here—at least for a little while, until I got my head on straight—I should know the layout of the house.
The stark white walls of the hallway contrasted sharply with the polished wooden floorboards, lending the space a sense of brightness when it could’ve felt dim and cramped. I noted abstract art dotted along the austere walls, all in subdued shades of blue and gray. As I studied them more closely, I realized that the paintings I’d initially thought of as bland and impersonal actually possessed a quiet power. The pieces elicited the churning waters of the deepest parts of the ocean; awesome and mysterious.
I eyed my captor with renewed interest. For so long, I’d only seen him as an intimidating, beautiful criminal. Now, I understood that he appreciated the subtleties of modern art. And I knew that he made his own hot sauce, because store-bought wasn’t hot enough for his macho-man tastebuds.
Again, I got the strange, taboo sense that I was a voyeur, watching this hard man while he relaxed in his natural habitat. He wasn’t simply a beast; he was more human than I ever could’ve imagined.
Keeping his firm hold on my hand, he guided me into what I’d assumed would be a second bedroom. Instead, we entered a space that I didn’t have a name for. A study, maybe?
But there weren’t any books or a desk. A single, wingback leather armchair dominated one corner of the room, with a small, glass-topped table set beside it. Similar to some of the harsher décor I’d already noticed in his home, the table was crafted in black iron; solid lines rather than curling filigree.
A larger, matching table was set in the opposite corner. Its sole purpose seemed to be to hold a record player. I realized that the shelving around the table was stuffed full, but not with books. The narrow spines of hundreds of vinyl records created a chaotic arrangement of bold colors, which contrasted sharply with the house’s prevalent austere aesthetic.
A huge, glass-fronted cabinet took up an entire wall. When Raúl flipped a switch, golden lights flared between the shelving, making the amber liquid in the dozens of whiskey bottles glimmer and glow.
I forced my hanging jaw to close and turned my attention to Raúl. “What do you even call a room like this?” I was utterly baffled by the concept of having a large space that didn’t seem to serve any particular, necessary purpose in the home.
His eyes glittered, and his lips curved in a satisfied smile. I detected a hint of pride in the flex of his corded muscles. Raúl obviously derived great pleasure in having such a frivolous room in his house. And I suspected he might like the fact that I was boggled by it.
He shrugged. “It’s my house. Do I have to have a name for every room?”
My own lips curved in a smile. “I guess not, but they should have a purpose. Do you just use this room to store your massive record and whiskey collection?”
My house in Comitán had been small, but it’d been full of love. Every inch of the home had been lived in and appreciated. I’d even loved sharing a bedroom with my sister, although I’d thought she was annoying for far too many years of my life.
A pang shot through my heart at the thought of the family I’d been forced to leave behind.
Thankfully, Raúl distracted me from my grief with his bizarre response.
“I come in here to enjoy my whiskey and cigars.” He gestured at a wooden door set into the wall opposite from the whiskey bottles. “That’s my cigar humidor.”
I glanced around the room again. “But there’s only one chair. You don’t use this space for entertaining?” The incredible luxury of being able to afford a home with an entertaining room was utterly foreign to me, but at least I understood the concept.
He shrugged. “No, it’s just for me. I don’t entertain. Stefano throws more than enough crazy parties that I have to attend.” His lips twisted as though he’d bit into something sour. “My home is my own space. I have everything I need here, and I don’t have to endure bullshit small talk with people I barely like.”
“Oh.” That sounded kind of lonely to me. I’d give anything to be crammed back into my tiny house with my family, but Raúl seemed to prefer solitude.
He cocked his head at me, trying to read my mood. “Don’t you like whiskey and cigars?”
“I’ve never tried them. Not nice ones like this, at least.” As though I ever could’ve afforded such a thing.
His grin hit me square in the chest. I’d never seen him crack a wide, genuine smile before. The effect was dazzling.
“I’ll introduce you to the finer points later,” he promised, tugging my hand again.
He walked more quickly as he led me deeper into the house, pulsing with energy that I could only describe as eager. For a man who liked his alone time, Raúl seemed shockingly enthusiastic about showing me his personal haven.
We toured his massive home gym and a billiards room before exploring a full spa. He simply called it “the pool”, despite the fact that the enormous space contained an indoor pool, a hot tub, and a sauna.
My eyes were practically popping out of my head by the time we reached the bowling alley.
“You have a bowling alley?”
