by LP Lovell
She silently slips through the door, and I follow her, carefully closing it so it doesn’t make any noise. The smell of meat and blood is so strong here that I’m practically choking on it. To the left and right of us, rows of cattle carcasses circulate, attached to the hooks that are then rigged to a constantly moving pulley system. The entire thing seems to reach right outside, where I guess they are pulling them down and loading them into the vans. In the distance, I can hear the desperate braying of what sounds like panicked cows, and it turns my stomach. Una continues forward without hesitation. Staying low and silent, she’s like a shadow in the night, unseen, unheard. So when we spot the sheriff and another man overseeing the packing of cocaine into the carcasses, I’m not surprised when they don’t even notice us. The second man is wearing an impeccable suit that looks out of place in this den of drugs and death. He’s middle-aged and utterly indistinct, except for the huge scorpion tattooed on the side of his neck.
Una taps me on the shoulder and points at the two guys doing the packing. On a nod, I raise my gun and shoot the first one. The muted pop of the bullet leaving my gun is barely heard over the whirring machinery and the clanking of heavy chains. He goes down, and I shoot the second. There’s a beat before confusion and panic take over the remaining two men.
I expect her to kill them quickly and quietly the same way she always does. Instead, she grabs one of the heavy iron hooks and slams it into the back of Scorpion’s neck. The sheriff scrambles for his gun, but I’m ready. I shoot him in the thigh, and he hits the ground instantly. Moving closer, I take his gun.
A horrible choked gurgling sound is the only noise coming from Scorpions dying form. When I look at him, I see that the hook has gone right through his neck and is now protruding through his throat. I fight back bile as I watch the blood cascade down his suit, soaking the fabric until it can take no more, and it then starts spilling onto the concrete floor beneath him. Unseeing eyes roll back in his head as he coughs blood everywhere. His body twitches erratically as Una heaves on the thick chain, winching him up onto the merry go round of death. It’s morbid and violent, and not Una’s style at all. She’s usually clean and efficient, in and out. This... this is horrible. I watch as his spasming body drifts from view.
“Time to go. Shoot him,” she says, pointing at the sheriff. He glares at me, clutching his bloody thigh. I lift my gun, and my finger lingers over the trigger, but it doesn’t move. Our eyes lock and something shifts in the air, a silent conversation that passes between us. Maybe it’s the uniform, the idea that this man might not be a completely ‘bad man’? My warped sense of moral compass wavers, and my finger freezes on the trigger. “Anna?”
I glance at Una, and she stares right back at me. I think she see’s it and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel disappointed in myself. There’s a small pop, and when I look at the man again, he’s dead. A perfect bullet hole mars his forehead. My sister tucks her gun back into her holster and starts walking, not a care in the world.
The moment Scorpions body rolls out into the loading area, we know about it. And it’s the moment we start running.
We pull up outside Rafael’s warehouse, parking among the line of vehicles. I slide out of the car, and Una stays, talking to Sasha.
When I walk inside, all of Rafael’s main guys are missing; Carlos and Samuel, and the men they usually keep around them. I make my way to the office, but a guy steps in front of me, blocking my path.
“You can’t go in there.”
“I need to see Rafael.” I convince myself that I need to tell him how it went, but it’s more than that. These are the lies I tell myself, all in the effort to maintain this perceived strength.
“He isn’t here.”
Stepping away, I decide not to ask any more questions. Rafael will be back soon. I climb the stairs onto the second level and go to the corner bunk that I claimed last night. The warehouse is noisy, with the factory working throughout the night, but I managed to get some sleep. The girls that work as mules eye me as I drop onto the tiny bed. Ignoring them, I lay back and close my eyes, willing away the pounding beat that has taken up residence in my skull. Exhaustion washes over me before I fall asleep.
It’s completely black, and I can hear nothing other than my own ragged breaths entering and leaving my body on a strangled rasp. The sensory deprivation makes me uneasy, and a shiver skates down my spine.
I jump when something wet brushes over my arm, a small scream slipping from my lips.
There’s the low rumble of a laugh. “You can’t escape me, amado.” I shiver at the sound of that voice. Whipping around, I try to find the source of it. A wet finger slides over my cheek, and I flinch away, but there’s nowhere to run, nothing to run to. “You’ll always be mine.”
Suddenly, a blinding white light illuminates everything, a hand slams around my throat, and I’m staring into the glassy, misted eyes of The Master. He’s covered in blood, and his wet, slippery fingers slide over my skin. He smiles, his teeth stained red, his expression feral. And then he kisses me.
