Blaire's World: Volume One

by Box Set

  The bleak thought dampens the pleasantly full feeling of our meal. My gaze lingers on her arm, but I can’t tell if it’s bothering her. Her flawless Latina skin is covering any bruising that might be there and it doesn’t look swollen. If the injury pains her then she’s hiding it. I shouldn’t be surprised. When Cristo was born, she hid her labour pains for nearly two days. I’d been busy with Zetas business at the time and she hadn’t wanted to interrupt. She’d known how important my work was. As a result, she’d damn near given birth on our washroom floor all by herself. If one of the maids hadn’t found her, she might have bled out and killed them both. But that’s my Luna, always making selfish decisions for good reasons.

  I’m sharply reminded of other decisions she’s made, other lives she’s forced us to take because she can’t be trusted. I can feel my chest squeezing painfully as I look at her, innocently sipping at her soup. She doesn’t look like the woman that has betrayed me over and over, causing more damage to my life and heart than any other being on this planet. Her nose wrinkles slightly and a look of mild disgust passes over her face. I know that she has accidentally eaten a pepper. She despises them, yet she tolerates their presence in our food because she knows I love them.

  I shove my chair away from the table and stand. I ignore her gasp of surprise and turn on my heel, heading for the next room. Once again, I can’t be near her. She fucks with my head, one moment inciting me to feelings of murder, the next softening me as I remember her as the woman who stole my heart from the beginning.

  I realize almost immediately that by going into the living room I’m trapping myself further in the house with her, with her intoxicating presence. I’m dangerous right now. Unpredictable, like a wild animal. I turn to go back the way I came, out through the kitchen. I’ll walk until I’m calm, until I can face her with a certain degree of professionalism. Instead I walk right into her. She’s following behind me.

  I automatically reach out to steady her, my hands sliding down her supple arms. She flinches a little as I touch her injured arm. Ah, so it does hurt. Fuck it. I shackle her wrist with my fingers and bring her arm up to my face, looking at it closely. Now, this close to my eyes, I can see the damage. It’s swollen with the beginnings of a bruise starting to form a few inches above her wrist.

  She holds her breath as I examine her, standing stiffly, ill at ease. She fixes her eyes on the floor between us instead of boldly looking me in the face. It feels strange having her look so stiff in my presence. Luna is usually carefree and emotive. She’s the first to throw her arms around me and give me a kiss, it doesn’t matter who’s in the room watching. While I’m glad she understands the severity of our changed relationship, I miss the feel of her against me, her soft curves yielding against my muscles.

  I drop her hand. Though I battle internally over the pain I’ve caused her, there’s nothing I can or will do for her. In the end, I’ll have to do much worse.

  She shocks me when she steps back into my path, blocking me. She brings her hand up to my chest automatically, but quickly snatches it away, cradling it against herself, remembering how I broke it in the shower. I slash her a severe look, but she refuses to get out of my way.

  “Please, Andres,” she says softly, her eyes still trained on the ground. “Can we talk?”

  Though her pose is submissive I feel my ire begin to rise at her presumption. She dares to try to force this conversation? Now, when I’m angry and unstable? I grip her good arm and give her a shake, forcing her eyes to snap up to mine. “You really want to talk about this, esposa? Here? Now?” I ask, spitting out the word ‘wife’ in our shared language. Fear flares bright in her gorgeous, dark eyes. “You want to discuss why you ran away from our marriage? Why you stole my children from me and put them in danger?”

  My voice rises with each accusation and she flinches in my hold, straining away from me. I allow her no escape, no relief from my presence. I jerk her closer, until her breasts are touching my chest. I grit my teeth against the feeling of her peaked nipples grazing me as her panicked breaths make them rub up and down rapidly. I expect her to back down. Instead, she tosses her wild hair over her shoulder, tilts her chin up and meets my eyes.

  “Sí, esposo, I do.” She stresses the word husband, and despite my anger I feel some admiration for her daring. Though soft and sweet, my Luna still has a backbone. “There are things you need to know,” she says breathlessly, clearly trying to get the words out, but having difficulty. “Things you won’t like but need to hear anyway.”

