Blaire's World: Volume One

by Box Set

  Andres ignores the man’s musing and says, “You have the items I requested?”

  The guy is quiet for a moment and then he says, “The car is just inside the gates, passports and money in the glovebox. I’ll let you out once the funds are in my account.”

  “Check,” Andres grunts, striding past, his hand on my bound wrists, dragging me with him. “The money is already there.”

  The other guy attempts to keep up, tries to say something else, but Andres acts as though he doesn’t exist. My heart pounds in agitation. This is not my Andres, not my sweet, carefree husband, quick to laugh and chat with the guys. This man who is holding on to me is a man that I fear. The man that I fled, because more and more I have seen his darkness surface. This is the man our son will become if he stays in the cartel.

  This last thought brings the fear and pain rushing back to the surface as I remember the way my children were torn from me. As we walk I desperately want to ask Andres what will happen to our babies, but I don’t dare speak to him. I have to comfort myself with the thought that Andres loves them as much as I do, he won’t allow anything bad to happen to them.

  We quickly find the car as it’s the only one sitting under a streetlight in a mostly empty parking lot just inside the dockyard. I gasp and trip, falling forward as a rock bites viciously into the heel of my foot. Without breaking stride Andres grips my arm and swings me easily up into his arms. I sink gratefully into the heat of his chest and press my face against his neck. I know I shouldn’t, know that I should hold myself stiff. But my exhausted body and brain can do nothing but recognize the basic comfort of my husband.

  He opens the passenger door of the car and drops me inside, nearly flinging me away from him. I grip the console and swing my knees to the side so I won’t get caught with the door when he slams it shut. He gets in the other side, pulls a set of keys from beneath his seat and starts the car. It’s an older model sedan, definitely not something we would normally drive.

  I flinch back in my seat as he reaches toward me, but he only pops the glovebox open. He pulls an envelope out and checks the contents. Without saying a word he tosses the envelope on the back seat and slams the glovebox closed again. Then he reaches around me and drags my seatbelt across my body. I lift my arms automatically so they won’t get caught as he latches it.

  The moment the dockyard gates begin to open he hits the gas, driving quickly away from the ships and the creepy man that provided our getaway.

  Unable to hold back any longer I peek at him and ask timidly, “Where are we going, Andres?”

  He doesn’t answer for a moment and I think maybe he won’t respond. He doesn’t have to. I’m at his mercy, I’ll go with him wherever he chooses to take me. Finally, he turns his head to look at me, pinning me with those intense blue eyes. “I’m taking you where no one will think to look,” he says grimly. “Where no one will find you, Luna.”

  8

  Andres

  She has finally fallen asleep. A combination of terror and sheer physical exhaustion overwhelming her. I stand over her, staring down, frustrated. Despite her bedraggled appearance, she is just as beautiful as the day we met. Perhaps, more so for being the mother of my children. I try to call on the hatred that is required for the coming days, but it’s tempered and twisted with the obsessive love that has been my constant companion from the moment I set eyes on this woman.

  Luna was a glorious sight to behold, that first time I set eyes on her. I feel like I’ve spent a lifetime replaying it in my head, the impact was so intense. She must’ve been in the bar for at least a few minutes before I noticed her, but I hadn’t seen her walk in. When the disturbance began I didn’t even bother to look. Hell, a bar like that, in that territory on a Friday night… fights weren’t unusual. Then the guy next to me dropped his jaw and spat out his beer. This guy was a hardened criminal from my own squad. His reaction made it worth a look.

  Seeing Luna take that woman off a bar stool and straddle her on that dirty wooden floor was going to feature in my fantasies for years to come. She was a she-devil, screaming at the other woman about her mama. Then, when she lifted that broken bottle, I fell in love. A woman that looked like that, willing to cut the shit out of her adversary for daring to insult someone she loved had to belong to me. I wanted every ounce of her loyalty along with that curvy little package. So I intervened, took her out of that bar and back to my place. We’ve been inseparable ever since. Up until five days ago, when she left me without a word.

