Blaire's World: Volume One

by Box Set

  Dios, why does even that have to sound sexy? He's going to kill me.

  He’s going to stop. He’s going to laugh as he stares down at me squirming in frustration. But he shows no signs of it. His eyes hold my stare. They’re narrowed and attentive, but soft.

  I reach my arm over the edge of the tub, my fingers grazing the bulge in his pants, and my eyes widen.

  His lips crash against mine again, stealing the rest of my arguments as my body trembles and, like a glass figurine dropped to the floor, shatters irreparably under his touch.

  I throw my head back, and he quickly changes his position so that his forearm cradles it away from the hard porcelain while his other hand teases every bit of orgasm from my body as possible.

  My hand rests where his shoulder meets his neck when every bit of strength fades from my body, and he presses his forehead to mine. "And that is how any man worth your loyalty should treat you, Belleza."

  "By forcing me to come in the bath?"

  "Do you deny enjoying it?"

  I grit my teeth in response. Do I deny it? Jorge… what if he…?

  Galeno straightens, stripping off his soaked shirt. And my half-hooded eyes flutter to the sparrow tattoo on his chest above his right pec.

  “You were there.” I gasp. “At the party.”

  “Yes.”

  I grab the edges of the tub and pull myself up. He’d let Serge take me only to rescue me and bring me here?

  “By the time I’d heard Serge was there, he was gone. We tracked him back to the warehouse where we found you. We had you checked out by a doctor and moved here to keep you safe until you recovered, and I could figure out who you were.”

  My stomach twists. “You didn’t know who I was when you brought me here?”

  “No. When we couldn’t match you with any missing persons reports… I had a friend scan the dark web and look into a few places no one should be able to access, that’s how we tracked down the information on Jorge’s dirty little deal with Serge.”

  I shake my head, but nothing will settle. “And after you figured it out, you still left me alone in an unlocked room?”

  “I’ve been told it was against my better judgment, but yes.”

  I scan him for any signs he’s lying, but he keeps his eyes steadily on me. Even breaths. Even tone. Not even a single twitch. I need to find something that proves he’s lying, and he gives me nothing. I can’t explain it. Can’t figure out how he’s doing it…

  Unless he’s like me. A spy?

  A spy doesn’t normally have an organized crew of subordinates.

  Who does he work for? It’s not like I can recognize every face in every cartel, but I know the big players and he isn’t one of them. He’s big enough to have some serious connections if he’s digging up messages from Jorge. Stupid enough to cross Jorge. Not big enough to be anyone Jorge ever worried about.

  My mind races backward and forward. I thought Jorge had covered all of the bases. I figured I could handle any situation. But this doesn’t make sense unless Galeno’s trying to seduce me. Trying to turn me against Jorge. That would explain the whole Jacuzzi thing.

  "Sit up," he orders. Well, his orders aren't really orders, but… Why the fuck does he have to be so damn confusing?

  I comply anyway, feeling even less myself than I had at the party I can barely remember. He pulls my hair away from my face, down my back, and then I hear him squirt something into his palm and my nose is filled with the scent of berries and flowers.

  He’s definitely fucking with me, but to what end? I know it’s a mindfuck, just not how to counteract it or manipulate it, and this bastard gives me nothing to go on.

  He works the lather through my hair, then instructs me to lean my head back as he gently rinses my hair.

  For a split second, I imagine him shoving my head under the water while he has the chance, and as soon as the vision flashes in my head, I can’t breathe. It’s no longer his face staring down at me.

  Jorge shoves me under the water again, holding me there until my throat burns.

  In the background, I hear another voice. Smoother. Deeper. “Sera.”

  He repeats the name again. And again.

  I can’t hold my breath any longer, but when I inhale, my lungs don’t fill with water, but plain, fresh air.

  I’m sitting upright in the tub, not under the water. I should be relieved, but I’m still in a different nightmare, with a man who couldn’t have missed that freak-out. One more thing he has on me. One more weakness to manipulate.

