by Box Set
“Sera—”
“Please, don’t talk.”
It’s Jorge that I hear, yanking at the back of my consciousness.
Don’t trust their lies. Secrets are power and men will do anything to find yours.
You know what will happen when they find yours.
You need to be prepared.
Prepared to fight. Prepared to be tortured. Prepared to be seduced.
This isn’t how it was all supposed to happen.
I wasn’t prepared to be sold and rescued. Broken and… what is this?
Obliteration?
My mind races. Memories. Thoughts. Questions. Until my head aches from the tension.
Galeno’s hands brush back my hair, then move down my arms to rest on my thighs. “You’re worrying me,” he whispers. “Is the pain worse?”
I shake my head once, then nod, giving into it. “Not my back, everything else.” My breath rattles in my chest. “I think I’m having an identity crisis.”
He pulls me closer, rubbing the back fo my neck. “Okay.”
“What’s okay about it?” When I look up, I find the very thing that sent me reeling into this mess. Galeno. Looking into his eyes makes my chest hurt. The worry lines stretch toward his temples. His brows are pressed together. Jaw tight.
My fingers tangle in his shirt sleeve, stretching it out until I’m sure it’ll never recover.
Like me.
“I need this to stop.”
“No.” He touches my face. “You need to go through it.”
“Why?” I scream. Maybe I’d misjudged what I’d thought was concern. Maybe he does enjoy this.
“It’s the only way. Jorge broke you down. Forced you to ignore your natural instincts so he could have a hold over you. You’re healing.”
“That isn’t what it feels like.”
“It isn’t what it feels like when someone”—his left eyebrow arches—“falls asleep on your arm and you wake up with a burning, sting, hand, but it is what it is. Sometimes healing hurts worse than the injury.”
Does he mean me? “I’ve never fallen asleep on your arm.”
“Not that you remember, I guess, but you also don’t remember me telling you my name, over and over."
With my palms flat on his chest, I increase the distance between us. “You were sleeping with me when I was in that condition?”
He leans his head back, but keeps his eyes on me. “I didn’t sleep, or do anything else, but sometimes laying next to you was the only way to get you to stop screaming.”
Screaming? All this time, I’ve been trying not to fall apart in front of him and he’d already seen behind the crumbling wall. “About what?”
His eyes drop for a split second. “Nothing in particular.”
“You’re lying.” My mouth will barely form the words, and they come out high-pitched.
Galeno blows out a puff of air. “You are good.”
“Why are you lying to me?”
“Because you just told me you’re having a hard time and I wanted to let that settle before possibly adding something else for you to deal with. You mumbled some names, mainly Jorge… Gabe, Miguel. I believe you thought I was Jorge, and anytime I would speak, you’d start repeating olvidado.”
“And that’s it?” I know it isn’t, but I dare him to lie to me again.
“No.” His lips press into a straight line. “But you’re not ready to talk about the rest, so we’re going to leave it for now.”
I yank at his shirt until I hear it rip. “Who are you to make that decision?”
Galeno puts his hands over my fists, but his voice remains calm and even. “Tell me your name.”
I recoil, sitting as far from him as I can while in his lap. “Sometimes, I hate you.”
“Sometimes, I’m a good man to hate.”
Why can’t he fly into a rage? Yell and scream? I understand those things far better than this disconcerting calm. I understand pain better than comfort.
The voice—the one that Jorge created—tells me to get far away from him. But I let my head fall back to his shoulder before the tears burning at my eyes have a chance to fall. My forehead and nose rest against his coarse beard.
I’m afraid if I move, the avalanche will resume.
He leaves me there for a few minutes, then lays me across the couch, his body over top of mine. Just below his mangled shirtsleeve, I notice three long scratches. “You’re going to have a lot of scars.”
“I have no doubt.”
I wonder if I’ll ever figure him out. “When you asked me to stay with you, what exactly did you have in mind?”