  She shivers in her sleep, curling tighter on her side, seeking warmth in the airy cushion of the luxury leather jetliner seat. I fight the instinct to find a blanket and cover her slight form, provide for her needs as I have these past five years. Instead I remain standing, impassive, a guard in the night.

  I’ve borrowed this private jet from a contact. Someone friendly with the Mexican Los Zetas. I know that word will get back to my brothers of this unexpected trip. I was forced to lie to my friend, tell him that I was taking my wife on a second honeymoon overseas and that we wanted to keep it quiet from potential enemies. I know there are holes in my story. Why didn’t we take our own jet? Why last minute in the middle of the night? I will deal with the fallout later, after I’ve dealt with Luna.

  For now, I’m satisfied that my children are safely on their way back to Mexico and my wife is at my mercy. I glance down at her and reach out to touch her face, helpless against the pull of her intoxicating allure. Her skin feels fragile and soft beneath my callused fingertips. She has always been this way for me. Almost worse than the heroin I spent years slamming into my veins. Luna is the drug that rapes my soul. The drug that I knew would one day shred my heart and everything else she’s sunk her claws into.

  I was right.

  She ran away. Without explanation. Without thought or apology, she turned tail, stole my whole world and ran into the night. I clench my fist over her slumbering body, shaking with the need to destroy her, to end her here and now. My heart is thundering with the conflict. I vow that before she dies, I will strip her bare, flay the skin from her body and hear her scream her reasons for leaving. I will take satisfaction from her as she bleeds before me, begging on her knees, and then, perhaps, I will allow her to die.

  My hand falls and I turn away, dropping into the seat next to her. I reach across, pick up a discarded blanket and throw it over her.

  9

  Luna

  We land just as morning begins to light the sky, splashing colours of orange and red across the clouds while we descend. I lean as much as I dare in my seat, trying to see where we are. I woke up several minutes ago, completely disoriented, without a clue as to how long we’ve been flying. I know I can’t ask Andres where our destination is. One glance at him tells me he has sunk into a deep, angry silence. I’m not willing to draw his attention back to me. Not yet.

  There’s too much cloud cover for me to see where we are. The plane lands with a bounce and swiftly taxis to a stop. Before I have a chance to move, Andres unbuckles my seatbelt and pulls me out of my chair. I lurch to my feet and follow him to the door, smothering a yawn.

  A flight attendant stands beside the airplane door, awaiting the pilot’s go ahead to open it. She glances at me, disdain bright in her pretty blue eyes as she sweeps a glance over me from head to toe, stopping on my bare feet. I narrow my eyes, giving her my haughtiest stare, honed from years of spending money in the most expensive shops around the world.

  “I heard the shopping was so good here,” I murmur, casting a sly glance at Andres, “that I thought I would replace my entire wardrobe.”

  Her expression turns to confusion and she opens her mouth to speak, but Andres interrupts her, reaching back to squeeze my arm, his grip so tight that my eyes water in pain. “Forgive my wife. She’s simply fishing for our destination. I’m taking her on a surprise honeymoon, but she can’t stand the suspense.”

  The flight attendant flashes him a mega-watt smile that makes me want to claw the eyeballs rig
ht out of her face. “Well isn’t that just so sweet of y’all,” she simpers, sugar dripping from every word. “I hope you enjoy yourselves. The weather is supposed to be fantastic!”

  “Thank you,” Andres says and gestures toward the door impatiently.

  Her smile droops a little. I don’t blame her for trying. Andres is a beautiful man. His tattoos and broad muscular shoulders give him a dark, somewhat sinister air, but his youthful visage, coupled with his boyish charm draws women like flies to honey. Unfortunately, most women don’t know his dark side. I don’t really know his dark side. Not yet.

  She opens the door and I’m greeted by the sharp, heady scent of ocean. Before my feet can touch the tarmac, I’m swung up into Andres arms once more. I reach automatically for his neck, holding tight as we make our way rapidly across an empty airfield toward an object. I squint and cover my eyes against the glare of the sun. I realize that this is another conveniently placed car for our benefit. The Decena reach seems never-ending.

