by Box Set
But then… I realize, Andres will love me no matter what I look like. He’s not shallow. He’s amazing and incredible. I wonder what kind of drugs I’m on. Morphine maybe?
The only thing that doesn’t annoy me in all this floaty bullshit is a scent, a smell underneath the sharp sterile hospital scent that overrides everything. It’s comforting, it’s Andres. He’s always there with me, floating through this awful nightmare. He never leaves. Sometimes he’s touching me, holding my left hand. Sometimes he’s just nearby, snoring softly. For a long time, perhaps days, he doesn’t say anything.
Just when I think he’s so angry that he’s stopped speaking to me, he picks up my left hand again and he squeezes it. I try to squeeze back, try to tell him I can feel him, that I’m here with him, but I’m too exhausted to make my fingers work. He’ll just have to trust that I know he’s there. I smile internally when he leans close, his scent rushing over my face. I can feel his lips brushing my ear as he speaks.
He says, “Luna, mi amor, you must listen to me. Your life depends on this. We took the children to Havana for vacation but decided to send them back home to Mexico with their nanny. Then you and I came here to Spain for a second honeymoon. You were restless, couldn’t sleep and wanted a midnight snack. You decided to leave, even though you should’ve known better. You accidentally put the car in reverse and you don’t remember anything after that. This accident happened because you sometimes make stupid, impetuous decisions.” I hear his voice catch and he stops speaking for a moment. His hand tightens on mine until the pressure is almost too much, but I don’t think he realizes. His voice is deep and firm when he speaks again. “You were badly hurt, baby. These bad decisions, they have led us to this moment. I will take steps to ensure this doesn’t happen again, that I have your compliance, but you will have to help us both by being a good girl, by being the best. You must never step out of line again. All of your free passes have been used up. You understand?”
Yes, I understand. He can’t protect me forever. If he’s not around to step in for me again, then someone else might. His family, the Los Zetas, someone else less forgiving than the man who’s hopelessly, irrevocably in love with me.
I know that now is the time to connect, to reach for him, so I gather as much strength as I can and I open my eyes. At first, I can see nothing except streaks of bright lights stabbing my fragile vision. For one horrible moment I think I am dead and I got it all wrong, but then I blink a few times and squint my eyes. Gradually things come into focus. I can see a TV in the corner of the room, a table, a door. I look to the side and I see my husband bent over my arm, his forehead touching the back of my hand, as though he’s praying over me.
“Andres,” I whisper.
His head snaps up so fast I nearly get dizzy with the movement and if I had enough energy I would smile at the look of disbelief and delight mixed on his face. Relief slides through me as his eyes fill with tears of emotion. He’s happy that I’m awake.
There are so many things I want to tell him, that I love him, that I need him, that I’ll never betray him again, but I don’t have the strength. And I suspect I don’t have enough time. His family will arrive soon. Instead I try to tell him this wealth of information in just two words when I whisper, “I understand.”
He studies my face for long moments. I don’t know exactly what he sees. I try not to think about what a mess I must be. Finally, he leans over, smooths the hair off my forehead and kisses me. As I drift back to sleep, a feeling of peace settles over me. Nothing has changed. My husband is still cartel, I am married to cartel and one day our son will become cartel, our daughter will marry into cartel. But all of this…? Is it out of my control.
EPILOGUE
Six months later
Andres
“Mama!” Cristo and Sola throw themselves into Luna’s arms as she hits her knees in the dirt outside our home at The Site, heedless of the damage she’s doing to her silk trousers. I think she said they were Valentino or something. I don’t usually pay attention to the brands unless they’re sexy enough that I want her to do a little extra shopping.
I chuckle as she lands kisses all over their faces, tries to answer the questions they’re peppering her with while pulling gifts from the bags she’s carrying. I know they will notice me in a few minutes once they get over their initial mama obsession. Though we passed off that late night mad dash Miami boat ride as a vacation, the children know better. They felt the tension, the fear. They remember Luna’s tears, her cries as they were being hauled away. Cristo is particularly protective of Luna now. He watches her like a hawk and becomes grumpy when she needs to leave for more than a day. He was unbearable the days leading up to this recent vacation when he learned that they wouldn’t be accompanying us.
Luna and I went on a real second honeymoon. She decided she wanted to go back to that house in Spain. I didn’t understand why, thought it would have too many traumatic memories. Thought if we were going to do anything we should burn the place to the ground and then spend the rest of our trip in Mallorca. Instead she’d decorated the damn place, purchasing ridiculous amounts of furnishings online and having them shipped overnight. My wife proved that if you throw enough money around you can have anything shipped anywhere in a truly impressive short period of time.
Once she redecorated the house in Spain it looked completely different. Even the land felt less barren after I’d walked it daily with Luna at my side. She would chatter incessantly in her sexy, slightly husky voice about ridiculous, unnecessary things while I fell a little more in love with her. This was the first time since her accident that I felt like I had my beautiful girl back. True to her word, after we’d returned to Mexico, after her stay in the hospital, she’d become a model wife and mother. She didn’t put a single toe out of line. To my eyes she became so subdued that my heart ached for the old Luna, the woman with moonshine in her eyes and mischief in her smile. I don’t think the difference was detectable to anyone but me though. It was a relief to get her alone in Spain, where we could be ourselves once more.
