Blaire's World: Volume One

by Box Set

  “One evening, my father took my little sister and my mother to a fancy party in Columbia,” he says, “but when they returned home, the only thing my parents brought back was a bag full of money.”

  So, that's why he has issues with men abusing young girls. It's because of his sister.

  My heart sinks. I have no idea why. I've never felt guilt for anyone before. No one but James and Maksim—and I only pity Maksim when he tells me stories of how his parents abused him.

  “I looked for Gina, but what I found wasn't her,” Charlie says, focusing on the chocolate. “You know the rest.”

  “You chopped off your father’s...you know?”

  Side-glancing at me, he nods. “Then I cut out my mother's heart and burned it.”

  I huff in agreement, crossing my arms. “I don't blame you for doing that. If anything, you should have made her death as slow and as painful as you made your father's.”

  He snaps his eyebrows together. “It doesn't bother you that I massacred my own parents?”

  “No,” I say honestly, confused as to why he'd think it would bother me. “Why would it bother me?”

  We're quiet after I say this, the conversation lingering, and Charlie is just looking at me with some strange emotion in his eyes.

  I'm glad it wasn't Maksim who ended Charlie's sister, but that doesn't make me feel any better about what I now know. I've never lost anyone before, so I can't comment on what it feels like. I only know what Maksim's told me. “Loss is like living in a black hole that's too deep to climb out of. Only time can make it smaller.”

  “Things are different in Mexico now,” Charlie says, breaking the silence. “None of my men deal in the underage sex trafficking industry. They know I'll cut off their nuts if they do.”

  “And what about girls who are of age? Why do you associate with men who force their prostitution?” There, I said it.

  Charlie gives me a sympathetic look. “I can't save the world, Blaire.”

  My chest aches as he says that, because he sounds like he really wishes he could.

  “As much as I'd like to, I'm still a criminal who has to take care of thousands of free men, so I have to draw a line between what darkness I will and will not accept. That's just the way it is for people in my line of work. You know that.” He continues talking about his men, how he pays for each of them to have a home, an education for their children, and hobbies for the wives while their husbands are away working. “Sometimes, we're gone for months, so I like to know that everyone back home is happy and looked after.”

  “That's really nice of you, Charlie,” I say, getting lost in him. “Do you handle things on your own? Your organization, I mean.”

  “No.” He smirks at me, slyness glowing in his eyes. “I've got two brothers.”

  I raise my eyebrows, stunned and impressed at once. Imagine that, three of Charlie?

  “Nicolas—or Nic, as everyone calls him—and Andres,” he says.

  “How old are you all?”

  “Andres is twenty-five and Nic is thirty-two.”

  I arch a brow at him.

  “I'm twenty-eight.”

  Twenty-eight. Wow.

  I study Charlie's face now. He looks about twenty-eight. He looks young, though with wisdom and intensity in his eyes.

  “What are your brothers like?” I say, blinking at him, still studying how handsome he is. I'm really interested in his brothers. I'm interested about how similar they all are.

  A large, devious smile spreads across Charlie's face. “Andres is like me. Nic is an egotistical, smutty bastard, though loyal to the bone.”

  “Are they both Los Zetas too?”

  “Yeah,” he whispers, looking right at me. “They trained with the military from thirteen, as I did, and were more than ready for the world's war when I took over the Los Zetas.”

  For hours, he tells me stories about how he and his brothers grew up in Mexico. They were all happy until his father left the army. Even after he ended his parents at just seventeen, he is as close as ever with his siblings.

  Night falls.

  Charlie gets up to make dinner, and I decide to help him. I peel and cut the carrots while he seasons the meat. We continue talking, standing side by side in the cooking space. He asks a few questions about me and how I grew up with Maksim. “You can carry on from the feelings you were telling me about if you want?”

  I tell him that I can't talk about it. “I'm sorry, Charlie.” But he's understanding. No, more than understanding. As if he never asked me anything at all, he returns to telling me more stories of his childhood.