“Anna!” I jolt awake, a scream on the tip of my tongue as I’m torn from the dream. Rafael’s face comes into focus, and I suck in what feels like my first full breath in a long time. Dark eyes study every inch of my face, his brows knitted together tightly.
“I’m fine,” I say on a choked breath.
His lips press together, and I know he doesn’t believe me. “Come on. Come have a drink with me.” He pulls me to my feet, and I allow him to without a word. We pass by the group of women who stare at me as if I’m some kind of zoo attraction. Rafe’s wide palm rests on the small of my back over my damp shirt. Once inside his office, he pulls the door shut and rounds on me.
“You don’t sleep there anymore,” he says, going to the corner and taking the decanter of liquor off the small side table. He pours out two glasses and hands me one.
“Where else would you like me to sleep?”
He pauses with the glass halfway to his lips. “Where do you think, little warrior?”
“This isn’t that kind of arrangement, Rafael.”
“When did the nightmares get bad again?” he asks, ignoring me.
I sigh and then down my drink in one gulp. “They’re always bad.”
He lifts a brow. “Not always.”
No, not when I’m with him. Why is that? I never could quite work that out. “They’re just dreams.” There’s a pause, a beat of the kind of silence that only ever seems to exist in the sleepy early hours of a morning. He says nothing, just waits, letting the quiet wrap around the both of us until I start speaking. The words seem to fall from my mouth without permission, as though he possesses my soul so entirely that I’d spill all my darkest secrets just for him. “I thought when I killed him he’d stop haunting me,” I whisper.
“It doesn’t work that way, avecita. Memories don’t die with their creator.” He leans back against the desk and takes a cigar from a tin. “And that kind of hatred doesn’t end with a bullet.”
“Have you ever hated someone so much that you felt as though it was consuming you?” I fold my arms over my chest, trying to fight off the shiver that has settled into my bones. “He’s dead, and yet it feels like I’m festering from the inside out.”
He lights his cigar and inhales deeply. That familiar, comforting scent of cigar smoke wraps around me. “My father,” he says quietly. “Like I said, a bullet sometimes isn’t enough, unfortunately.”
“Is that why you had him killed? Because you hated him?” I ask, genuinely curious. Rafael knows things about me—deep, dark secrets—and I know very little about him really. But I know that he had Nero kill his father because that single action was the catalyst for all that followed. It’s the reason I’m standing here right now.
Those dark eyes lock with mine, the red glow of his cigar reflecting in them demonically. “Yes.”
“Why?”
He watches me for a moment, exhaling a slow stream of smoke while he seems to del
iberate his next words. “My mother was my father’s whore. When she got pregnant, he kicked her onto the street. Only when I started making waves lower down in his cartel did he decide that I was worthy of being called his son. I was fifteen.” He inhales and then exhales a thick cloud of smoke, crossing one ankle over the other, the image of casual power. “He was an asshole who thought himself invincible because he was a cartel boss. But power can always be taken, little warrior. I still hate him, even in death, but I smile knowing that I took everything that was once his and made it stronger. Better.”
“It doesn’t feel like enough,” I whisper.
He nods. “And maybe it’s not, but you have to try and let it go.” This is what I’ve missed. Una tries to understand and maybe to a degree she does with certain things, but Rafael always just seems to get me. Our paths have been so very different. He’s closer to the men who enslaved me than he is to my situation and yet he always just knows. He puts things in perspective, and it’s as though all the wounded, fragmented parts of me gravitate towards him, begging him to piece them back together again. “You’re still standing, little warrior. And somehow, the depravities of this world haven’t tainted you irrevocably.” He reaches out, grabbing a handful of my tank and tugging me close. “I’m not sure you realize what a feat that is.”
“I don’t want to be a victim, Rafe.”
He frowns. “You’re far from it.”
I place my hands on his chest, sliding my palms over the soft, expensive material of his shirt. The warmth of his skin leaches through the fabric, and I can feel the strong, steady beat of his heart. “Tonight…Una asked me to kill a man. I hesitated.” He watches me, waiting for more. “Tonight was just…” I shake my head.
“Tell me,” he demands.
I meet his gaze and his thumb strokes soft circles on the side of my neck. “She rammed an iron abattoir hook through Scorpions throat and hung him up by it.”
