Valentine's Day (Second Skin Book 3)

by Ophelia Bell

  28

  Toni

  “She isn’t yours to have anymore. She’s a grown woman now.”

  It’s difficult to pinpoint my feelings after hearing his story. The tale is fucking tragic, but he’s also so out of touch it isn’t funny, and the idea that he could just claim my best friend pisses me off.

  Amador clenches his jaw and tilts his head. “She would understand me as well as her mother did, I think. Don’t you? I understand she has two lovers, as her mother did. The balance is not an alien concept to her.”

  “Maybe, but Celeste isn’t the type of woman to put up with any man’s bullshit. She already has two idiots on a leash—three, if you count her dad. She doesn’t need another one. Not that she couldn’t handle you, but it’s not exactly up to you, and this level of coercion isn’t going to earn you any points.”

  “If anyone can convince her to come, it’s you. Appeal to your sister, Antonia. She can bridge this divide between me and Arturo.”

  My full belly has given me courage I didn’t have earlier, so I don’t hesitate to say what’s on my mind. “What do you actually want? Is it to have a strong-willed woman at your side to rule your half of Mexico? Or do you want into Arturo’s pants for one last hurrah and think she’s going to deliver her own father to you somehow? Listen, if he was weirded out by kissing another guy three decades ago, that’s his business and you need to leave him be. I’m sorry shit didn’t turn out as well as you’d hoped, but in case it’s escaped your notice, you both are in a dangerous line of work. It sucks that Lola died. But she’s dead, so get the fuck over it and move on already.”

  I realize I’m not even close to getting through to him when his eyes blaze with cold fire and he slowly stands. He gives me one last look before nodding to Cal. “Take her back to her cell.”

  “I thought I was getting a bath and a change of clothes. I listened to your goddamn story. Didn’t that earn me anything?”

  “You were clearly the wrong sister to appeal to. I will give you a choice while you are here. You will stay until you give me Celeste. But if you still fail to fall in line, then you’ll force me to bring Arielle for added leverage. I hear she is as brilliant at business as her father. One of you is bound to see the wisdom of accepting the position of heir to my business.”

  Cal grabs me by the arm and hauls me up. In the process he bends close to my ear and murmurs, “This isn’t helping,” low enough for only me to hear.

  Fuck. I can’t leave it like this, not if Amador is going to keep threatening Elle and Celeste. I’m galvanized by thoughts of them both. They’re not just friends—they’re my sisters.

  “Wait!” I call before Cal hauls me through the door. “Please. I’m sorry. Give me another chance. I think we can work something out.”

  He inclines his head and Cal returns me to my seat. “I’m listening.”

  “You have to understand why I’m less than responsive to your demands. You aren’t the only one who lost someone in the middle of this. You lost the woman you loved and your relationship with your best friend fell apart. You have very valid reasons to be hurt by it, especially if you shared something beautiful and he turned his back on you in the aftermath. I didn’t even realize he’d abandoned me too until now, and it’s going to take me a while to come to terms with it.”

  My voice is shaky when I continue, but this is what needs to be said. “But what I lost isn’t his fault. You were there the night the love of my life was killed. I blame you for Manny Reyes’ death. Believe me, you do not want me to get too close to you, because it won’t end well.”

  I eye the cutlery still left on the table. With a single gesture from Amador, a maid hastily clears all the dishes except for the coffee cups.

  His shrewd, calculating look is back for a second, then he nods. “You were involved with the bodyguard. The foolish one who jumped in front of Gustavo’s bullet. I am sorry for your loss, but he did what he was paid to do.”

  “Celeste told me you shot Gustavo after it happened. She never understood why. Why any of it happened the way it did. She hoped you’d give her answers, but they never came.”

  “Because I don’t have them. She wants what I want, what Arturo wants—to understand why her mother died. There was a suicide note, but it made no sense for the woman I knew. I hoped a conversation with Celeste would help clarify things, but we didn’t have enough time together. Her guard dogs overreacted and one of them got killed. I only shot Gustavo for having the poor sense to fire a bullet in my daughter’s direction, even if he wasn’t aiming at her.”

