by Julia Sykes
Gabriela’s scream clashed with the splintering boom of our front door giving way.
Terror scrambled my brain, severing my connection with reality. I faded to nothing more than a helpless apparition, unable to do anything but watch the horrific events unfolding around me in slow motion.
My father’s harsh shout sounded just before the shotgun blast. My mother shoved past me with an anguished cry, pushing wailing Mario into my numb arms. She wrenched open the bedroom door, calling for my father.
Her back blocked my view of the living room, her bright yellow dress searing my retinas like a blinding sun.
A second blast rent the air, signaling another shot. My mother’s body jerked, even as she threw her arms wide to shield her children.
The impact of the shot tore through her chest hard enough to shove her toward me. She fell slowly, her body seeming to float down to the floorboards before hitting the ground with an awful, final thud.
I had one second to see the scene in the living room, but it seemed to stretch into an eternity.
Gehovany’s steely eyes were wide, and his tanned cheeks went waxy pale. The rage that’d driven his maddened assault seemed to melt from his muscles, and his arms dropped to his sides. The shotgun slipped from his limp fingers, clattering to the floor.
His jaw dropped, and he shook his head slowly. The shoulder-length, glossy hair that I’d loved so much swayed around his square jaw. His hands raised in an almost placating gesture, and he backed away. As soon as he reached the broken front door, he turned on his heel and sprinted off down the street, disappearing from the nightmare I was trapped in.
A low groan dragged my attention back inside the house. My father lay on the bright, patterned rug where I played with Mario every morning. His arm stuck out at an odd angle. It’d knocked down the colorful block tower I’d built with my baby brother only a few hours ago.
Blood trailed down his cheek in crimson rivulets, pouring from a gash that bisected his forehead. His mouth opened wide, and his hand extended toward my mother. The howl of a wounded animal reverberated through our house. It crushed in on my chest, shoving the air from my lungs.
“Mamá!” Gabriela’s wail shredded my insides, and my eyes moved to her as though drawn to a car crash; unable to avoid watching a horrific event unfold.
Her small hands clutched my mother’s shoulders, frail fingers digging into her dress as she shook her unresponsive body.
A colorful stain had blossomed on my mother’s yellow dress; deepest crimson at the center of her chest, blooming to bright red as its petals unfurled.
Our small, joyful house was flooded with a grating scream; the sound of our home shattering beyond repair.
Strong hands closed around my shoulders, dragging me away from my family.
“No!” I wailed.
I twisted against the man’s iron grip, but he only pulled me closer.
“Marisol.” He shook me gently. “Marisol, wake up. It’s just a bad dream.”
A rich, earthy scent suffused the air around me, and I gasped in a desperate breath. As it filtered into my lungs, my body absorbed it like a drug.
“Raúl.” His name hitched on a sob, and I buried my face in his hard chest, greedily drawing in more of his unique, calming scent.
His brawny arms enfolded me, one hand bracing between my shoulder blades and the other cradling the back of my head, urging me closer. “It’s all right, corderita.” He brushed his thick fingers through my hair in a soothing rhythm. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
He continued to pet me until I eventually settled back into my current reality with him. Exhaustion settled in my bones, weighing me down. I couldn’t have moved away from Raúl’s reassuring heat even if I’d wanted to, and I stayed snuggled as close to him as possible. There was nowhere else I’d rather be.
In his strong arms, I was safe. Gehovany couldn’t get to me. He couldn’t hurt the people I loved.
Reading the renewed tension in my body, Raúl finally spoke. “Tell me what happened.”
I hesitated, holding my breath to lock my confession in my chest. I didn’t want to speak my sin aloud. The memories alone were sharp enough to stab deep into my soul.
His hand slid from my hair to firmly grip my nape. “Tell me.”
Compelled by his deep command and domineering, primal hold, words spilled from my lips. “I killed my mother.”
The bloody flower blooming on her yellow dress filled my mind, and a shudder wracked my body.