  Fatigue hits me all over again as we drive, and though I know I should pay close attention to wherever we’re driving in case I’m somehow able to escape, I’m barely able to keep my eyes open. As the warmth of the sun penetrates my window, caressing my hair and skin, I lean heavily against the door and I feel myself begin to drift.

  I’m not sure how long we drive or if I sleep, but I find myself being shaken awake, Andres’ blue eyes blazing down at me. “Get out,” he snaps. Before I’m even fully aware he’s gone, his door slams behind him. The car rocks with the force of his departure.

  My heart thumps in trepidation as I gingerly open my own door and pull myself out, using the doorframe for balance. I’m weary with fatigue, my body feels sore and I’m terrified of what’s to come. I glance around. My jaw drops and I stare in numb fascination at the scene in front of me. It’s so breathtaking that for a moment I forget who I’m with and why we’re here. A wide, sparkling sea stretches out in front of me, the morning sun turning the peaks of each wave into jewels.

  I step away from the car to get a better look and realize that I’m standing almost at the edge of a cliff. The cliff is surrounded by scrub bushes and grass. A look down shows me a narrow sandy beach far below being pounded by crashing waves. I don’t see anyone and assume it must be private or difficult to access. I turn slowly on the spot and look behind me. Andres is watching me intently as I realize exactly how isolated we are. There is a house behind him. It’s small and utilitarian. I look in every direction but realize there are no other buildings in the area. We’re completely alone.

  No one will hear me scream.

  “Come,” he says and turns toward the house, turning his back on me, expecting that I will follow.

  I have no other choice. The car keys are in his pocket and I couldn’t possibly get them away from him. Even if I somehow manage to get in the car and drive away without him catching me, where would I go? I don’t know where we are. Andres has ensured I’m completely helpless.

  I trail after him, into the cabin-like house. He closes the door behind me and attempts to turn a light on, but nothing happens. I see him frown through the sunlight filtering through the dusty window. He seems to shrug off the minor problem and crouches by a cupboard, digging around. He pulls out several candles and a flashlight, setting them on top. It quickly becomes clear to me that he’s been here before. Somehow the reality of my situation hits home in that moment, driving away my numbness. Andres has brought me to a remote location, someplace he’s been but I never have. A place that he likely intends to leave alone. A place that I will never leave.

  I try to stifle a sob but fail. I know he won’t want me to ask questions, that he only wants answers, but I have to know. “A-Andres… please tell me where our babies are.” My voice breaks as I force the words out. “Please? I need to know.”

  His head snaps up and his crystal-like blue eyes pin me to the spot. He ignores my question and I know he won’t tell me where Sola and Cristo are. Finally, he speaks, rising slowly from the floor. “We have some things to talk about, you and I.”

  Standing he towers over me by almost a foot. His height and gorgeous hard, muscular body have always attracted me. Now these things terrify me. They highlight how much weaker I am than him. I back up until I hit the wall. I place the palms of my hands against the wood, trying to centre myself.

  “Yes, Andres,” I whisper. “L-let’s talk.”

  He stalks forward and slams his palm into the wall next to my head. The entire wall shakes and I flinch to the side. He grabs me and hauls me back up, holding me between his arms. He stares down at me, showing me the true extent of his rage. I read death in his expression. Not because there is an expression on his face, but because there is none. There is nothing on my beloved’s face. He is blank.

  My heart shatters. But I feel stronger. Maybe I will die by his hands. Maybe it’ll be a horrible death, but I know, looking into the death mask that is Andres’ face, that I made the right decision. I tried to take my children away from this life. I tried to give my son another life, another option besides the constant death that has twisted his father.

  “Talk,” he says, his voice low and deadly. “Say your piece, Luna. This is the only chance you will get.”

  I lick my lips and nod. Yes, I will tell him. He deserves that much from me. But first, I deserve something from him. For five years of marriage, of love and loyalty. I deserve to know my fate. “I will tell you, Andres,” I whisper, my voice shaking under the onslaught of his fury. “But first, I want to know what you intend to do to me.”