  She’s not your fucking daughter, I want to say, but restrain myself. After talking to Sam, I am just as sure of this detail as he is. But Amador claims her actual paternity doesn’t matter, so it’s probably impossible to convince him to see her differently.

  “Yet he still works for you,” I say. “Seems like a bit of a liability to keep someone so volatile on your payroll.”

  He nods. “You aren’t wrong, but as volatile as he is, he is also highly effective. Without his hard work, I wouldn’t have learned who you really are. Every choice I make has been carefully weighed. The risks are always worth the rewards.”

  “Family matters greatly to you, doesn’t it?” I venture.

  “Very much so.”

  “It matters to me too. I only just learned Celeste and I are sisters, but I would have honored our relationship as if we were blood before I found out. I don’t know Elle as well yet, but I hope to, now that I understand the bond we share. I don’t want either of them dragged into this if I can stop it. Just tell me what I need to do.”

  He sits forward, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair with his fingers steepled in front of him. “I’m willing to leave Arielle Santos out of this entirely, but I’m afraid I can’t extend the same courtesy to Celeste. She was part of this from the moment she was conceived. If she’s as strong-willed a woman as you suggest, then don’t you think you owe it to her to let her make her own decision? All I ask is that you talk to her. Ask her to come to Mexico and meet with me, hear my story.”

  It’s the last thing I want to do. I don’t even want to know all the things I know right now, that he burdened me with by telling his story. Does Celeste even have a clue how close her father was to this monster? Though it isn’t as if Arturo Flores hasn’t done his share of dastardly deeds. It’s probably a tossup as to which one has the most blood on his hands.

  My urge to protect her is overridden by my greater need to protect Elle. I have to choose, don’t I? Elle doesn’t deserve any of this, and if I can save her the least bit of heartache—heartache I know both Celeste and I are more equipped to handle—then I will. And I’m pretty sure Celeste would agree if she were here.

  “I’ll talk to her, but I’m not making any promises she’ll agree.” Who was I kidding? She’d probably jump at the chance to find out answers about her mother’s death. If Arturo lets her make the trip, maybe they can use it to their advantage when they finally make the move to take this asshole down.

  His relief is only evident through the slightest straightening of his posture. “I’m glad you came around. Your guards will escort you to a room where you may bathe and change. I’ll arrange for a phone call this evening.”

  When I glance back, Cal has been replaced by the two other guards. I return my gaze to Amador. “How long are you keeping me here?”

  “Until I get what I need from her. I’m no fool—I didn’t get where I am by losing control. It happened once and I lost the two most valuable things in my life. Never again.”

  “Then let Sam out too. He has a fresh tattoo that needs aftercare. He needs a proper meal, not the scraps you served him.”

  “I will compromise. After you clean up, you may return to him with whatever you need, but you’ll remain with him for the duration. I can’t have another potential enemy wandering freely in my home.”

  I start to object, to try to negotiate, but he’s uninterested. Both guards grip my arms and fo
rcibly turn me toward the door. One says, “Move your ass, mamacita.” Glancing up, I realize it’s the one with the ponytail. He’s a stocky man with a goatee that covers a deep scar beneath his lower lip. His eyes cut to mine and he leers at me. “¿Estás lista para tu baño?” Ready for your bath?

  “¿Quieres lavarme la espalda?” I ask, fluttering my eyelids. I don’t actually want him to say yes to my invitation to wash my back, but I can tell he’s tempted. His gaze rakes down my body, but the other guard snaps a warning and he grumbles.

  They reach a door, open it, and shove me into a bedroom. Mr. Ponytail gives me one last creepy stare, grabs his crotch, shakes his head with regret, then shuts and locks the door behind him.

  Alone in a room with actual windows, I spin around, dazed for a moment by the freedom until I realize I’m just as trapped as I was before. There are bars on all the windows, and the door is a heavy slab of wood with an enormous deadbolt. Still, I take a moment to inspect the room for any escape route.

