Dirty

by Stevie J. Cole

  The first thing the anchor addresses is the supposed attack on the government building. How dreadful to have someone attack mourners after a funeral. Tsk. Tsk. She goes over the explosions, the chaos–"The leaders of Germany, China, Great Britain, France, and Italy were taken to a safe room where it is believed a deadly chemical agent was piped through the ventilation system." I smile, tipping my drink back as I glance at Camilla.

  Camilla laughs and shakes her head. "Clever, Russian."

  I hold my glass up in a toast, clinking mine against hers. "Do you have any idea how long I've planned this?" I nod toward the TV, my chest swelling with pride.

  "I'd say possibly since birth, but I'm not sure you weren't spat from a fiery crack in the earth fully grown."

  I laugh. "Years, krasivaya," I say as I skim my fingers along her cheek, her neck. "So many years."

  Her pupils swell and her breath catches, though her body stiffens. Something is off with the little kitty... She swallows hard. "Well, all those women to kidnap and puppets to manipulate," she whispers, "...it takes time."

  "And what will I do with myself once it's all over?" It's a very real fear I have. The boredom. The inability to aim for greater things, for once you hold the world in the palm of your hand, what then can you possibly want? "I despise the thought of normalcy."

  She shrugs. "People like us can never have normal, but we find our own version within the chaos."

  And the more I watch her, the longer I have her—I wonder if she realizes that is what she will be to me. My normal within the chaos. "I would never be satisfied with normal."

  "My normality is my business and my brother's carnage." Laughing, she ducks her head. Her laughter is such a foreign, care-free sound, like the song of some exotic bird I'd long to cage and force to sing. "It doesn't have to be awful."

  There's a spark of vulnerability in her eyes, and if I had a conscience she may very well cause me to feel sympathy for her. She loves her brother, and there's a moment when I recall what it was like to be a small boy swaddled in my mother's lap, but that fondness is quickly replaced with the pain of losing someone you care for. Love is an emotion which offers you no control... I sweep my fingers over the scab at Camilla's throat, my heart pounding in an odd fashion in my chest. "Such a vicious little thing," I say, "and yet, you're able to love. So very interesting."

  She tilts her head to the side, studying me. "Does that disappoint you?"

  "Maybe." I take a sip of my whiskey, redirecting my attention to the TV. That's enough intimate conversation for the evening.

  Laughing, she pats my thigh. "Don't worry, it's something reserved only for Gabriel."

  I watch the images of war flashing on the screen, my fingers dancing over her thigh. "You can call him, you know..." It's a peace offering possibly, or possibly something for my own amusement—to watch her reaction when she speaks to him.

  There's a long pause. I can feel her staring at me, but I don't look her way. "Because," she finally breathes, "I'm not a captive..."

  I do believe she is having quite the internal war. She has chosen to stay, and yet, she must convince herself she's not a captive. To answer her question, I take my cell from my pocket and hand it to her.

  And I ask myself: Why am I really doing this... It seems I may care for her more than I let on.

  May being the key word.

  9

  Camilla

  I take the phone from Ronan, hesitating before I key in Gabriel's number. It rings several times before someone picks up. "¿Hola?"

  "Gabe."

  "Camilla," he breathes. "Are you still with that fucking Russian?"

  "Yes."

  "What the fuck does he want?" he asks.

  My gaze drifts to Ronan sitting on the couch with his cigar between his lips. A thin stream of smoke drifts in front of his face as his eyes lock with mine and narrow. "I... I don't know." Once again I feel torn. Ronan and I have gone from enemies to lovers, to both at the same time. And now...I can't even see the battle lines that were once drawn in blood. It's so easy to forget everything but Ronan and the intoxicating power that swirls around us when we're together, but hearing Gabe's voice... My brother reminds me where my loyalties should lie, and of my own treachery in feeling something for Ronan. Ronan watches me like a hawk and it's as though he can see my emotions, so I turn away from him. "How's business?" I ask Gabe, changing the subject.

  "The Los Zetas are fucking loco," he sighs. "They're riding my cock and..." He hesitates for a beat. "I heard that Sebastian is in Mexico having dealings with them." My heart pounds against my ribs.

  "Leave," I say, cutting him off. "If he finds you..."