“You.” His deep laugh rumbles against my chest. “I just want you, Sera. I can’t explain it, and I don’t care to try.”
“And you somehow discovered that you want me while I was unconscious in your spare room? Or when you found out who I was?”
“Or when I felt jealous that you would talk to the dog and not me?”
I brush him off, trying to hide my laugh. I can’t imagine anyone getting jealous over a dog, especially him. “You weren’t jealous about that.”
He kisses my cheek. “You don’t know that.” His mouth moves down my jaw to my earlobe and he takes it into his mouth. “Or maybe it was when I tasted you. Although, I have to say, there are other parts of you I’m interested in tasting.”
Something vibrates against my leg and Galeno lets out a long groan.
“Didn’t know I excited you that much.”
“Don’t underestimate yourself.” He rolls and digs his phone from his pocket. “I need to take this.”
“The world of unicorns and lollipops can’t go on without you.”
The phone continues going crazy in his hand, but instead of answering it, his head dips down again. “I’ll call him back.”
His mouth captures mine. His tongue swipes against my lips then presses deeper, filling my mouth with his taste until we’re both breathless.
Then, the phone begins again.
“Go,” I whisper against his ear even though I don’t want him to. Cold air sweeps into his void as he climbs off the couch and heads up the stairs, answering the call halfway up.
———
Lucero barges in and his eyes widen for a second when he sees me, then he quickly diverts them to the stairs. My shirt is still laying at the other end of the couch, and I know he's seen me less dressed, so I don't bother.
"Galeno in his office?" he asks.
"Yep."
But just as I say it, I see Galeno out of the corner of my eye emerge on the landing above—now with a black button-down shirt. "I need to go deal with a few things today," he says descending the stairs. When his and Lucero's eyes silently meet, I know they're debating what to do with me.
"You could take me along," I say, hoping to get out of the house and finally feel productive again. It doesn't feel like I was just wandering the streets of Toronto yesterday. Although, the bruises and soreness from the scuffle are beginning to surface.
Lucero glowers over his shoulder like he'd rather kill me, but Galeno simply gives me that tight-lipped stare of his. "Why are you still half-naked?"
"I'm wearing a bra, pretty sure that puts me slightly under half, and how was I supposed to know anyone was going to barge in?"
His steely look doesn't fade until I snatch my shirt off the end of the couch and draw it over my head. Why's he care so much? As far as I can recall, I was naked when Lucero found me anyway. I have a body and skin like everyone else. There's really not much mystery to it.
“Satisfied?”
Galeno’s lips relax into a smirk. “We’ll discuss that later.”
“And now? I’m going to go stir-crazy without something to do.”
Galeno pauses, but Lucero shakes his head and continues toward the door. “I’ll be outside while you two sort yourselves out.”
“You don’t even know where I’m going or what we’re about to do,” Galeno says.
“Can’t be worse
than anything else I’ve ever done.”
He paces toward me. “Are you sure?”
“You said you wanted me, but I’m not just going to sit around here and…” I close my eyes. “If you want a bed warmer you picked up the wrong girl.”
“I realize that, but you need to—”
“Rest until my back heals,” I say in a mocking tone. “I don’t do that. I’m going to lose my damn mind if I have to stay here.”
His eyes rake over me from head to toe. “And what do you intend on wearing? My shoes again?” There’s a humor in his tone, but I’m more concerned with the fact that he’s considering it.
I bite my bottom lip to keep whatever’s bubbling inside from spilling over. Am I giddy? “I could make them work.”
Galeno scoffs. “Elena is always leaving something here.” He leads me to a closet tucked under the stairs and flicks on the light. Among the boxes and winter coats, my eyes fall on a red leather jacket. I reach for it, running my fingers over the smooth material.
“Try it on,” Galeno says. “Then find a pair of shoes and meet us out front.”
Part of me wonders if he’s planning on distracting me then running off while I’m in the closet. But, why didn’t he lock me up somewhere if he wanted me out of his hair?