  I can't ever remember a time when I felt so relaxed in someone's company. I'm not sure why I feel so at ease with Charlie, but I do, and I'm glad that I do. Things are better this way.

  22

  Four days of pure mental connection with Charlie, and my period ends.

  I'm so fucking glad that I could die of relief. My desire for him and my overly curious mind are back to a more manageable state, and I'm me again.

  We fall back into our routine of sparring at the crack of dawn and eating dinner at sunset, however, now, we have breakfast and lunch together. I pretty much spend all my time with Charlie. I have no idea how he ever makes time for work because he's always with me. Yes, he conducts calls during the daytime—or he does now that I'm done asking questions—but that's where his work seems to end. It's like his life revolves around me. Fuck knows why. I'll be gone in around six weeks’ time.

  I try not to think about that, this ending, because I've come to like living with Charlie. I've grown comfortable around him, used to him. I'm not sure how he's achieved making me feel like this, but he has, and I'm thankful. When he first took me from Maksim, my life was turned upside down. There wasn't a single moment of peace in my days. I was always anxious about him and what he might do to me. Now, I look forward to seeing him. I'm at peace all the time. I wake feeling refreshed and rested, and I spend my days in what I can only describe as contentment. There's no carnage with Charlie. There's no brutality. There's no walking on egg shells. There is just this.

  Even in the gym, like now, we're sparring and I'm not focusing on all my natural combat senses. I don't feel the need to with him anymore, and he knows. He tells me that he knows and asks why. “What's changed?”

  I shrug at him, my chest rising and falling with heavy pants because we've been going at it for over an hour straight.

  “Here.” He passes me a towel, so I can wipe my sweaty face. The soft material is cold because it's been lying over our bottles of water, and it smells like Charlie.

  “Do you know what I reckon?” he says, helping me out of the ring by holding my hands.

  Standing up to him, I say with a smirk, “What do you reckon, Charlie?” And I pass back the towel.

  He drapes it over the ring ropes and puts an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his side where he's warm and damp. He's never done this before. It makes my stomach flutter.

  “I reckon you like me now,” he says in my ear, walking me toward the exit doors. “And not just a little bit.”

  “Well, sure I do.” Tipping my head back, I frown up at him. That's hardly rocket science.

  As if he's accomplished a great goal, he grins, then he squeezes me against his side. “It took long enough,” he says, laughter lingering under his tone. “But you're worth the wait.”

  Now, my stomach is going like crazy. Does he really mean that?

  Reaching the doors, he pushes them open with his other hand and urges me onward with him. It's a little awkward to walk with him like this, under his arm, but I don't mind. I enjoy his affections.

  “I've gotta go away this weekend for business,” he says. “You want to come with me?”

  Today is the day I discover that he does things other than phone calls, it seems, and I will confess, I'm glad he's offered me the chance to go with him. I want to be around him all the time since that change happened between us. He's not at all like Maksim. He tal
ks to me, spends time with me for things other than jobs, and he's never physically hurt me for being rude or insulting.

  The fact that he's never hurt me has sealed the deal for me taking a liking to him. He could have tried to condition me with brutality, but he hasn't. I think that was his initial plan, to beat me into being loyal to him, but somewhere along the way he's changed his mind. I don't understand why. I don't care to understand why. All I do understand, all I do know, is I like Charlie, and I doubt anything could sway my mind from that now.

  “If you want me to go with you,” I say softly, as we reach the bottom of the staircase, “then sure.”

  “Don't you get tired of that?”

  I turn out from under his arm and walk up a few steps, putting us at eye level.

  “Of what?” I grip the banister, mentally holding his blue gaze.

  “People pleasing,” he says, folding his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall with one shoulder. “Don't you ever just want to do what you want to do, hmm?”

  My features scrunch up.

  “Well, for example”—he stares at my mouth as I lick my lips—“don't you want to eat what you fancy rather than what people tell you to eat? Don't you have taste preferences for food?”