  "Ah, let him find me." He spits. "Fucking puta. I'll slit his throat and piss on his dead body, Mila."

  "Gabriel," I say through clenched teeth.

  "What? You want me to run? Ai, ai, ai... He killed our familia. That debt still needs to be paid!"

  I pinch the bridge of my nose and try to slow my breathing. "Gabriel, I am ordering you to leave Juarez."

  He snorts. "Si, and you are in such a position to order anything... fucking Russian."

  "Gabe, you fucking dick!" I shout, but the line cuts off.

  I stare at the screen, watching it tremble within my shaking hand. I try to call back but it says the number is unavailable. My heart pounds with a very real and visceral fear. Gabriel and I, we live a certain life. We accept that death will come for us at some point, but if he goes after Sebastian Cortez it will be suicide. He can't take him on. Since killing my family, he's become one of the most powerful men in South America. He killed my father, my mother, my brother—all to steal our drug empire. I accept death, but I will not lose another brother to that man. Gabe is all I have left.

  My fingers tighten around the phone in my hand and I spin around to face Ronan. "I have to go to Mexico," I say, and hurry toward the door.

  "Stop!" Ronan says, the deepness to his voice causing a tremor to shoot down my spine.

  I turn to face him, slowly backing away. "Am I or am I not your captive, Ronan?"

  "You chose to stay." He smiles.

  My temper rises like a wave. "For you, Ronan! As your equal, not your prisoner. And now my brother needs me so I'm leaving."

  "You think too highly of yourself, Camilla. You believe you are something you are not."

  I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palms. "Fuck you, Ronan." I turn and storm out of the room toward his wing of the house.

  I go straight to the closet, rip open the drawers, pull out the least pretentious clothes I can find, and shove them into a leather bag tucked beneath the racks of dresses. The only thought in my mind right now is Gabriel coming face to face with Sebastian Cortez. That man is the boogeyman, the feature of my nightmares, the one who stole our lives and forced us onto the streets of Mexico.

  Ronan's feet pad across the floor. I can feel him looming behind me, bristling with tension.

  I zip the bag, tossing it over my shoulder. When I go to move past him, he steps in my path, blocking the closet door. His eyes lock with mine, icy and hard. Has he always been so cold, so implacable?

  He grabs my jaw, squeezing so hard I know I'll be bruised. "Tell me what has happened." His warm breath blows across my face as he studies me like a predator with dying prey.

  "Gabriel is about to get himself killed. I need to go."

  "You aren't answering my question." His fingers dig deeper into my skin.

  I try to tug away from his grasp, but it's pointless. "This is personal, not business. It doesn't concern you, Russian."

  "Everything concerning you is my business." His nostrils flare and he lifts me by my jaw. "Answer my fucking question!"

  I grab at his wrist, struggling to keep my tiptoes on the floor. I rake my nails down his wrist. There's a sadistic flash in his eyes before a smirk flinches across his lips. He shoves me through the dresses hanging in the closet, right up against the wall before moving his hand to my throat. My pulse skitter
s and skips as his fingers close around my neck. His grip grows tighter and tighter. I claw at his hands, attempting to pry his fingers lose, but it's no use. As I struggle for breath, Ronan leans in, brushing his mouth over mine. "How long will it take for you to realize you made a choice to stay," he whispers before biting my lip. "And there are grave consequences for going back on agreements with me, little kitty. As you've seen..."

  Choking, I gasp for a breath. I feel like he's trying to inhale each struggled breath. My vision spots. My ears ring and that weightlessly numb feeling courses through my veins until everything goes black.

  There's still a dull ring in my ears when I blink my eyes open. Ronan's bedroom window comes into focus. The heavy red drapes framing the bleak, gray clouds on the other side of the glass. My head pounds and my throat aches. I try and put my hand to my throat, but I can't. Glancing up, I find thick ropes binding me by my wrists to the bed frame.

  "Really?" I growl.

  The bed dips as Ronan sits beside me. "You're like an animal, so I shall treat you as such." He smiles, those blue eyes tracing over my face as he tenderly tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "I understand you think you are some force to be reckoned with, but really," he laughs before motioning his hand over me like a prize, "what true force would end up in a situation as this."