“How?” His low, even tone betrayed no condemnation or revulsion. He simply prompted me to continue.
“I…” My throat constricted, but he remained silent, waiting. “There was a man. Gehovany.” His name coated my tongue in acid. “We…we were together. I lived with him.” Shame burned my insides. “We weren’t married, but I moved in with him. My parents warned me. They said it wasn’t right. They said a good man wouldn’t ask me to do such a thing.”
Bitterness twisted my lips. “But I didn’t listen. I thought I was bravely independent, choosing to live my life however I wanted. At the time, their expectations for my behavior felt like a cage. And I thought Gehovany was freedom. I felt wild when I was with him, caught up in the whirlwind of romance.”
When I paused for too long, Raúl gave my neck a gentle squeeze. Despite my vulnerable position, calm emanated from his firm hold in a warm pulse. He willed me to continue, giving me no choice but to confess everything.
His control was oddly comforting. I didn’t have to bear the burden of my crushing guilt alone anymore, because he simply wouldn’t let me. I’d thought speaking my sins aloud would hurt worse than holding them inside, but sharing them with Raúl seemed to be lifting a bit of the weight with each word I spoke.
“Gehovany changed once I moved in with him.” I shook my head. That wasn’t right. “He started to show me who he really was, and he stopped showering me with the affection that’d made me fall for him, hard and fast.”
I closed my eyes against a hot wave of shame. It burned behind my eyelids, and tears slipped through my lashes.
“I couldn’t tell my parents the truth,” I whispered. “They’d given me every chance to stay at home—they’d demanded that I stay. But I’d thrown their loving concern in their faces. I told them they didn’t know what love is, and if they did, they would understand how I felt about Gehovany.
“How could I go back to them for help when I’d been so cruel?” That thought had haunted me every time Gehovany had beaten me. I’d wanted so desperately to leave, but I was too ashamed to go home.
“But then, one day…” I shuddered at the memory of that awful day, when he’d come home with blood on his hands. Blood that wasn’t mine.
That’d been when I’d learned of his involvement with the gang. The dangerous vibe about him that I’d found so thrilling was an evil deep in his soul. I’d relished his darkness during our wild, rough sex, especially in the early days of our relationship.
Something about seeing the blood on his hands had jolted me out of my acceptance of my life with him. When the pain had solely been inflicted on me, I’d endured it silently. I’d known that I’d brought it upon myself, so I didn’t deserve to escape back to the safety of my parent’s house.
But knowing that Gehovany hurt other people, too…
It wasn’t for my own sake that I’d found the strength to leave. It was because I knew people in our community would find out about his involvement with the gang. I knew there would be rumors and condemning whispers. My parents would become a target for derision; their wayward daughter had chosen to love a criminal.
“One day, I realized I had to leave.” I didn’t tell Raúl about Gehovany’s gang involvement. That edged too close to my confused feelings about Raúl’s criminal lifestyle. Sharing the crushing load of this burden with him was the most merciful relief, and I didn’t want to spoil our intimacy.
“My parents welcomed me home with open arms.” Wet heat spilled down my cheeks
at the memory of my father’s perfunctory rebuke before he’d pulled me in for a fierce hug. “But Gehovany wouldn’t let me go. He came for me. My parents tried to protect me, but…” I swallowed down the lump in my throat, forcing out the last of my confession. “He shot my mother when she stood in his way. She shielded me—and my little sister and baby brother—with her body. She died because of me.” I admitted on a pained whisper.
Raúl’s silence endured only long enough to ensure that I’d finished. “You didn’t kill your mother.”
The words rumbled from his chest, and I pressed myself closer to the deep, reassuring sound of his absolute certainty.
“That fucker—Gehovany.” He spat my abuser’s name. “He killed your mother.”
He pulled away slightly, releasing my nape to cradle my jaw in his big hand. He tilted my face up to his, so I had no choice but to stare into his eyes. Despite the weak dawn light that barely slipped through the gap in his bedroom curtains, his mesmerizing eyes still seemed to capture the sun, shining warmth down on my chilled body.