  It’s a big room with a four-poster bed covered in luxurious linens. The hardwood floor lies beneath a rug ornately woven with native patterns like some of the smaller ones I saw in the resort’s shop. A massive dark wooden armoire fills one corner, and I open it to find several beautiful dresses as well as blouses, slacks, and light jackets. The dresser beside it is filled with other clothes. Clothes for a woman, I notice. It’s all women’s clothes. Expensive brands too.

  I pick out what I want to wear and stack it on the dresser, pausing long enough to check my reflection. I’m a wreck; my hair is a dark, messy tangle around my shoulders, my makeup smudged around my eyes. Sam’s shirt is speckled with blood from his split lip and hangs off my shoulders. My wrist itches, but I miraculously don’t feel the urge to dig into it until it hurts. I just slap it once to dull the sensation.

  That’s when I notice the art on the walls. The first one catches my eye, sparking a sense of familiarity that doesn’t coalesce for a moment. It’s a colorful Japanese design reminiscent of a tattoo. The image niggles at me, a sense of wrongness settling deep in my gut. It’s an odd shape, for one thing—slightly distorted, as if the artist was working on an uneven surface. The whole design fills a large frame, and when I lean closer, I see the uneven edges. Not torn like paper, but jagged cuts and notches.

  Bile rises in my throat and an icy prickling sensation cascades down my spine. I’m looking at human skin. Tattooed human skin, framed and hanging on a fucking wall.

  I recoil, stumbling back until I hit the bed. When I turn toward the bathroom, another framed image similar to the last greets me on the other wall. This one is the same style: Japanese, with deep blacks, brilliant reds, and other colors interspersed. An enormous dragon curled across what was once a man’s shoulders.

  I can’t look away now. Scanning the room, I see more, all of them large pieces. One is in triptych and turns my stomach, because I can easily piece together the design and where it must have lived on a person’s body when they were alive. A full back piece, plus both sides of his torso, leaving the center of his chest and belly un-inked. The bare skin is framed too, and this one even includes a small hole that must have been the owner’s navel.

  Nausea overtakes me and I rush to the bathroom, barely reaching the toilet in time to hurl up most of my breakfast. When I recover I shakily strip, needing even more to scrub the sense of wrongness off my body. The memory of Amador’s gaze on my back makes me sick, and I’m not sure a single bath is enough, especially not one with his so-called collection hanging on the walls.

  Not wanting to remain in this room any longer than necessary, I ignore the tubful of steaming water that’s waiting as promised and instead make myself climb into the shower, wincing when the hot water hits the scrapes and cuts I endured fighting my captors. They’re minor wounds, and if Amador lets me have a first-aid kit to take care of Sam, I can tend to them then.

  Oh God, I invited him to look at Sam’s tattoo. Please don’t let him take me up on that. Now I understand what Cal meant when he said “don’t tempt the bastard.”

  Jesus fucking Christ.

  I wash quickly, forgoing my concern that the leering guard could come in at any moment in favor of getting away from this room as fast as possible. Then I towel-dry my hair while staring into the mirror. Dark circles still ring my eyes, though all traces of makeup are gone. I look like a frightened child, my eyes still wide as if in a perpetual state of shock. Amador’s scrutiny of my tattoos has altered how I see them myself. Was I just a curiosity for him? Did he envision hanging me on his wall?

  I force myself to avert my gaze to the bathroom cabinets where I find an assortment of toiletries, including a new toothbrush still in its package, as well as toothpaste, which I make use of to brush my teeth.

  Back in the room I hurriedly dress in clean underwear, a pair of jeans, and a sweater I found in a drawer, staring out the windows rather than at the walls. There’s a pair of sneakers that fit perfectly and I slip into them, then dig through the drawers in search of something to bring back to Sam to replace his shirt, but find nothing that would fit him.

  I give up and knock on the door. Mr. Ponytail answers, his gaze dropping to my chest the second he sees me.

  “I need a clean shirt for Sam, and a clean cloth and some witch hazel. Some mild lotion would be good too.”