  I still don't get him, and he seems to know.

  “Okay. How about this, do you want to come with me this weekend or stay here?” He lifts a steady hand to cut me off from interrupting him. “It's a simple question. And don't ask what I want. I'm only interested in what you want.”

  “Well, yes, I guess I'd like to come.” I focus on my fingers stroking over the glossy banister outlay. “I've been stuck in this house for nearly two months.”

  “I know you have.” He sounds almost sorry, reaches out and gives my other hand a squeeze, causing everything in me to tighten. “That's partly why I want you to come with me. I also need to get some food, so you can come shopping with me and tell me what you want to eat. You can have whatever you want.”

  The penny drops, and I can't help this horrid sinking feeling that washes over me.

  He's only interested in what I want. I can have whatever I want. That's bullshit. Men like him don't put women before themselves.

  I give Charlie this look, silently telling him that I know what he's up to with this emotional bonding. I haven't really noticed it much before today. I've been too focused on fancying him and connecting with him. But now, I know. I don't know how I've suddenly realized his agenda, but I have. Him spending time with me, telling me about his sister and his brothers, letting me listen in on his phone calls, the sweet gestures, the way he looks at me. It all adds up to this.

  “What?” he says, pulling his eyebrows together.

  “I know what you're doing, Charlie.” I school my attention on my fingers again, so I don't chicken out of telling him what I think. “I know you're trying to emotionally bond me to you.”

  He scoffs, but not out of anger. He sounds conquered. “I think we're both a bit past that now, don't you?”

  I don't answer Charlie. Not even when he cocks his head to the side, and says, “Are you ever gonna open up to me about how you feel?”

  Turning on my heel, I go upstairs and spend the rest of the morning alone, a little pissed off but more confused than anything.

  I try to focus on mentally preparing for London—it's been so long since I was in the city and it reminds me of Maksim in so many ways—but I can't focus. I can't stop deliberating over how Charlie responded to my opinion about the emotional bonding. What did he mean by, I think we're both a bit past that now, don't you? I'm almost certain he means he's accomplished his goal with me, but I'm just not sure. Or maybe I don't want to believe that's the answer.

  I wrack my brain for hours, while taking a shower and dressing, but I don't come up with a better explanation than his agenda, and that hurts in a way I've never felt before.

  I consider asking him what he meant, hoping he'll tell me the truth, but when he comes into my room, dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved red sweater, my thoughts blank.

  “You've had a shower?” he says, opening the armoire. He's holding a duffle bag in one hand.

  I nod at him, climb into the middle of my bed, and cross my legs, watching him with caution.

  “We'll be gone for a few days,” he's speaking to the armoire, “but just in case business drags, I'll pack you some extra clothes.”

  “What business do you have to sort out in London?”

  He gathers around four days’ worth of clothes for me and folds them in the duffle bag. “First, I need to see Maksim.”

  “Maksim?” I say, my eyes widening. “You-you want me to come with you while you see Maksim?”

  “No.” He glances back and laughs fondly at me. “You can stay at the hotel while I pay him a visit.” He then says something about meeting up with his men, but I'm not really paying attention. I'm too fucking nervous about running into Maksim while with Charlie. How uncomfortable will that be?

  Strolling across my room, Charlie puts the bag on my bed. “Once everything is taken care of, we can go out for dinner if you want? Then we can go dancing or go see a movie.”

  I don't think about the whole dinner and dancing-movie thing. I couldn't even if I wanted to.

  “What is it, Blaire?” Holding my questioning gaze, Charlie gives me his full attention.

  “Why haven't you seen him, already?” I hide my hands in the sleeves of my sweater. “I thought you were meeting up with him a week after you took me?”

  I remember Maksim saying on the night Charlie took me, I'll see you in a week or so, Charlie.

  “I've been enjoying my time with you.” Charlie sits next to me, causing me to sink into his side because the bed dips. He looks down at me, his eyes too blue. “I've not wanted to leave.”