I was completely overwhelmed by the inconceivable excess of his house. And there didn’t seem to be a single spare bedroom. Raúl obviously took his no guests policy very seriously.
He shot me a crooked grin. “It came with the house, but I figured I’d keep it. Why not?”
“Why not?” I echoed faintly, nodding as though that was the most reasonable explanation in the world.
“Well, that’s it,” he announced. “I’ll show you the grounds.” His expression dropped to something more serious. “I meant what I said, Marisol. Do not try to run from me. You won’t get far before I find you, and I don’t think you’ll like what will happen when I catch you. But I’m not locking you in a cage,” he added. “There’s plenty of green space on my property. You can go outside.”
My eyes searched his stony face, assessing. “I can go outside, but I can’t leave the property?” I pushed back a bit, testing his limits.
“Right. You won’t leave my home unless I’m with you.” His chin tipped down, causing his heavy brows to cast forbidding shadows over his eyes. “After your last escape attempt, I don’t trust you yet. I’m sure you can understand why.”
I bit my lip and broke from his gaze. “I really am sorry that I put you at risk.” I truly meant it; I wasn’t trying to manipulate him. Guilt knotted my insides as the gory images that’d haunted me during my reckless flight to Juárez flickered across my mind—Raúl, dead because of me.
“I believe you,” he rumbled. “But you’ll have to prove that I can trust you not to run. That will take time.”
I nodded glumly, too bogged down in my guilt and residual trauma from that awful day to muster up any anger at his controlling decrees. For so long, I’d been surviving one day at a time. While I felt far safer with Raúl than I had in months, I remained locked in that limited mindset. The idea of staying with him whether I wanted to or not felt far too much like captivity, no matter how comfortable my prison was.
Grappling with my feelings over this strange new scenario was too much. Once I had a few more proper meals and a lot more sleep, I could start thinking about the future. For now, I could stay with Raúl without protest.
“And you won’t be leaving the property with me anytime soon,” he added, as though casually supplying further information to clarify my position. “Stefano doesn’t know you’re here, and I want to keep it that way for a while.”
That snapped me back to full clarity. “What? Does he still want to kill me?”
“No. He’s promised Carmen that I’ll find you and bring you back safely. She wants to make sure you’re okay.” His hand tightened around mine. “But she won’t like that I’m keeping you. She’ll try to take you away from me, and that will cause problems between me and Stefano. No one wants that.” His jaw hardened to chiseled granite. “Things would get bloody if they tried.”
Keeping me? Taking me away from him? He made it sound as though I was his possession, a toy he didn’t want to give up.
Suddenly, thinking about the future seemed very important. Staying here indefinitely wasn’t an option. Not only did I fear my own dark impulses, but Raúl’s possessiveness stirred memories of some of my most terrifying experiences with Gehovany.
The boy who’d been my first love had insisted that I belonged to him. When I’d tried to leave, he’d used violence to make sure no one could keep me from him. He would hurt the people I loved if they dared to stand in his way, and my presence in their lives endangered them. That was why I’d had no choice but to abandon my home and my family. It was the only way to protect them from Gehovany.
“I’m not going to let it come to that. But that’s why I can’t take you off the property. It’s not a permanent arrangement. Things will settle down after a while.” Raúl seemed to think he was reassuring me, as though my horrified silence was in response to his claim that there would be a bloody conflict within the cartel. He had no idea that he horrified me.
I forced a jerky nod, hiding my true feelings from him. If he suspected that I’d already decided I couldn’t stay, he’d only lock me down tighter. I was completely alone and isolated here. And Raúl was more than strong enough to hold me exactly where he wanted me.
He brushed his thick thumb over my cold fingers in what was meant to be a soothing caress. “Let’s go outside.”
The view from Raúl’s backyard was stunning. A thick tree line surrounded the house on three sides, but the back lawn ended abruptly in a sharp cliff. He kept me several yards back from the edge with his restraining hold on my hand, so I couldn’t tell how far the drop was. We must be at a significant elevation from Mexico City, based on the perspective of the distant cityscape. The towering buildings were rendered miniatures from up here. They glittered beneath the midday sun; a sparkling focal point framed by lush greenery on either side.
The trees around the house were broken up only by this view and by the wide driveway at the front, which wound into the trees and out of sight. It was impossible to tell how far his property extended, or what the surrounding area was like. For all I knew, we could be tucked away in the wilderness. Or a residential street might lay just beyond the curve in the driveway. This area was completely foreign to me, and I had no idea what to expect if I tried to leave Raúl’s property.