  I close my eyes for a moment and breath deep, willing the erratic beat of my heart to slow. Telling myself that this is why we’re here. I’d wanted an explanation, wanted to see her suffer. Why put off the inevitable?

  I release her and step back, shoving a hand through my hair. “Fine, speak,” I spit. “Let’s get this bullshit over with.” Then I pin her with my gaze and point a finger at her, my trigger finger, tattooed with Los Zetas. “But know this, sweetheart. It won’t make a difference. You fucked up, and you will pay for it.”

  She nods and whispers, “I know.”

  I drop into the lounge chair, taking the only surface in the room and leaving her to stand. I ease back and spread my arms in a careless gesture. “Then speak.”

  She crosses one arm protectively over her stomach and brings her other hand up to her lip to lick at her thumb, a subconscious gesture. She won’t chew on the nail, she doesn’t want to make it ragged for the woman who does her manicure. I shake my head and lift my lip in a snarl. It’s time to stop noticing these things about her.

  “Speak!” I thunder, causing her to jump.

  Tears fill her eyes and she stammers, “O-okay.” She crosses both arms against her stomach. A tear escapes her eye and trickles down her cheek. She lifts a shoulder to rub it off on her T-shirt. “I mostly left for Cristo.”

  I stare at her, my mind blank. I don’t know what to say for a moment. I try to understand what she means but come up with nothing. Our son has every possible comfort. Loving parents, loving uncles, an adoring baby sister, more money than he can possibly spend in several lifetimes. What does our son have to do with Luna’s selfish choices? It makes no sense.

  She must read some of the confusion on my face because she says simply, “He will become a Los Zetas, no?”

  And just like that her every action in the past week makes sense. Comes crashing in on me like the thundering of the hell’s horsemen. She was protecting our children. From me. From my brothers, his uncles. From the only life Cristo could ever know. My chest aches once again as I stare at her. She sacrificed everything for our son. She did wrong, but she had the best intentions when she did it. And she gave up her life.

  A sob leaves her lips as she stares back at me and for the first time in weeks, maybe even months we connect. Shared understanding. She was protecting our son from the life that took my soul, the life that I was never protected from. Not from my parents, not from my brothers, not from anyone but my wife. She is the only person who has tried time and again to pull me from the darkness.

  I stand, pushing myself from the chair and walk toward her. She backs up so quickly her back strikes the wall behind her with enough force to knock the wind from her. She gasps and tries to slide sideways, terror now filling her eyes. She’s uncertain of her fate. She should be frightened. Her admission means nothing, changes nothing. Except how I feel about what I have to do.

  I grip her shoulders, taking in her beautiful tear-drenched face, lift her chin, memorizing every inch of her loveliness. I want to remember her in this moment for all the years to come. This is my woman, my esposa, the mother of my children. My Luna. She has fought bravely for what she believes in.

  I drop to my knees in front of her, taking her hand in mine. I kiss the back of her hand, caressing the delicate flesh, feeling her fragile bones against my lips, flexing beneath her skin. She is now sucking in deep breaths of air, trying to fill her lungs. She brings her other hand up and presses it hard agains
t her chest. She looks down at me, her hair a golden-brown swirl tickling the top of my head as I bend to reach into my pocket. I take her ring out and slide it back onto her finger, right where it belongs. This ring is Luna. She lives with it, she dies with it.

  I look up at her, finally allowing myself to sink into those eyes, deeper than the darkest night. “You humble me.”

  12

  Luna

  He understands!

  Hope flares to brilliant life deep within me. My knees fold and I fall into his arms in an awkward heap. He catches me easily and holds me against his chest, pressing me tight against his heart, his hand at the back of my head. I sob into his neck, clinging to his shoulders. I do everything I’ve been longing to do. I breathe him in, taking in his familiar scent, loving that he smells like himself, even through so much time away from home.