“Elena must spend a lot of time here,” I call after him.
Galeno makes a sound in his throat. “Guess she likes what there is to see in Toronto.”
There’s something odd about the way he says it. I pick up a pair of calf-high boots with a three inch stiletto heel. “In hooker boots apparently.”
Galeno’s shoes squeak as he makes an about face in the center of the room. “Elena is my little sister.”
The boots slip from my hands and thud against the floor.
“Who did you think she was?” He saunters back and puts his shoulder to the door frame.
“Girlfriend… Wife…” I shrug. I had come up with a few other options but now that I know we’re discussing his sister, I don’t dare voice any of them.
“Wife?” his laugh almost swallows the word.
“You don’t want her around?”
He cocks his head, the humor that had lit up his eyes moments ago vanished. “Why would you say that?”
“I heard you on the phone—or did you only want to keep her away from me?”
“That was part of it, yes.” He pushes a pair of shoes toward me with his foot.
“And the other part?” I sit on the floor and slip my foot into the boot, wiggling my toes inside. It feels strange without socks, but it’s a perfect fit.
“Elena had to have those, and endlessly complained that they were two sizes too big.” Galeno reaches his hand down to me and I take it, so he pulls me to my feet.
The jacket is more snug, but I can work with it. I pull out my hair and flip it down my back.
“How’s your back?” he asks.
“Numb, but I’m trying not to think about it.”
“That’s what concerns me.”
He is concerned and it makes my insides tingle. This is crazy. A dream. Hallucination. “What’s the other reason you didn’t want your sister around?”
“Changing the subject won’t work.”
“You started it with the shoes,” I shoot back. “You like avoiding questions, too.”
He tugs at the edges of my jacket with both hands, just enough to move me a step closer. “She has a thing for Lucero.”
“And you don’t like that?”
“Would you want your sister dating someone who would take a bullet for you? Whose job is to be prepared to do that on any given day?”
One of those shards of memories I’d been trying to restrain earlier breaks away, slides down my throat and lodges in my chest. “No. But is it really up to you to decide that for them?”
Galeno’s head drops forward slightly. “No. But things are too dangerous right now—more than I thought a week ago apparently.” He takes a breath. “Now, if you’re still determined to tag along, you will follow Lucero’s lead and don’t do anything to strain you back. And don’t blame me if you get bored. Agreed?”
Bored? What could be more boring than staring at a ceiling for hours on end? “Agreed.”
Lucero curses in Spanish when we step outside.
“She will follow your lead, and stay out of trouble,” Galeno assures him. He glares at me with his last words. I don’t remember agreeing to that exactly. I have no intention of trouble, but it does seem to find me.
“I knew I’d get stuck babysitting either way.” Lucero climbs into the driver’s seat and I join Galeno in the back.
13
We pull up at what looks like a cross between a casino and country club, and the number of six-figure cars in the parking lot says this is where all the big players hang out.
We leave the SUV with the valet and just before Galeno leads us to the door, he pulls me aside. “Remember, he’s your boss.” He points his thumb in Lucero’s direction.
Lucero’s face remains deadpan. He’s already full in work mode, watching the front door, scanning the parking lot, and probably memorizing every license plate.
Inside, we pass through the lobby and take a left down a hallway past a security guard who seems to know Galeno. He barely glances in Galeno’s direction, nodding as he passes, but when it comes my turn to pass, his eyes lock on me until I’m out of sight. Twenty feet down, the hallway branches off, and we take a left, then Galeno opens the next door.
Four men, each holding a hand of cards, circle a large poker table in the center of the smoke-filled room. The smell of warm wood and expensive cigars envelopes us, and burns my eyes.
“Aguilar,” a scrawny blond with half of his head shaved nods in Galeno’s direction. “Syroni and Clive are inside. Still waiting on Ayman.” He throws a stack of poker chips into the center of the table.
