Shooting Scars: The Artists Trilogy 2

by Karina Halle

  “You think I don’t know how to handle you?” he groaned into my ear. “Well I’m handling you now.”

  I brought my hands up to my throat, trying to pry his fingers off.

  “Stop,” I managed to eke out.

  “You don’t tell me when to stop,” he grunted.

  I decided elbowing him in the chest was better.

  He let go of my neck and I collapsed onto the bed, trying to breathe, my throat tender and sore. He pressed down on me, keeping me flattened. “Angel?”

  I coughed, not able to speak yet. What the fuck just happened?

  “Angel, I thought you were tougher than that,” he said, his voice a tad apologetic. He put his hand underneath my stomach, rubbing my clit. But the moment was gone and for once my body was responding to my head.

  “I couldn’t breathe,” I said, trying to turn over. He hesitated, as if deciding whether or not to let me move, then he backed off, pulling out of me. His eyes flashed in a mix of lust and concern, an odd combination for anyone but not for him.

  He leaned back, sitting upright and pulled me on top of him, my legs going around his middle. He cupped my face in his hands. “I’m sorry. I should have been more … considerate.”

  You scared me, I wanted to say. Instead I nodded, wanting to forget the whole thing.

  “Oh, my beautiful Ellie,” he whispered once he noted the expression on my face. He kissed me gently. “There I am talking about how you give me a soul and then I go and do a thing like that. I’ll need to take it slow with you, won’t I? Build up your tolerance, until you are strong enough for me.”

  I frowned. One minute I was strong, the next minute I wasn’t. “I am strong enough for you.”

  He smiled delicately. “We’ll see. For now, I’ll fuck you gently.”

  Then he lifted me up around my waist and lowered me onto his shaft. Javier was nothing but precise.

  We fucked sitting up, me riding him in waves, long enough for me to forget, for my thoughts to disappear, for the confusion to lift. We were only our bodies, only our lust, and, maybe, just maybe, only two tortured souls.

  The next morning, he and I had breakfast on the balcony. Raul and Peter totally knew what was up after we’d spent most of the evening locked in our bedroom. I was never good about being quiet in bed. Now that it was out in the open, Javier was being very affectionate and physical with me.

  Especially around Raul. The moment the slime-ball stepped out on the balcony to join us, Javier’s arm went right around my shoulder. I was glad for it, looking straight at Raul, daring him to do or say something. I wanted him to. I wanted him gone. And, I figured I’d have that happen one day.

  I don’t know if it was my upbringing or a sick sense of romance, but I had to admit, that despite everything, there was something incredibly … thrilling … about having Javier’s affections so publicly. Here was a man with an empire, one of the most dangerous drug lords, someone with immense power and sway, and there I was, the apple of his eye. I felt a little like Michelle Pfeiffer in Scarface … although that movie didn’t really end well for anyone.

  So what was going through my head then? Did I really think that we could off Travis and I’d be with Javier? Was that what I even wanted, to be his queen, his consort at his side?

  I didn’t know what I wanted anymore. I didn’t have anything and the longer I was in Mexico with Javier, the more hazy my future became. I’d wanted to be good, to be better than I once was and even though I was trying, even though I’d been blackmailed into this whole mess, I felt like I was kidding myself. The future I had with Camden was gone, a daydream that was ripped away when I stepped inside Javier’s SUV. That me, that Ellie Watt with her new hopes and fresh starts must have died that day.

  Maybe I never really was trying. Maybe I’d been kidding myself this whole time. Maybe a con artist from a family of con artists can’t really change.

  Maybe I had to accept that I really wasn’t good and I deserved someone as bad as me.

  I’d start at the nightclub. Javier had gone out in the afternoon to get me clothes, coming back with a lovely, albeit skanky, dress. It reminded me a little bit of Camden dressing me in Vegas, the way his strong hands had put me in that scrap of material that hugged my every curve and made me feel invincible with his fresh ink on my leg.