  He laughs, the sound harsh and bitter, not at all like the Andres I knew. It makes me sad. I’ve done this to him, twisted him, hurt him, taken his light away. Before I can say anything else he grips my throat, his fingers squeezing so hard that he takes my breath. I know if he flexes his hand any harder he’ll crush my neck under his brutal hold. Tears gather in my eyes and I bring my hands up to grip his wrists. He pulls me against his chest and when he speaks he drops his mouth so his lips brush against mine. “You left me, Luna,” he growls. “There is only one ending for betrayal.”

  He slams me against the wall, knocking the wind from my lungs. My ribs knock against the hard wood. I gasp for air but I can’t get any because he’s still choking the breath from my body. Just as panic begins to set in and I start clawing for freedom, he lets go. I drop immediately to the floor, coughing and gasping for air. Within seconds I begin sobbing, curling onto my side and crying in terror. Andres steps over me and leaves, slamming the door shut behind him.

  10

  Luna

  I barely have a minute to pull myself together before he strides back through the door. Maybe if I’d had longer, I would’ve been up and off the floor, looking for another way out. I know no matter what I do I won’t get away from Andres; he’s far too big, strong and skilled. But my survival instinct is kicking in. I don’t want to die here. I don’t want to die at all!

  I huddle against the wall and try to stop the sobs spilling uncontrollably from my lips as he walks past me with a couple of bags. “Get up,” he growls as he walks by.

  When I don’t move he transfers one of the bags to his other hand and grabs my arm, dragging my off the floor. I gasp and flail around for balance, half falling against the wall. He doesn’t seem to notice or care as he starts walking again, continuing through the house with me in tow. I stumble behind him, exhausted and frightened of what might come next. I lift a hand to my throat, which is sore and bruised.

  The house is small and dusty but cozy. It’s a bad place to vacation, rustic and seems as though it hasn’t been used in a while. Andres drags me through a living room with one big recliner chair, a rug and an ugly picture with a sailboat. Past the living room is a hallway with two doors. He kicks one open and tosses the bags inside. They thump as they hit the floor next to a bed with a patchwork quilt.

  I gaze curiously up at my husband. Yet another puzzle. He knew exactly where the candles and flashligh
t were, and he knows where all the rooms are without searching. He’s obviously been here on at least one occasion, yet I’ve never even heard of this place, wherever it is. A shudder goes through me as I think of the possibilities. Does he use this place for work, to kill people, to run business transactions? Does he bring women here?

  Before I get the chance to dwell further he turns on his heel, crosses the short distance to the other door and shoves it open. I glance past him to discover a small but cute washroom dimly lit by a tiny window over the toilet. He pulls me inside, shoves the shower curtain aside and starts the water in the tub. I wrinkle my nose as I realize it’s probably going to be ice cold. If there’s no electricity, then the pilot light on the hot water heater has probably gone out and I doubt he took the lime to light it. Even if he did there wouldn’t have been time for the water to heat.

  He turns to look at me, taking in my bedraggled appearance. “Take your clothes off.”

  I stare at him for a moment, wondering if he’s gone crazy. Does he want me clean when he tortures and kills me? Because I’d rather he just get it over with. I shake my head and back away, cringing into myself in a protective gesture. He still has hold of my arm though and he gives it a vicious shake.

  “Just take your fucking clothes off, Luna,” he snaps. “I’m not in the mood for this and you don’t want to test me right now.”

  His tone of voice and the look on his face has my fingers flying to the bottom of my shirt. I remind myself that he’s seen my naked body thousands of times as I tug the fabric over my hair, wincing when it catches in the long tresses. I reach back to pull at the strands, but Andres yanks it from my hands and untangles them with ridiculous ease, dropping the garment to the floor. A lump forms in my throat as I’m reminded of all the times he’s helped hold my hair for me while I changed or brushed the long, unruly mass.