My ulterior motive in taking Luna away from The Site was to have her outfitted with a tracking device by a doctor known only to me. Of course, there’s always a chance that word could get back to my family. If this happens we’ll tell them I was worried over her safety, that I want to know where she is at all times in case she’s ever grabbed. Unfortunately, in our line of business we have enemies, and Luna does enjoy her shopping trips and vacations. But in reality, I will now be able to track her every movement. I will know the moment she’s in a place she’s not supposed to be.
I remember explaining the procedure to her. I flew the doctor into a private clinic in Spain where he met us. I thought she would finally crack, finally lose her temper with the restrictions I have piled on since our time in Spain, since her flight with the children. But she didn’t say a single word.
She simply sat silently through the procedure, her eyes dimming a little more. I could read her thoughts, feel her hopelessness for the future. Later, when we got back to the house there was an edge of desperation to her. I could feel her need to be alone, sink into her grief, but I wouldn’t allow it. She belongs to me, even her despair is mine. She resisted when I pulled her into my arms, turning her face away from me, pushing her hands against my chest.
I gripped her chin and forced her to look at me. Her dark eyes glittered with defiance and I grinned savagely down at her. This is the woman I want, the passionate, vivacious Luna that I fell in love with the moment I saw her. Even if I can’t have her all the time any more.
“Do you love me, Luna?” I demanded. There could be only one answer to my question, we both know it. Still, when she hesitated I tightened my hold until I knew it hurt, knew her excitement was increasing with mine. Since our explosive time here our sexual encounters have grown darker, edgier.
“Sí,” she finally snapped, her face reflecting her rising passion and anger. She reached up and grabbed my cheeks, dragging my
head down to hers. Against my lips, she whispered, “You are my everything, Andres.”
THE END
ABOUT NIKITA SLATER
www.nikitaslater.com
Nikita Slater is the International Bestselling dark romance author of the Fire & Vice series, Angels & Assassins series, The Queens series and several standalone novels. Her favourite genre is mafia romance, the bloodier the better, though she loves to write about every subject under the sun. She lives on the beautiful Canadian prairies with her twelve-year-old son and two crazy awesome dogs. She has an unholy affinity for books (especially erotic romance), wine, pets and anything chocolate. Despite some of the darker themes in her books (which are pure fun and fantasy), Nikita is a staunch feminist and advocate of equal rights for all races, genders and non-gender specific persons. When she isn't writing, dreaming about writing or talking about writing, she helps others discover a love of reading and writing through literacy and social work.
ramatic suspense.
Thanks for reading. I hope you’ve enjoyed LUNA & ANDRES. If you could leave an honest review on Amazon and/or Goodreads, I’ll be forever grateful.
Keep turning the pages to read the bonus extra: B L A I R E.
BLAIRE
The Dark Romance Series: Part 1
WHERE BLAIRE’S WORLD BEGAN
by
A N I T A G R A Y
Top 100 Amazon Bestselling Author
1
I walk through Maksim's strip club like a ghost, under streaming red lights that flash in tune with the pounding music. The air smells potent with sweaty bodies and cheap perfume, a mixture of men and women.
Just how my master likes it.
Everything I see moves through my mind's eye in slow motion, my brain carefully and collectively scanning for danger. There isn't much out of the ordinary going on tonight. A few regulars line the stage in the center of the club, all unaware of my presence.
I know why.
They're too focused on the strippers, beautiful European girls leisurely peeling off their clothes. I'm wearing the usual: black sports trousers, trainers, and a thin black leather jacket over a long-sleeved sweater. Not exactly arousing attire but this is how I like it, being under the radar.
The strippers are the only people who do notice my presence. As I pass the stage, they each scowl with obvious loathing. I understand their loathing. I'm the only girl in Maksim's inner circle, and this lot—the strippers—hate it. They wonder why. They've always wondered why.
No danger here.
“Is Cэp Maksim back there?” I ask a member of security in Russian, gesturing at the door he's standing in front of like The Great Wall of Man.
“Yes,” he says in Russian, pale eyes empty of emotion. “He's been waiting for you.”
I nod, aware I'm an hour late. I'm never usually late as I know poor punctuality results in a good bloody hiding. But my phone was on silent by accident, so I didn't hear Maksim’s text message.
The security guy pushes open the heavy door and stands aside. I saunter down the red hall, turn left, and knock on Maksim's office door three times. The knocks echo, carrying over the music booming through the walls.
“Come in, My Little Pet,” Maksim says through the intercom system in his thick Russian drawl, making me shiver with awareness.
His voice brings my entire body to attention.
Pushing with both palms, I force the door to creak open and go inside.
Maksim isn't alone.
I don't react—I never react to surprises. I briefly look to see who is accompanying my master, and though it's quite dark in here, I'm very aware of the powerful blue eyes watching me from the leather couch by the left wall; eyes that seem to be all over my body at once.