I jerked my eyes away from the impenetrable tree line, rejecting the idea of a reckless escape for the moment. I’d traveled alone into unfamiliar territory before, but my situation wasn’t that desperate yet.
As I looked away from the trees, my gaze caught on a small patch of cultivated land. It was situated just to the left of the spectacular view, which had initially caused my attention to skip past it.
My feet carried me toward the garden without thought, and this time, I was the one pulling Raúl along in my wake. Despite the morning’s disturbing revelations, the sight of bright blossoms winking amongst the greenery made my heart expand in my chest.
As we drew nearer, I realized that most of the cheery colors I’d noticed were flowering vegetable plants, not marigolds or dahlias. My joy deflated slightly, but the warmth of the sun and the rich scent of tilled soil kept my spirits up.
“You have a vegetable garden?”
Raúl was full of surprises. I never would’ve expected that a drug lord would keep his own garden.
“A man should be able to be self-sufficient, if it comes down to it. He should be able to provide.” His chest puffed up a bit, just like it’d done when he’d told me about his hot sauce and when he’d shown me his extravagant home.
I couldn’t suppress a wry smile. Even his vegetable garden was all about machismo.
I traced the curving line of a small green chili. “Is this for your hot sauce?” There were several garden rows that seemed to be solely dedicated to various types of chili plants. “Which ones are the nuclear option we had this morning?” I teased him just a little.
“You’re looking right at it. But that’s one of the mildest varieties I grow.” He chuckled, falling into banter with me instead of bristling. It seemed his ego was strong enough to take a little ribbing.
I winced. “Don’t tell me you have spicier options. At least warn me next time. I’d rather not burn off my tongue.”
His gaze dropped to my mouth, and his eyes seemed to capture the burn of the blazing sun. “No, that would be a shame. I’ll definitely warn you.”
Despite the sweltering midday heat, a shiver raced over my skin. He wasn’t the only one suddenly thinking about all the ways I could use my tongue. My belly fluttered at the visceral memory of his mouth on mine, claiming me hard and deep.
I broke from his burning gaze, forcing my attention back to the garden. “Do you grow any flowers?”
“Not really. The yucca plant is flowering, and there are wild poppies around the property. Some honeysuckle, too.”
Of course, he wouldn’t grow flowers. Flowers weren’t practical. They wouldn’t provide.
But they’d sustained me for most of my life. My father’s flower shop back home h
ad never made us rich, but we loved it like another member of our family.
I closed my eyes against the sudden wash of pain. I hadn’t thought about my family in so long. The comforts of Raúl’s home had fulfilled my most basic survival needs, leaving room in my brain for grief to creep back in.
“What’s wrong, corderita?” The sweet endearment and gentle brush of his calloused fingers over my cheek cut into me, driving deep into the anguish at my core. His tenderness ripped me wide open, the simple intimacy devastating me.
“I miss my family.” I leaned into his touch, but my eyes remained closed. Their loss was too raw, the agony I’d been avoiding for months too big to fathom. If I let myself start to feel the enormity of the pain, it would destroy me.
I swallowed hard and tried to shove the feelings away before they exploded from deep inside me. If I allowed them to overtake me, I’d shatter into a million pieces; irreparable devastation.
I blinked rapidly, denying my oncoming tears. “They own a flower shop in Comitán. The garden reminded me of home for a minute, that’s all.” I tried to speak casually, but the words were thick on my tongue.
“You’re a long way from home.” The low tone of his voice carried heavier weight than a simple observation.
All I could manage was a shaky nod. I was separated from my family by so much more than the thousand kilometers between us. My sins had banished me from home forever. We might as well be on different planets. I’d never be able to see them again.
I’d never be able to complain about my aching feet after working a long day at the florist. I’d never grumble over the perpetual scratches on my hands from treacherous pinpricks of hidden rose thorns.
My father would never gently rebuke me for my gripes, reminding me that I was lucky to have a steady job. His tanned, weather-beaten face filled my mind: dark eyes solemn and his wrinkles drawn deeper on a frown. He’d remind me that he’d worked in agriculture when he was young, and I should be grateful that he’d established a family business in town, so that his children wouldn’t have to know the backbreaking labor he’d experienced.