  “We’ll bring it to you later. Time to go,” the other guard says in halting English. Then the pair march me back through the house. I don’t think I’ve ever been so relieved at the prospect of being surrounded by bare concrete walls.

  We pass through an arch, to the right of which is the wide foyer with a pair of carved double doors beneath a stained-glass window fit for a cathedral. Just a few steps away is the heavy dungeon door Cal led me through earlier.

  The front door opens and the guards halt, pulling me to a stop between them. A suited figure steps through and stops, dropping his keys on a plate by the door as if he’s just come home. When he turns to us and sees me, his eyes glint with pleasure while my stomach turns to pure acid.

  “Gustavo,” I whisper. I grit my teeth, wishing I had control of my hands right now so I could claw the fucker’s eyes out.

  “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Arturo’s other little whore-spawn. Hope you’re enjoying your visit, Toni. Guess you might be staying a while, though, huh?”

  29

  Sam

  After I scarf down the single fresh banana and bowl of oatmeal the guards brought me before leaving, I do nothing but pace the cell, fists clenched at my sides. My strongest impulse is to ram my body against the door until it buckles, then find Toni and run, but I have to sit tight. I have to give Chris a chance to follow through on his promise to get us out.

  I’m probably wearing a groove in the floor by the time I hear the clink of keys outside and the door swings in. Toni appears, fully dressed now and her hair wet, her pretty face scrubbed clean. I close the distance to the door in two quick strides, glaring at the guards when they call a warning. All I want is her, not to escape.

  She clings to me hard and I realize she’s shaking, though she isn’t crying.

  “What is it?” I murmur close to her ear.

  “He’s here,” she rasps. “Gustavo. I haven’t had to see that bastard’s face in more than three years. I want to rip his fucking throat out.”

  “No shit. The feeling is mutual, but I think getting out of here has to be a priority.”

  “God, yes.” She pulls back and looks up at me. “Are you okay? I wanted to bring more food for you. They’re supposed to bring you a shirt and some stuff for me to take care of your back.”

  “I’ll survive. Tell me what happened.”

  She paces to the far wall, covering her face with both hands. “God, Sam. The man’s a fucking psycho. I started to think we’d found common ground, but I was wrong. We have to get the fuck out of here before we wind up as trophies on his goddamned wall.”

  “What do you mean?” The terror on her face ma
kes me go to her, my heart pounding. Seeing Gustavo wasn’t the worst part of her visit, evidently.

  She opens her mouth, but before she can speak, our cell door clangs open again. The guards come in and grab me by the arms, hauling me bodily out.

  “What the fuck?”

  Toni rushes toward us, but Chris steps in and holds her back.

  “Where are you taking him?” she cries.

  “Sorry, kids. Looks like Sammy here is being cut loose.”

  I twist enough to get one fist free and ram it into one guard’s gut. He buckles and releases me, which gives me the leverage to torque out of the other one’s grasp. Chris gives me a baffled look.

  “We’re fucking letting you go.”

  “I’m not leaving without her,” I snap, backing up to the far wall inside the cell.

  “Why would Amador let him go?” Toni asks. “He sounded pretty adamant about keeping us indefinitely.”

  “He has new information.” Chris casts a warning stare at me. “Gustavo’s back, kid,” he says under his breath. “He found out you’re here. You know he can’t keep you because of the deal he made with your brother. You’re leaving one way or the other. Just don’t make this harder on yourself than it has to be.”

  “Fuck his deal. What was it about? I’ll make another one.”

  “You’d have to ask him, but he’s being pretty tight-lipped about it. He won’t even tell the boss. Just says his fucking honor is at stake.” Chris sneers and shakes his head, then glances over his shoulder, but the other guards are outside the door out of earshot.

  “I won’t leave her,” I say, turning to Toni, whose eyes have returned to panic-stricken saucers.

  Chris sighs. “Listen, I’ll make sure she’s okay. If you want things to go smoothly getting her out later, don’t make a fucking big deal out of this. Do you trust me?”

  “It’s okay, Sam. This isn’t about you anyway. You should go with him.” Toni rests a hand on my arm and squeezes.