  My chest does that odd squeezy thing as he says that. How strange that we both feel the same?

  Or do we, really?

  “Do you want to come with me for the weekend?” he asks, his eyes flickering between mine. “Blaire?”

  “What did you mean by, you think we're a bit past that now?” There, I asked him, and I feel better for it.

  There's a moment where we stare at each other. I'm beckoning him to just tell me the fucking truth. He's very deadpan.

  “I've got feelings for you,” he says in time, sounding really sincere. “What'd you think I meant?”

  “Oh.” I blink at him all cross-eyed, my cheeks blazing. I never expected him to say that. “I don't know what I thought you meant. I guess I just...” Shaking my head, I stop this conversation with, “Never mind.”

  “Oh'kay,” he says, skeptical. He then touches a length of hair on my shoulder and runs his fingers down it. “Do you want to come to London with me then, hmm?”

  I shake my head minutely, dropping my gaze. I don't want to be anywhere near Maksim while living with Charlie. It's too weird. What if Maksim calls me over or something? Would I need to ask Charlie for permission?

  Fuck, this is so uncomfortable.

  “S’all right, Blaire.” He gives my foot a squeeze, making my toes curl against his hand. “If you want to stay here, then you can. I've told you many times that you can do whatever you want to do while living with me.”

  Closing my eyes, I breathe out with relief. That was easier than I thought it would be.

  “Do you want me to bring anything back for you?” he says softly. “Do you need anything?”

  I try to focus on my needs but I can't—my head is swimming—so I shrug.

  “All right,” he whispers.

  “Will you be okay going on your own?” I ask, a sickening feeling of worry coming over me. What if something happens to him, and I'm not there to protect him?

  He flashes me his most doting smile. “I'll be fine, Blaire. All my men will be around.”

  “At the hotel too?”

  He nods.

  That eases my worry a little, though I'm still nervous something might happen to him. Maybe
I should just go with him? But what if we bump into Maksim?

  I frown to myself, conflicted.

  Though I'm clearly acting awkward, Charlie isn't. He gets up, leans over, and kisses me on the head, sending some strange feelings through my chest.

  “Here's the key for the white Range Rover.” He pulls it out of his jeans pocket and puts it on the bed beside me. “There's money under the driver's seat, so if you want to go out for anything or if you want to get takeout, spend it. There's a few takeout menus in the drawer under the coffee machine. To leave, the gate code is four sevens, two ones, and nine.”

  I smile at him, mentally bidding him goodbye.

  He leaves for two days. I count every minute.

  23

  Day one alone: I wake feeling relatively normal—I guess because I'm subconsciously expecting breakfast to be made and waiting for me in the oven. It isn't of course, so I thoroughly beat a few eggs, season in salt and pepper, melted butter and double cream, and scramble them in a hot frying pan with a drizzle of olive oil. It feels peculiar to be cooking again, but it all comes back to me.

  After pouring a coffee, I take my breakfast to the table where I find a military style laptop and a note. Holding my plate in one hand, I put down the coffee and lift the note to my eyes.

  Thought I'd leave this out for you. The password is Decena-in-numbers, literally.

  X

  A warm feeling spreads through my chest at the sight of Charlie's note. Yes, it's brief, but it feels like he's here as I read it.

  I run my thumb over that X, wondering what it means. I soon learn it's not part of the password because I type it in and get a warning.

  Sitting up at the table under the warm sunshine beaming in through the windows, heating up my back, I eat my breakfast while reading over the note a few times, chewing slowly because I'm concentrating. He's left this out to keep me occupied, just like he did with the newspapers. I smile for so long that my cheeks ache, but then I roll my eyes. I've officially lost it, become a hormonal female statistic, and I suddenly feel like I've been too judgmental of women. I've always mocked their weakness when it comes to men, the whole 'deer in headlights' stare and stuttering over words. But now, I get it. Even while I'm not actually that silly yet, I get it.