“Is that why you left your home?” His hand that was braced behind my shoulders firmed slightly as his muscles tensed. “Because that bastard threatened you? Didn’t the police do anything to protect you?”
“They weren’t able to help me.” Again, I avoided mentioning Gehovany’s criminal activities. After he’d murdered my mother, he’d slipped away and joined one of the most violent cartels in the region. The police couldn’t offer me justice. They wouldn’t pursue him.
“He would’ve come back for me.” I knew it deep in my bones. “As long as I stayed, my family was in danger.”
“They let you set out alone to seek asylum in America?” His low, condemning growl raised my defenses.
“My father never would’ve permitted it if I’d told him what I planned. Despite what I did, despite how I destroyed my family with my selfishness, he still loves me.”
I shook my head as some of my weariness returned, sapping my moment of strength. I continued in a more subdued tone, my voice turning flat as I moved into more recent traumatic memories. “I paid a coyote to take me to America. I’m not sure how far I got before he sold me. One of Carmen Ronaldo’s men saw me and offered a price. The coyote was happy to accept his money. He’d already taken mine, and I had no one to speak in my defense, since I was traveling alone.
“That’s how I ended up working on Carmen’s estate. Her man took me there, after a while.” My skin crawled, and I pressed deeper into Raúl’s warmth. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been with Jorge. Those awful days were a blur of agony and the worst violation.
I stilled, my body and mind shutting down. It was how I’d learned to survive Jorje’s assaults. Before the horrific memories could overtake me, I drifted into a numb, detached state.
Raúl’s fist tangled in my hair, tugging sharply to get my attention. The little sparks of pain grounded me in my current reality, pulling me back into the safety of his arms.
“What’s his name?” he snarled. “The fucker who bought you. What’s his name?”
“It doesn’t matter now,” I said dully. “He’s dead. He died on the night your cartel assaulted Carmen’s estate, just before you captured me. Carmen and Stefano killed him.”
His jaw worked for a few seconds, chewing over words that didn’t leave his lips. Finally, he settled on a curt nod. “Good. It’s good that he’s dead.”
I mirrored his movement, nodding in automatic agreement. Now that I’d unburdened myself of my terrible secrets, I felt utterly drained. My body sank into the soft mattress, and my head settled on Raúl’s chest.
He resumed stroking my hair in a hypnotic rhythm. His low, satisfied hum followed me down into deep, dreamless sleep.
Chapter 16
Raúl
I propped a shoulder against the wall, leaning back while I observed Marisol at my leisure. She stood at the open fridge, fussing over the food I’d had delivered this morning. A bright smile lit up her soft features, making her golden skin almost incandescent.
I studied her in profile, indulging myself in a thorough perusal of her delicious body. As she bent down to inspect the food items on a lower shelf, the lightweight material of her cherry red dress draped over the lush curves of her perfect ass.
The memory of that soft flesh bouncing beneath my punitive hand drew a slightly twisted smile to my lips, and an echo of my lust stirred. Although we hadn’t shared more than a kiss since that rough, savage scene in the woods yesterday afternoon, I felt fully sated in a way I’d never known before.
Judging by the way my cock stiffened when she dipped lower, causing her cleavage to nearly spill over her bodice, I wasn’t anywhere near sated when it came to craving her body. Even if I bent her over the counter and fucked her hard right now, I doubted I’d be satiated.
But staking my claim over her yesterday—utterly subjugating and marking her—had calmed me. For weeks, I’d desired her, but I hadn’t allowed myself to touch her. The completely unfamiliar act of self-denial had chipped away at my sanity every day that I kept her as my protected hostage.
Fully unleashing myself on her had been the most intense sexual experience of my life, and I hadn’t even fucked her.
If she turned to me right now with the barest hint of an invitation in her eyes, my cock would be rock hard for her in an instant.
But there was a different, stranger satisfaction that’d settled deep in my chest since she’d awakened from her nightmare at dawn. She’d shared pieces of her soul with me, placing herself in my hands and making herself completely vulnerable. She’d drifted back to sleep in my arms, peaceful and sweet.