  No, I told myself sharply. I had to stop thinking that way. The past had to be buried. There was no Camden anymore.

  Javier suggested I curl my hair into ringlets, producing a curling iron he picked up along the way. Dark smoky green eye shadow. Pale pink lips. He’d gotten everything for me.

  By the time I was ready, I had to admit that even I thought I’d get a few looks at the club. The dress was floor-length, bright tomato red, slit to my navel. It showed off the tan I’d gotten while on the boat.

  “You look amazing,” he said as I stood in front of the mirror, hugging me from behind. Our reflection together startled me. I didn’t recognize myself staring back. I looked sleek and powerful, like I should have maybe had that crown on my head. Javier’s eyes in the mirror were bright like laser beams and he was staring at himself, not me.

  It was a bit unnerving.

  “I do?” I asked him.

  He broke his stare with his reflection and smiled at me, kissing my neck.

  “Yes. I want nothing more than to come on every single inch of that dress. Let you wear it out to the club like that, so everyone will know you’re mine.”

  “I think that would scare Travis away.”

  “No. He’d want the challenge.” Suddenly he gripped my hand and spun me around to face him. “Angel, please don’t sleep with him tonight. I’d like to keep you as my possession for just a bit longer. I want to be the only one inside you.”

  I was taken aback. “Believe me, if I can get the job done without doing that, I will. I don’t even think I’ll survive looking at him.” My lungs were caving in at the thought. “Javier, I’m scared. I’m really, really scared.”

  He studied my face for a moment, a sort of amused glint in his eyes. “I know you are. But take your fear and own it. This is your choice. Make your fear work for you. Make it, how you would say, your bitch.”

  He kissed me, soft and sweet, then smacked my ass hard enough to sting.

  “Come on, you’re distracting me. I have to get ready.”

  He grabbed his clothes from the closet and started stripping. His erection was pretty obvious. I raised my brow at it.

  “I told you that you looked amazing,” he explained with a shrug. He put on his pale jeans and dark, wrinkled t-shirt with a nondescript logo. On his head was another baseball cap, this one blue and white, the Toronto Blue Jays. We couldn’t have looked more different but it’s what he had to wear while driving me. He wasn’t going to come out of the car since we couldn’t take any chances, especially around Travis’s club. He had a full on purple and yellow eye now and his lip was still swollen. But it seemed that no one batted an eye at that anyway, not in this town.

  “Are you ready?” he asked me. I shook my head vehemently. No, I was not.

  He dipped his chin and then took my hand, leading me out of the bedroom to the living area where Raul and Peter were.

  “Very nice,” Peter said through his thick accent.

  I gave him an appreciative smile, ignoring Raul entirely. I knew he was looking though, because of the way Javier’s hand tightened at my waist.

  “Let’s get you a stiff drink before we go, okay.” He led me to the kitchen and poured a very large amount of tequila in a glass.

  “Where’s my lime and salt?” I asked, eyeing it down.

  “Lime and salt are for children and women.”

  I raised the glass. “I’m a woman.”

  “You’re Ellie Watt,” he said. “Drink up.”

  I shot it back in several attempts, coughing between each one. I felt a lot better, really fast.

  “Normally, I’d suggest you drink the whole bottle,” Javier said once we were i
n the car, pulling his cap further down on his head, the wisps of his shaggy hair sticking out the sides. “But you’re going to need your wits about you tonight.”

  Yet, I was already scared witless.

  It was around ten PM when we pulled into Veracruz, and despite the daily bloodshed, the city seemed vibrant with lots of young people milling about. Maybe living in such a dangerous city made the citizens party harder, enjoy the best of life, while they could.

  Javier took the Range Rover down the busy streets while I stared at couples in white dancing gracefully across tiled plazas and brightly-colored restaurants with tables and music spilling out onto the sidewalks. The port and marina shimmered, flanked by tall hotels. The air was heavy with heat but the occasional breeze from the gulf came in and lightened the atmosphere while the thick smell of flowers would come in through the window. It was all very romantic, except that I was afraid to lower the window more than in inch, feeling protected by the bulletproof glass.