  My head falls back against the pillow and I close my eyes on a frustrated groan. I don't have time for this. Gabe is rash at the best of times. I'm not even sure I'd get there in time, even if Ronan did let me go. That foreign, crippling fear grips me and I bite the inside of my cheek to try and control my emotions. "If you let me go, I will come back." I open my eyes and turn my head to the side, meeting his gaze. "I promise. I just really need to do this."

  And I mean it. I will come back to him. Not because I have to, not for an opportunity to end him, but because I want to. I want him.

  His fingers stroke over my cheek. A deep line sets between his brow as he tilts his head. "Do what, krasivaya?"

  I exhale slowly. "Save my shithead brother from being an idiot." Ronan arches a single brow, the arrogance pouring off him. Groaning, I stare up at the ceiling. "He's going after someone who took something from us, and this someone is very dangerous. Gabriel is setting himself up for a suicide mission because he's a dick."

  "And you believe you—a woman—are better suited to take care of a dangerous man than your brother?" One side of his mouth curls. "So very certain."

  I fight back my spiking temper. "No," I say through clenched teeth. "I have no intention of taking care of anything. I just need to stop Gabe from doing something stupid." I glare at him. "And not because I'm a woman, because I'm not an idiot."

  "I see." He pats my face, and I jerk away from him.

  "I swear to god, Ronan..."

  "Who is this someone? Does he have a name?"

  "No, he's like Voldemort, you can't speak it." I roll my eyes.

  "I don't know who Voldemort is..."

  "For fuck's sake. Of course he has a fucking name. Sebastian Cortez." He leans over to kiss me before pushing up from the bed and leaving without another word. I yank against the rope. "Ronan!" Nothing. I slump back against the bed. Tears of frustration prickle my eyes. I hope to god Gabe doesn't go after Cortez because for the first time in our lives I'm not there to save him.

  If anything happens to Gabriel I will kill Ronan. What affection I have for him won't be enough to stop me.

  10

  Ronan

  The door to the bedroom clicks shut behind me. I have my phone to my ear before I reach the stairwell, placing a call to Bernado, one of my clients in South America. He's a man who easily divulges information for a fair price. Bernardo's loyalties are bought with money and blood alone. Lucky for me, I have plenty of both at my disposal. The phone rings once before a gruff voice answers.

  "Bernado," I say. "I have a favor to ask and if you can help me, I'll cut the cost of our trade by twenty percent."

  There's a pause. "Twenty-five," he says.

  I laugh on my way down the stairs. "I don't negotiate. I need you to find me a man named Sebastian Cortez from Columbia."

  "Cortez?"

  "Yes, some filthy cartel leader, and I'll need his information within the hour or your trade deal goes up by twenty-five percent."

  "But I—"

  I hang up just as I pass Donovan speaking to several of the guards. "Donovan." I clap his shoulder. "Ms. Estrada is tied to my bed." He lifts a brow. "Go untie her, stand guard outside my room. If she tries to leave, choke her out."

  "Yes, sir."

  I carry on into my office, humming. I am so very excited. It's been such a long time since I've had a guest.

  ______

  It's midafternoon when the black SUV pulls in front of my house, and I'm anxiously waiting at the front door to greet Mr. Cortez. The door swings open and Igor grabs the man by his shoulders, yanking him out onto the snowy drive. I must say, I'm slightly disappointed, he doesn't look at all as I imagined. He's just an average man in an average suit and an ugly face. I expected something much more... dignified.

  His beady eyes lock on me as he's dragged up the stairs and his face drains of its color. It is so very flattering when a man with such a horrendous reputation is seized by fear in my presence.

  "Mr Cortez," I say jovially, "how nice of you to come."

  He grunts against the gag and I pat his back as I usher him in. "I do hope your flight was nice."

  I catch Igor glance at me, and I cock a warning brow. "Igor, please show our guest to the dining hall. Make certain he's secured at the head of the table." I lean down eye level with Sebastian. "I like to make sure my guests are made to feel like a king."

  Sebastian struggles against Igor but eventually gives in, walking down the hallway with his arms tied behind his back. Ah, how I do love the suspense of it all—what will he do when he sees her, what will she do? With a smile, I go into the living room and pour myself a drink, taking a seat while I wait for my little kitty.