After indulging in my morning coffee and a delicious homecooked breakfast, an unfamiliar languor had settled in my body. My lips stretched in a lazy smile as I listened to her exclaim over the food that I’d provided for her. She didn’t seem to mind my almost nonexistent communication skills, and I didn’t feel the irritating obligation to offer more words than I actually wanted to say.
Nearly all of my human interactions involved either cartel politics or Stefano’s insane parties, which were also cartel politics but with more bullshit small talk. I never invited guests to my home because I found socializing tedious, and when it came down to it, I didn’t have much to say to people I didn’t really give a fuck about. I definitely didn’t care to hear about their mundane lives, and half-pretending to listen took all my mental energy.
But I didn’t have to pretend with Marisol. I didn’t have to try to behave in a way that didn’t come naturally to me. I liked her presence in my home. She was too soft and sweet to ever grate on my nerves.
And she was a fucking fantastic cook. I made a mental note to fire my chef.
As I continued to watch her, offering the occasional grunt of agreement that seemed to please her, something warm began to pulse at the center of my chest. Idly, I rubbed my palm over the spot, enjoying the sensation.
Finally, she closed the fridge and turned to beam at me. “This is amazing, Raúl. I forgot how much I like cooking, especially when there’s someone else to cook for.” Her smile took on a sad twist, but she didn’t seem distraught. “I’m not sure if I even realized how much I like it until I couldn’t do it anymore. Thank you.”
“I’m glad you’re happy. I should be thanking you for the delicious meals. You’ve saved us both from my shitty cooking.”
Her delighted giggle went straight to my head, intoxicating me. I closed the distance between us, extending my hand to her. She placed hers in mine without hesitation, and the warmth in my chest pulsed hotter.
“Come on,” I urged. “I have something to show you.”
Her head tilted with curiosity, and she eagerly followed me as I led her out the backdoor and into the garden. She gasped when she caught sight of the array of colorful blossoms. Suddenly, her hand was tugging on mine as she practically skipped toward the flowers. I followed her, bemused by the fact that this tiny woman was pulling me around my own
home.
“Dahlias? And gladioli! And…” She rushed to a small bush that was only showing tiny buds. “Are these roses? Oh, Raúl!”
I caught a bright flash of her sparkling eyes and bright grin before she barreled into my chest. Her arms wrapped around me, squeezing me tight.
“Thank you.” Her fervent words of gratitude were muffled by her face pressing against my shirt, but they thrummed through my body like a reverberating bell.
My hands traced the contours of her body. I loved the feel of how small she was when she was tucked against me like this. I’d killed countless men with my bare hands, but I’d never felt bigger or stronger than I did when she was nestled in the protective cage of my arms.
“I’m glad you like them. I had them delivered for you this morning. I thought you might like to add them to the garden.” A worrying thought popped into my mind. “I’m assuming you know how to plant and care for them. Or does your family’s shop focus more on arrangements?”
She tipped her head back, and her incandescent smile was bright enough to blind me. “Both.” She squeezed me again with what I was certain was all her strength. “This is wonderful. No one has ever done something like this for me. You remembered what I told you about my family’s shop. I… Thank you.” She choked up a bit on the last, and I returned her fierce hug with a little squeeze of my own.
“Of course I remembered. I want you to be happy here, Marisol. Whatever you want, I’ll provide it.”
Her melodic laugh soared through my chest. “You’re very good at that, you know: providing. I can tell it means a lot to you.” Her chocolate eyes were suddenly intense on mine, and her dainty hand pressed directly over my heart. “I want you to know that you’re good at providing. And that means a lot to me, too.”
Her tender touch knocked all the air from my lungs. I cupped her cheek and stared down at her with open awe, drinking her in. This was exactly why I’d wanted her here with me: this utterly foreign sense that she saw a good man when she looked at me. The pulse in my chest intensified to an aching beat.