  And why the hell can’t I get just a single thing on him?

  “Sera?” he says, pushing my hair away from my face.

  I open my eyes, keeping them on the few bubbles peppering the bathwater. And then, a blot of red drops in. Another.

  One of us is bleeding.

  I jerk back, pushing his hands away from me. Red streaks trail down my right hand from the tips of my fingers. I match them up with three red gashes on Galeno’s arm. They’re not bad, and if not for the water diluting the blood, there probably wouldn’t be much at all. But severe or not, it was an offense that would result in a beating.

  “Can you hear me?” he asks.

  I nod, already halfway to my sanctuary of white noise, but wary of crossing him further.

  “The doctor said you may still experience some residual effects from the drugs for a few days. Serge laced you with psychogenics—among some other nasty things.”

  Oh good, let’s add possible hallucinations to the already heavy shit-show.

  Trapped somewhere between reality and white noise, I dunked my hand into the water, watching the red spread and dissipate.

  I’m literally bathing in his blood, remembering all the blood that’s been on my hands before.

  Galeno pulls the plug on the drain and I stare off as the water level lowers and slowly slips away into the drain. Just like me.

  I pull my feet back as he turns on the faucet to rinse the blood off his arm.

  So much for really enjoying the Jacuzzi for once.

  But then, Galeno replaces the plug, letting the tub fill again.

  “Please tell me what you want from me," I say.

  He cocks his head, leaning against the wall at the base of the tub.

  "What do you want?" I yell. I don't care if I believe his answer or not. Or whether or not he cares. I want to know what excuse he's going to feed me.

  He all but ignores the question again, hitting a switch hidden in the corner next to his hip.

  "Galeno," I snap.

  The corner of his mouth twitches as if it were a victory that I said his name. Or maybe the victory is my frustration.

  "Why the fuck are you doing this?"

  "I have no fucking idea," he says, point blank. "You claim to be forgotten, but I find that hard to imagine. You're strong, and beautiful, and as it seems, damn near indestructible. Something one would usually compare to a diamond, but diamonds are far too common to compare. I could have a million delivered tomorrow.” He crouches next to the tub. “But I’m fairly certain I’ll never encounter someone like you again.”

  He touches my fingers gently, but as if it stings, I immediately pull away.

  His eyes narrow. "You intrigue me. Tempt me. Dare me. I want to see exactly what you can be, what you choose to be, once we get rid of all the layers of tarnish Jorge used to control you."

  I glare at him. "What makes you think you can control me?"

  He smiles and shakes his head. "What makes you think I want to?"

  His nonchalant and calm appearance doesn’t even fade with my challenge.

  "I won't give you Jorge's secrets."

  "Good," he says in a flippant way that jerks the floor out from under me again. Why the hell can't I find gravity around this guy? "If you gave me his secrets, why would I ever trust you with my own?"

  "What makes you think I can be won over with frilly shampoo and bath fucks?"

  "Absolutely nothing," he says with a smirk. "But it
was fun to try."

  Bastard. I swing at the surface of the water, splashing it toward him. It drips from his eyebrows, his beard, and his lips. Those damn lips. Full of lies.

  "If you don't want to stay here, you're free to go as soon as you're strong enough."

  Yeah, right.

  8

  I spend a few days humoring Galeno, testing him, testing my boundaries until I feel confident that my spine won’t try to snap itself.

  Then, I get my opening, while Lucero and Galeno are in his office on a “conference call” or some shit.

  I grab the bag of clothes Lucero had dropped off earlier in the week, but I still have two problems, no shoes, and no transportation.

  Checking the hall to make sure Galeno and Lucero are still busy, I head straight for the stairs. If I have to, I’ll go in bare feet, but that won’t exactly be practical for my plan. I need to go back and start at the beginning of the nightmare. I don’t have many leads to go on, but I hope the hotel might hold some useful information.