  By the time Javier found parking on one of the side streets near the Zocalo, a popular square where the nightclub was supposed to be located, my hands were sweating and I was buzzing with nerves again. The tequila had worn off and left me nauseous instead.

  “Here you go, darling,” he said, slipping a tiny adhesive chip to the fabric that covered my nipple ring.

  “What is that?”

  “I can listen to you on my iPhone,” he said waving his phone at me. “It acts as a little wireless microphone. There’s a chance that the metal could set off the metal detectors they have in the club, so I figured your nipple ring was a good place to put it. It’s going to set them off anyway and I’m sure they’ll have a few good laughs when you explain what it is.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Oh shit. Why don’t I just take it out?”

  He wagged his brows. “What’s the fun in that? You’ll be fine. Just flash them your tit.”

  “Ha, ha.” I seriously hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

  “Hey,” he said, growing serious and running his thumb over my lips. I held back the urge to nibble on it. “You’re a con artist. You built a whole career on lying, on pretending to be different people. This is nothing. You walk around the corner to the square and you’ll see the club, it’s a small building. There will be a line-up already. Get in line. Wait your turn. Show them your passport, they’ll scan it, they’ll run the detector over you. You’ll show your tit. You’ll go through and head to the large circular bar in the middle of the room, near the dance floor. Travis’s room is up the stairs but you won’t even look there. You’ll get your drink, watch the dancers, and, I am assuming, fend off porteños looking to take you home. Sit there for at least three drinks. When you’re done, if nothing has happened, tell the bartender ‘thanks for the service, have a good night.’ I’ll hear that and come back for you. I’ll pull up to here, the same spot. You get in. I take you home and fuck you senseless. That’s how the evening will go.”

  I nodded. He was right. I was a con artist. Travis had made me one. I was born to do this.

  I kissed him quickly on the lips as my skin fuzzed and shimmied with all the energy in the car. What we were doing. Who he was. Who I was.

  “I’ll see you,” I told him, stepping out of the car. I stared at Javier for a good long moment, taking in his elegantly dangerous face, wondering how much trust there really was between us. Then I shut the door and walked off toward the nightclub.

  I got more than my fair share of catcalls and whistles as I rounded the corner and came across the colorful plaza. It was alive with mariachi bands in the middle, tourists standing around and watching, with open-air restaurants filled to the brim with chatting patrons. I spotted the low mission-style house across the square with its cheesy zebra-striped sign that said The Zoo. Javier was right, there was already a line about twenty people deep.

  I took in a deep breath and sashayed my way over to it, getting behind a young white couple with New Jersey accents. That calmed me down a bit, knowing that I could blend in with the other tourists. Despite the New Jersey couple in their jeans, everyone else in line was dressed up. I both blended in and stood out, which was exactly what we were hoping.

  I did everything I could to stay calm and focused while I stood there, waiting for at least a half hour before I finally got to the door.

  “ID,” the bouncer said. I handed him my passport and tried to take in his features without looking at him too deeply. I wondered if he worked for the club, for Travis, or both. I wondered if I’d be seeing this man, with his big fat head and coal-black eyes again, in other circumstances.

  He scanned my passport and handed it back to me. He nodded his fat head at the door. “You pay cover there, 250 pesos.”

  Ouch, that was steep. I didn’t say anything, just nodded politely while he looked over my head at the people next in line.

  I paid the girl at the door and when I stepped into the club, I was met with a wall of smoke and a blast from the past. The club was blaring a bumping remix of the Nine Inch Nails song “Wish.” The very song tattooed on Javier’s wrist. The song I picked out for him, the one, Trent Reznor sings, without a soul.

  “Miss?” one of the security guards was waving me over to him. I shook myself out of my daydream.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I guess I need to be screened?”

  “It will only take a second,” the man said and started waving the metal detector over my arms and legs while another man went through my purse. As predicted, the detector beeped when he scanned my chest.