Sharp little hairs race down my arms and legs.
I haven't seen him before.
The notion that he's a stranger puts me on guard because Maksim rarely allows strange faces in his circle—let alone in his office.
I stop before the wide desk and fold my hands behind my back, feeling sheathed in darkness. Maksim only has the desk lamp on and that isn't exactly bright. It just about illuminates his diamond-shaped, iron face.
“You are late, My. Little. Pet,” he says each word with significant and singular meaning, speaking in Russian.
My blood runs cold when he's like this, mulling over something other than business. Today, it seems it's my timekeeping.
I keep focus, my gaze level and on him slouching back in his chair. He's a striking man with steady, expressionless golden eyes, and shoulder-length dark brown hair that smells like brut from the candles he burns. I remember the scent well.
I remember the feeling of his hair on my face when he cuddles me after a beating.
“My phone was accidentally on silent,” I say, and my voice is low, as per usual. “I’m sorry, Cэp Maksim.” I offer him a little head-bow of respect.
Leaning forward and resting his elbows on the desk, he entwines his fingers together, holding my gaze with soul consuming eyes. “No more keeping your phone on silent, Blaire.”
I flinch subconsciously, stepping back. He only calls me by my given name when I've done something wrong, and that usually means trouble for me is brewing.
Maksim cocks a brow at me. “You got that?”
I nod, taking his warning seriously. I might be in his inner circle, but it takes just one bullet to remove me.
“What have you been doing for the past few days?” he asks in Russian, his tone husky and utterly terrifying.
“Nothing much,” I whisper in our language, squeezing my hands together on the low of my back. “I've been training, of course, went to the salon yesterday, and I went out to a club last night.”
“Yes”—he tips his head—“my men saw you driving through the countryside. Did you have fun?”
I shake my head, being honest. “I was just getting out of the apartment, Cэp Maksim.”
“Of course, My Little Pet. Of course. Though, next time you want to visit a club, you come here.” He taps his desk with one finger. “You do not have to travel to strange places to have fun.”
This is a shame. I like visiting strange places when I’m alone, since everything in my life is a consistent bloodbath with the people and the work I execute. Sometimes, I just like a change of scenery.
I guess, at his command, I don't like visiting strange places anymore.
“Okay.” I lift my lips in a forced, wary smile. “As you wish.”
Maksim acknowledges my obedience with a returned smile. Then he gestures to the right, to the man sitting on the couch, and I know the conversation about my last two days is over.
“My Little Pet,” he's speaking in English now, “meet my old friend, Mr. Decena.”
Old friend?
It takes a lot of effort not to frown.
I've been with Maksim for ten years, and I've never seen or heard of a Mr. Decena.
I look at Maksim's friend with my face blank of sentiment. Above him, a long tube light attached to the wall flickers on, buzzing with electricity, illuminating a tall, muscular frame.
“No matter what happens here tonight,” Maksim says in sly Russian, “you are ordered not to challenge him.”
The back of my neck pricks.
Maksim never orders me to stand down.
Though nervous, I obey without question, nodding to show I understand his command. I then study Mr. Decena, surprised by how relaxed he is in his pose, sitting there in the middle of the couch with one arm draped over the back, long legs stretched out in front of him.
This is bizarre. No one is ever that relaxed in Maksim's company.
I reckon Mr. Decena is in his late twenties. He looks young, wearing fitted jeans, tanned boots, and a black round-neck t-shirt that boasts solid muscles. He's nothing at all like my master who favors suits, but Maksim has a tall, athletic body for them. They are wearing similar watches on their left wrists with thick silver straps, but that's where their similarities e
nd.
“Mr. Decena would like to ask you some questions,” Maksim says.
I nod in response, still studying the relaxed pawn. Unruly, ink black hair curls around his neck and face, abating a strong, square, clean-shaven jawline, and a blade of a nose. His black eyebrows are thick and long, framing prevailing blue eyes that stand against his naturally tan skin. He's a good looking man, and judging by that lazy, narcissistic expression on his face, he’s aware of it. He fancies himself.
He stares me up and down with slow meditation, taking in all my features from head to toe, and I'm suddenly so uncomfortable that my stomach knots.
I can't really explain why, but he makes me feel naked to the bone.
I shift on my feet, trying to iron out my anxiety. That’s when a smirk lifts the side of Mr. Decena's lips; a mischievous smirk full of promise.
“What do I call you, Señorita?” he asks, his voice deep yet calm. He's American but there's a sprinkle of Latin in his accent. “My Little Pet, or Blaire?”
Maksim nods to tell me I can answer.
“Blaire,” I say.
There's a split second of silence before Mr. Decena tells me, “All right, you can call me Charlie.”
Maksim's eyebrows shoot up, but he doesn't say anything.
Another period of silence follows, then Charlie rasps out my name, drumming his fingers against the back of the couch. “Blaire, as in, field of battle?”
I scrunch up my face, unable to stop myself. What's he talking about?
Maksim chuckles under his breath like he's confirming something.