Galeno glances back at me one more time—one final reminder to mind my “babysitter”—before crossing the room and disappearing through the next door. Lucero stays put, so I do the same.
With Galeno gone, the men at the table seem to relax. “Pull up a chair, Luc,” one says, and then they all look in my direction. “Who’s the new blood?”
“Sera,” Lucero says.
“You play poker, Sera?”
Why does it have to be poker? I inwardly groan, and try to save face by saying, “I don’t have any money.”
“Doesn’t your boss pay?” He laughs, nudging Lucero.
Lucero pulls out the chair next to him. “I’ll spot you.”
I swallow, feeling the bullet sized sweat beads crawling down my back. Poker. If I’d have known there’d be poker, I would have gladly stayed at home.
“Andy,” Lucero points to the man who’s been doing all the talking, and then he continues around the table. “Cage, Casper, Simba.”
“Simba?” I repeat, trying desperately not to snort. I’ve never watched a children’s movie in my life—another waste of time—but even I know that name
“Don’t,” the man sitting to Lucero’s left says. His eyes hold a staunch warning, probably because he’s been questioned on the name a hundred times, but there’s also a hint of humor in the curve of his lips as he lifts his cigar and takes a long puff. His skin is a rich brown, almost as dark as his hair, but I can’t catch much of his accent with that single word.
I watch as they finish the current hand. The man across from me, Cage, is broad-shouldered and built like an athlete. His head is clean shaven, accentuating the sharp bone structure of his face. He doesn’t speak, just throws in his chips and cracks his neck.
Casper, like Andy, has blond hair, but it’s cut short and stick straight up on top.
After a round of betting, they all lay down their cards and Andy takes the pot.
“You know how to play?” Lucero asks, sliding a stack of chips across the table toward me.
“Yeah.” Unfortunately, I know too well.
We all ante up and while Cage sil
ently shuffles and deals the cards, two more men enter the room. Andy gives them basically the same spiel he gave to Galeno, one breaks off and heads into the back room, while the other flips around a chair and straddles the back, watching Cage deal.
I pick up my cards. Two Queens. But I can barely concentrate over the roar of blood filling my ears and the heat trickling down my chest and back. I already have a headache.
I lay down three cards, and Cage deals me three more off the top of the stack. Ace of Spades. Seven of Hearts. Ten of Diamonds. I’m still at two of a kind, but I throw in my chips, keeping my eyes on the cards.
Chips clink together as, in turn, everyone tosses in their bid. Andy sits back in his chair, Cage folds, Casper scratches the back of his neck, Simba’s left eye narrows. I wonder if they’re all aware of their tells. Are they aware I can read them?
I don’t want to look at Lucero.
Hell, I don’t want to look at any of them, but like muscle memory, my brain kicks into overdrive, cataloging every detail.
I raise, in part hoping that if I lose all of my—or Lucero’s—money, I’ll be off the hook. Andy calls. Casper folds. Simba stares in my direction, eyes narrowed, before deciding to call as well and Lucero does the same.
Finally, Andy lays down three fours and Simba throws his cards to the center, indicating he lost. But then Lucero lays down a straight, and I toss my cards into the center pile as well.
At least all of Lucero’s money I lost went to him, but I can’t help feeling that nagging sickness at the pit of my stomach. I could use some air, but I also can’t say that right now. I also can’t walk out. So I sit at the table and go through the motions.
The new guy, who Lucero introduces as Harsh, joins the next hand. At first I only pay enough attention to not lose Lucero’s money, but subconsciously I take in every detail, and as the afternoon passes, I find my pile of chips growing.
If I don’t lose a hand soon, I have a feeling someone’s going to pull a gun. But they continue chattering away, dealing the round after round until most of them are out of chips.
The door to my right opens and Galeno is the first to exit. His eyes go straight to the stacks of chips in front of me, then to Lucero. One of his arms rests across his chest, supporting his elbow and the hand which rakes across his beard.