  The guard looked a bit embarrassed. “Uh, are you wearing a metal bra?”

  “Does it look like I’m wearing a bra?” I said, pushing my chest out, making him notice that the dress was cut down to my navel. “It’s my nipple ring.”

  The guards exchanged a look while the other gave me back my purse.

  “Do I need to show you?” I asked. Even in the dark blue lights of the club, I could tell his face was darkening. “I mean, if you look close enough, you can see through the fabric.” I stretched it across my breast so he could see the shape of the ring poking through. That was enough for him.

  He waved me away. “That’s okay, you’re clear.”

  I smiled and thanked them, making my way over to the large bar by the dance floor. It was still a bit early so there was a stool available at the end. Besides, it looked like most of the people there were in groups, filling up booths or yelling “Fist fuck!” out on the dance floor. I ordered a rum and coke from the bartender and watched everyone, the sweaty moves, the flying hair, the lust for each other, for Mexico. I was being speared by small bouts of jealousy, that these people could be having fun and finding love and living life and I was about to offer myself, a lamb to the biggest baddest wolf of all.

  I stared down at my drink, lost in my thoughts, in my shame. I was only interrupted to be hit on by a few Mexican guys, the “porteños” that Javier “warned” me about. They were local but harmless, not drug lords, just young guys having fun and looking for American tail.

  It was when I finished my second drink and had to break the seal that it happened. I was leaving the bathroom, heading back to my spot at the bar when I saw him.

  Travis.

  Oh my god, Travis.

  He was walking down the stairs leading from his private area at the top.

  He was looking right at me.

  I only had a second to recognize him, to take him in. That’s all I allowed myself or I would have frozen there on the spot and given myself away. I would have lost it all.

  He was as I remembered him, but almost taller in a way. I know that was impossible but that’s what it was like. Thin, straight up and down, in a black suit that made him look slightly sideways. He looked about sixty years old, grey hair slicked back with gel that accentuated his widow’s peak; a handsome man who carried the same kind of feral elegance that Javier did. I could see people underestimating him, not seeing the danger.

  But here, in this city, everyone knew
who he was. Everyone knew the danger. He could order anyone in the club to be shot and there would be absolutely nothing anyone could do about it. It wouldn’t even get reported to the police and if it did, the police would turn a blind eye. This man held the power of a small universe in his thin, tanned hands.

  And he saw me. Or, at least he saw my dress. While his dark, cold eyes were distracted by my breasts, I looked at the bar and kept walking. I didn’t dare look at him again or anywhere else. I kept my sweating hands as loose to my sides as possible, trying desperately not to clench them in case he was watching my every move.

  When I got back to my seat, the bartender asked if I was alright. I smiled quickly and told him I’d better slow down my drinking. He gave me a bottle of water and a glass of orange juice.

  A million feelings worked their way through me as I felt my heart lower itself into my chest, my lungs widening enough for air. I’d seen him and survived. But this was only the beginning. There was no telling what I’d have to do.

  It was funny, when I heard Javier tell me what happened to his sister and her family, I felt anger and sorrow for them. When I heard Amandine explain the decline of her beloved city, I felt the need to straighten out the injustice. Yet I did not feel the anger and the horror of my own wounds, my own place in all of this. It was like what he did to young Ellie Watt had happened to someone else, some poor eleven-year-old girl whom I felt bad for but had no connection to.

  Now, now it was all different. Now I felt the rage pulsing through me. I felt the urge to grab the nearest sharp object and spear it into his jugular. I wanted to cut his balls off and feed it to him. I wanted to make him pay for everything he did to me, that one act of violence to a helpless child, an act that ruined her life, her character, her very soul. I wanted revenge for that, for the pain I still felt in my leg when it was raining, for the scars I had to endure, that showed the world just how ugly I was inside, how ugly he made me.

  I had to get out of there before I did something stupid.

  I leaned over to the bartender and slipped him a twenty dollar bill as a tip.