  Downstairs, I start in the kitchen, shoving a few snacks in my bag. Then, I scan the living room and find a pair of blue sneakers near the bottom of the stairs. Galeno’s, no doubt, they’re huge, but I lace them up tight enough to make do. As I straighten, I also notice a set of keys tucked under a stack of envelopes.

  He says I’m free to leave, and I’m about to test that theory, even though I’m sure it isn’t going to end well.

  I need answers and I need to find them myself. Not on his computer or by word of mouth.

  Keys in hand, I walk straight out the front door. Still no one.

  So much for Galeno’s big power game. Maybe his crew was rented.

  The grounds are huge. The drive stretches out in front of me and curves, so I can’t tell how long it is. Brick walls and brushes line the edges.

  But I see no one.

  This is nothing like Jorge’s compound where it was impossible to walk twenty feet without spotting someone watching.

  Then again, Jorge was paranoid as fuck.

  I press the button on the key fob and the headlights on a deep blue Lexus LFA flash. Galeno obviously has money to throw around which supports my lone wolf theory. A decent enough lobo would have plenty of money, and he’d know how to play the cartel game well enough to get answers.

  I quickly climb in the car, hoping the roar of the engine isn’t loud enough for them to hear from the back of the mansion. But then, they’d have to catch me. I take off down the long, winding driveway and guess which direction will take me back to town.

  I must’ve guessed right, because fifteen minutes later I see a sign for downtown Toronto. Then, I just have to hope I remember enough details to find the hotel.

  But all the roads that seem the same as I remember also feel entirely different. Finally, just as I think I’ve made another wrong turn and consider for the hundredth time figuring out the navigation system, the towering structure of the International Hotel appears ahead.

  I start to pull into the parking garage across the street and realize I have no money. Part of me still believes this is a test all orchestrated by Jorge. Be resourceful. But how I had fared on that prospective test where Galeno was concerned just brought up more dilemmas. Maybe it’s best not to think about it that way—the main thing is putting this whole mess together and finding my answers.

  Park the car and leave it?

  Or find some poor schmuck to rob?

  I’ll figure that part out later. I take the hard turn and navigate the wide car through the narrow entrance, driving nearly to the top to find an empty space that wasn’t between obnoxiously parked trucks and SUVs.

  Anyone ever thought of sports car parking?

  Then, I make my way down to the crowded street and across to the hotel.

  For once, I want the desk clerk to be chatty.

  “Hello,” I say in my most polished voice when I finally reach the front of the line.

  “Reservation?” he asks, not even cracking a smile out of courtesy.

  Dios. “I did. I stayed in room 1127 a few nights ago and I think I left my cell and some paperwork in the room.”

  “Nothing’s been turned in here,” he says, as if he took the time to even check. Given the number of people in and out of this hotel, I doubt he really knew for certain off the top of his head.

  “Okay, well, I got some distressing news and had to leave in a hurry. Would you know if anything was delivered or any messages left?”

  He sighs. “When did you say your stay was?”

  “Sunday before last,” I think. I’m not even sure what day it is now. “The twenty-fifth.”

  “Name?”

  “Carley Martin.”

  He leans sideways, glancing back at the line behind me and types something into his computer. “Let me get a manager.”

  “That would be great,” I smile. At least that might get me someone with a personality.

  While he’s gone, I pretend to drop my keys over the counter, but everyone around me is too busy to notice as I stretch over to pick them up, inching the computer screen around slightly.

  Reservation. One night.

  I was never meant to return to the hotel room.

  The clerk and manager return to the counter and I straighten, about to give my spiel again.

  “Do you have an ID?” she asks.

  Shit. Last I saw that, it was on Galeno’s desk. “No, I seem to have lost that too. Crazy week.” I flash a smile that probably looks as tired as I feel—and I hope so, maybe sympathy will get me points somewhere.

  “How about a number where we can reach you?”

  Snap. End of the line. “Didn’t I just say I lost my phone?”