  He rocks me in his lap for as long as I need, until I’m calm enough to talk more rationally. Then, with long, anxious pauses to check his expression, I talk to him. I tell him why I left. “You’d been gone for weeks longer than you were supposed to on that last job, your men had returned but you were nowhere in sight. I… I know you promised you wouldn’t touch the drug again, but when I hadn’t even heard from you, not even a single word…”

  “You should have trusted me, Luna.” His voice is hard and I shiver a little. I nod, silently cursing the self-doubts that seem to swamp me whenever I’m left to my own devices. “So what happened? That’s not why you left. You said you left for Cristo.”

  “Sí,” I agree, gripping his hand and interlacing our fingers. “I was desperate to know where you were, to make sure you weren’t making a mistake, going back on heroin. I tried to call Charlie, but I couldn’t reach him. I went to Alberto and asked him where you were, when he thought you’d be back.” She takes a quick, sharp breath in. “He told me to mind my own business, that I didn’t need to know. When I persisted he grabbed me and tried to shove me out the door. I still refused to go, dug my heels in and started yelling. You know how tenacious I can be. Then I threatened to call Charlie, tell him you were back on drugs.”

  I can feel the tension run through Andres and he growls, “Luna, you know better….”

  “I know,” I say hastily, cutting him off. I twist around to look up at him with pleading eyes. “But I would’ve said anything to get Alberto to talk to me. I knew he knew where you were. You guys are best friends.”

  “Were,” Andres snarls.

  “What do you mean?” I ask, frowning, but he shakes his head and shoves his chin forward for me to continue. “Okay… well, when I threatened to call Charlie he was pissed but he knew he had to give me something. So he told me you needed space. Said that you were dealing with the aftermath of the shit you guys’d done on that last job. I… I realized at that point it must’ve been pretty bad. I didn’t want to hear any more so I told him I understood and I tried to leave. He must’ve been angrier at me for busting in there than I thought because suddenly he was grabbing me, shaking me and yelling about the job, giving me information about things you guys had done. How you’d hunted and butchered a family of four, including ch-children. He just kept talking, telling me all the gory, disgusting details. I couldn’t stand it, Andres.”

  I know I’m talking too much now, too fast, but I can’t help it. I can remember the scene clearly, playing out in front of me. “I hit my knees and threw up all over the floor. He leapt back, finally let go of my arm. When I looked up at him he had this smug look on his face, like he was glad I was sick. I think he thought he was somehow punishing me for not knowing my place. For not staying at home and keeping house, waiting quietly for you like an obedient wife.”

  “Son of a bitch!” Andres explodes and I shudder in his arms as I feel the heat of his anger pour over me.

  I grip his arm and try to calm him a little. The story only gets worse from here. “I tried to stand but he came toward me again so instead I quickly crawled toward the door. It was still open, except for the screen. I reached for it and pulled myself up. He laughed and told me to get out, not to bother him again. I ran out the door and straight into Cristo. I nearly knocked him right into the dirt. He’d followed me over there and then stood by the door listening to our entire argument. Dios mio, Andres, I was so upset! I thought he would be stricken by what he heard.”

  “And was he?” Andres asks, his brows pulling down in a frown.

  “No!” The word bursts from me. I feel the ache in my heart and tears forming in my eyes once more as I remember our exchange. “He was simply worried that Alberto and I had been shouting and that I’d been sick. He didn’t care about anything else. I even asked him about the family, those children from the story. He said he understood that it was part of your job, that he knew you had to do things like that for work. I asked him how much he knew about papá’s work, if there were other things.”

  “What did he say?” his voice is grim now.

  “You know how smart our son is, Andres,” I say, my voice flat. “Figure it out for yourself.”

  His arms tighten a little, but all he says is, “Alberto is lucky he’s fucking dead. I would make him suffer for the pain he has caused my family.” A chill runs through me as I realize that Alberto has died. I didn’t particularly like him, but he was Andres’ best friend and second-in-command. He only ever tried to serve my husband loyally. “So you decided to leave,” Andres says, inviting me to continue speaking.