  I'm halfway finished with my brandy and cigar by the time Donovan walks into the room, escorting a very angry looking Camilla. I push to my feet, my gaze locking with his. He nods before leaving the room.

  "Still mad I see?" I say with a smile, swirling my whiskey in my glass.

  Camilla glares at me before heading for the sideboard to snatch the bottle of vodka. "No, I'm fucking skipping around with Donovan trailing after me. Tonight, we're going to braid each other's hair."

  "Sounds delightful."

  She lifts the bottle in a toast. "Here's to captive life...again." Tipping the bottle up, she swallows three large gulps. "I guess I should have run when the door was very briefly open."

  I step behind her, trailing my fingers along the curve of her neck. "You are not a captive, krasivaya."

  She laughs. "I'm sure as shit not free."

  "Do you suggest I allow you to go to Mexico when I know you will die?"

  She spins around to face me and huffs a laugh. "I'm Camilla Estrada. I'm safer in Mexico than I am here..."

  I sweep my finger down her cheek. She's so innocent, really. She's only been tainted by violence and blood. And there are much worse things to be tainted by... "There is no greater protection than being my queen, I assure you." I lean in and gently kiss her lips. "Do you doubt me?"

  Her eyes close on a staggered breath. "No, but I'm not a pretty trophy to be locked away, Ronan. Don't force me to abandon Gabriel. It's not something I can forgive."

  "Do not worry about your brother, little kitty." I go to kiss her again but she pulls away. My jaw tightens, and while I want to grab her and force her submission, I will not. Instead, I take her hand. "Come," I say, pulling her across the room. She attempts to snatch her hand away and I stop, glaring over my shoulder at her. "We have a dinner guest, so please, do try to maintain some form of civilized manner."

  "Now?" She folds her arms over her chest. "You want to parade me in front of a guest now?"

  I smirk. "Yes
, isn't it quite exciting?"

  "I don't know why I'm even surprised by anything you do anymore." She gives in a little, following me down the hallway toward the dining room. Igor and Donovan stand guard outside the doorway, hands clasped in front of them. A sudden thrill shoots through me before we step inside the room. What will the little kitty do? I can't wait to see...

  I extend my arm, waiting for her to enter the dining room. She takes one step then freezes in the doorway, and I smile. At the head of the long table sits Sebastian Cortez, bound and gagged. A sheen of sweat coats his forehead, his eyes wide and bloodshot. My hand grazes the small of Camilla's back in attempt to have her step farther into the room but she doesn't budge. Her chest rises in labored swells as she slowly walks into the room, her haunted eyes locked on Sebastian.

  "Not so dangerous now," I say with a smile, "is he?"

  He watches her watching him. She stumbles before she stops a few feet away from him. The air of confidence that constantly swirls around her has vanished, almost as though it's been sucked into a voracious vacuum, and for some reason, that makes me very angry.

  "Do you remember me?" she asks. "No, I suppose not, it has been twelve years."

  Sighing, I round the table. Sebastian's dark eyes track my movements, and when I stop in front of him, his nostrils flare. "You will answer her," I say before I grab the gag and yank it out. He coughs and spits.

  "I remember," he says calmly, eyeing Camilla. "I heard whispers that the Estrada's were gaining power. I had no idea you'd climbed quite so high. But I can see why." He drags his eyes over her body.

  I slap him on the back of the head. "Don't look at her."

  He drops his gaze to the table. "You look just like your mother," he says to her, a sick satisfaction in his voice.

  Camilla turns away and takes a deep breath, bracing both hands on the table as she drops her chin to her chest. "What do you think is going to happen here, Cortez?" Her voice is cold, controlled. Slowly, she lifts her head and stares at him, a small smile pulling at her lips. "Here you are, bound—a long way from your precious Colombia and your army of men..." She walks around the table, stopping beside him and bringing her face inches from his. "And you dare to bring up my mother." He stares silently back at her. "I owe you a debt, and by the time I'm done with you, it'll be paid tenfold." Her fingers wrap around the hilt of a steak knife before she slams it into his shoulder. A muffled cry slips between his gritted teeth. "I want nothing more than to slit your throat and watch you bleed all over the table," she whispers in his ear. "But that would be a kindness, wouldn't it?" She takes another knife from a place setting and rams it into his other shoulder before she turns away and paces the length of the table, clenching her fists over and over.