  “A friend or relative?”

  “Never mind,” I grumble, dragging my keys off the counter and heading back out to the streets to figure out my next plan.

  Flirt with the attendant? I glance at the booth near the exit of the garage with a middle-aged woman sitting inside. Nope.

  Find a mark.

  And as luck would have it, I notice a couple to my right, unloading their luggage onto a trolley, where she leaves a pink, clutch-like purse and turns her back to grab another suitcase.

  Oh, stupid people.

  I head in their direction, keeping an eye on everyone around me and scooping up the small wallet as I pass.

  When I’m out of their sight, I open it up, and discover it’s actually a phone case and the phone still hasn’t locked. I tap the screen to keep it active while I search the pockets. A credit card, two library cards, and something from the World Wildlife Fund. No cash.

  So, I opt to ditch the car and head up the street, looking for an unoccupied alley where I might have a few minutes of privacy before pulling up the keypad. I know Jorge’s “emergency” line by heart, but my fingers hesitate with every number I enter. Then I hold the phone to my year as it rings several times and goes to a message saying voicemail is not set up.

  Fuck. I growl, kicking an empty pop bottle down the alley. Then, I gather myself and try the number again.

  "Digame,” he answers.

  “Jorge?” I exhale.

  There’s a long silence before he asks me where I am.

  Do I answer? Why am I hesitating?

  “Poco Cierva, dónde estás?” This time he’s more stern.

  “Por qué me enviaste a Toronto?” Why did you send me to Toronto, I ask, instead of answering him.

  “You don’t answer a question with a question.” Now, he’s practically spitting into the phone.

  “You don’t send me off without information or orders, unless…”

  He makes a ticking sound in his mouth that makes my skin crawl. “Unless I was sure you could figure it out on your own?” His voice is steady and smooth. “What did you do with Serge?”

  I know that voice. That tone. I may not have found Galeno’s tell, but I knew Jorge’s. The only time his voice lost that distant, biting, tense edge was when he bluffed.


  This isn’t what he planned.

  I chuck the phone into the brick wall.

  I’m on my own. No identity. No money. No more protection.

  And, no car unless I can find money.

  9

  I keep walking, at least it gives me something to keep me occupied until I find another opening. I was trained as a spy, not a pickpocket and I definitely can’t afford to get caught, but eventually, my mind goes numb, wrapped up in trying to figure out the situation instead of looking for a mark.

  The pavement and buildings don’t give me any answers.

  Now what? Now what? I ask myself over and over, long after the sun sets. Then, I snap out of it and look around. The streets are empty, and I’d left the fancy hotels and restaurants behind a long time ago. They were replaced with something more… Well, I guess I’d call them rustic, if I were being generous.

  “Well, well,” I hear a man behind me. “The hookers are out early tonight.”

  “Not a good night to fuck with me,” I grumble, but when I go to glare over my shoulder at him, I notice he’s not alone.

  “Who am I kiddin’,” he says, “around here, hookers are out twenty-four-seven.”

  “Then go find one.” I wave him off.

  Why do I have to attract trouble?

  Stupid question, I tell myself. I’m a spy and I’m walking around after dusk in a town I don’t know. I don’t attract trouble, I run straight to it.

  The cocky, loudmouth comes at me first, but he’s definitely not a trained fighter and I put him down. The others are smart, they come at me all at once. One grabs for my hair and I elbow him in the diaphragm. A punch to the nose and a kick to the nuts. I go to run, but one of them grabs my ankle and I barely keep from smashing my face into the pavement.

  My back isn’t so thrilled with this achievement.

  The men grab at me, pulling at my clothes. I get off a few good kicks and punches, but every movement darkens my vision with a shock of pain radiating out of my spine. My legs tingle. I can’t feel my fingers.

  Their leader grabs me by my throat, then slams me down so I land on my knees before him. “Where’d you learn to fight like that sweet thing?”