  I nod, tears clogging my throat. “I had to, this was Cristo’s legacy.”

  “Blood,” Andres agrees.

  “Death,” I whisper.

  He pulls me back against him and cradles me in his arms while I let the tears flow free down my cheeks. I speak, finishing the story of our flight. “I didn’t want to second guess my decision, didn’t want to raise Alberto’s suspicion or anyone else’s. People are used to my erratic behaviour, so, I left the nanny a note telling her we went on a last-minute shopping trip, went and grabbed Pedro, the only man I knew was stupid enough to betray you, emptied our safe and got us the hell out of there.”

  “You wanted to save our son,” Andres says quietly, pressing his lips against the top of my head.

  “Both of our children,” I correct him out, swiping at the tears and then clutching his arms. “Sola will marry into this life, she’ll watch her own children grow up and become immune to the violence. Cristo will go out, maim and murder. He’ll either crave the blood like some men or grow dark and distant. Neither path is bearable for a mother.”

  “Nor a father,” he murmurs.

  Yes, he understands.

  I slump against him, exhausted, my tears nearly at an end. I don’t think I have anything left in me. I am found again, safe in the arms of my husband. Perhaps I’ll have to return to the cartel, to the Los Zetas. Perhaps I’ll have to go on pretending that this life is acceptable. But maybe, just maybe, one day I’ll find a way out for me and my children. I love my husband more than anything on this planet, but my duty is to my babies. I fall asleep in his arms, thoughts of my family firm in my heart.

  13

  Andres

  Do it now.

  While she’s helpless, while she is lulled into a sense of peace. Do what you must before awareness returns with the understanding that nothing has changed.

  She sits on my lap, her back pushed against my chest, seeking comfort in the warmth of my body. Her tears have stopped and she’s fallen asleep, her breath caressing the hairs on my arm. Her fingers are entwined with mine. Beautiful long fingers beneath my thick, barbaric hand. A hand that has done so much damage.

  I lift my left hand and brush the hair from her face and neck. My wedding band glints in the rays of the sun filtering through the dusty window. Luna sighs, a soft trickle of warm air leaving her lush lips and raising goosebumps over the arm holding her head up. I trail my fingers down the side of her neck. Her head falls back into the crook of my right arm, giving me access to her fragile throat, as though inviting me to take the l
ife that must be sacrificed.

  Something pricks at my eyes and it takes me a moment to realize that these are tears. Since leaving childhood I have been driven to tears less than a handful of times. The thought of losing my wife is… unbearable, overwhelming. Life without her feels like a gaping black wound. I know that nothing will be same. As she remains peacefully asleep in my arms, I come to the realization that if we didn’t have children, I would follow her into death. I would do what needs to be done, then I would pull out my gun and eat a bullet.

  I know what this action would do to my brothers. They would be devastated, angry, vengeful. We are bonded, me and my hermanos. But not even death can separate blood. We will find each other again in the afterlife, wherever that is.

  Death can take my Luna. It can separate me and my love. And this is something that I contemplate like a knife to the heart. She is fragile, beautiful, a dreamer. She was never meant for the life that I forced on her. But she dealt with it in the only way my Luna knew how, with dignity and an open heart. She closed her eyes to the ugliness and tried to be the best mother and wife she could be. And she succeeded.

  It is her success that will be our downfall.

  I wrap my fingers around her throat and close my eyes, counting slowly in my head. When I get to ten I will squeeze. I will crush her fragile neck and kill her as quickly, as mercifully as I can. I tell myself that she will only feel it for a second, that even if she wakes up, she won’t know what’s happening. That she’ll still feel the warmth of her husband against her as he escorts her to heaven.

  One. Two.

  I clench my teeth to stop the tears, stop my lips from shaking.

  Three. Four.

  My chest squeezes so hard I can’t breathe.

  Five. Six.

  I flex my fingers out, away from her soft, yielding flesh.