“Okay…”
I roll my eyes at his blasé attitude. “That’s not her, Rafe. Her kills are clean, quick…humane.”
“Yes, but she’s not trying to kill like a master assassin, avecita. She’s killing like the cartel.”
“Is that how you would have killed him?”
“You have to understand, death is more than a punishment or a side effect of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Death is a tool. Kill a man in such a way that it scares others, and his death in actuality will save others.”
“Is that what you tell yourself?”
“That’s the cartel. It’s worked for many years, and it won’t change anytime soon. That’s why you hesitated? The brutality?”
“No. He was a sheriff.”
Rafael lets out a low growl, cursing something in Spanish. “Go on…”
“I’d already shot him in the leg. He wasn’t a threat. She told me to kill him, and I just…froze.”
“This is war. Survivors and mercy are a luxury.”
“I know.”
“Don’t feel bad for him, avecita. He sealed his fate the moment he decided to take Scorpion’s money.”
“I don’t feel bad for him. I’m just angry at myself for being weak.”
His lips twitch. “Ah, little warrior. You are many things, but never weak. You are light in the darkness. Never change that.”
“The light is never infinite, Rafe. Sooner or later the darkness will consume it.”
“And I will forever be fighting it.”
“Is that why you sent me to New York?”
“A man can only try.”
I inhale a sharp breath, sucking the cleansing air deep into my lungs. “What if…what if I need to become that person? What if you need me to become that person?” I’m confessing my deepest niggling fears, the whispers that plague me deep into the night when all else is silent.
He frowns, his lips pressing together in a tight line. “You don’t.”
“But you felt the need to send me away. You didn’t think I could survive your war.”
“Anna…”
“I don’t want your protection. I need to be able to pull the trigger and not hesitate just because the person on the receiving end might not be so bad.”
He inhales a deep breath, his broad shoulders rising and falling with the motion. Leaning in, his lips touch my forehead, and his exhaled breath stirs my hair. “It’s late. You need to sleep.”
He’s cutting me off, ending the conversation. Honestly, I’m tired. For the last few months, my mind has been a constant minefield of what if’s and maybe’s. I want to just stop thinking, stop planning, stop dreaming.
I feel as though I’m trying to immerse myself in the very darkness he’s tried so hard to save me from, and it’s contradicting everything that comes naturally to me. Perhaps it was always a losing battle, and I was always destined to become this person, constantly at war with myself. Two halves of the whole. And Rafael…the man who should be dragging me deeper is the life raft keeping my head just above those black waters. Where will we be when this war is over? When all the blood has truly soaked into my hands and tainted me? Will he still want me? Will I still recognize myself?
Rafael stubs out his cigar in the ashtray and stands up, taking my hand. He pulls me out of the office and across the open factory space to a set of metal steps. They lead up onto a second floor, this one walled in with windows that look out over the warehouse below. He opens a door, and we walk along a corridor before I’m pulled into a room. The scent of him instantly surrounds me, and my muscles relax as though I’ve just taken a shot of hard liquor. There’s a simple double bed in the middle of the room and a chest of drawers. An open door reveals a bathroom. That’s it.
“This is a little different from the villa,” I say. I actually quite like the simplicity of it. I never quite managed to feel at home in the lavish surroundings of Rafael’s expensive houses. It was always a stark reminder of the power he had, and the absolute lack that I possessed in turn. This is simple, stripped down, industrial. This is closer to what I’m used to, and I’m comfortable with it in a morbid kind of way.
“In times of war…”
“Sacrifices must be made,” I finish.
“Right now this doesn’t feel like a sacrifice,” he says, his voice low and gruff as he stalks towards me.
I hold my breath as he reaches out and grabs the hem of my shirt, lifting it. I raise my arms, allowing him to remove it, even as I hesitate.
“Rafe…”
Turning away, he opens a drawer and takes out one of his shirts, wordlessly placing it over my head. His eyes never leave mine, never stray to my bare breasts. I slide my arms through the material that smells of fresh citrus.
“You stay here, avecita,” he says, before walking into the bathroom. The door closes, and the shower starts.
I shimmy out of my jeans and get under the comforter, almost groaning at how good it feels to lie down on such a comfortable bed. I fight sleep, but eventually, I give up and allow exhaustion to pull me under.
I wake up in the early hours with Rafael’s lips brushing over the back of my neck. Rolling over, I blink my eyes open. He’s already showered and dressed.
“I have to go handle some stuff, avecita,” he says, his voice so quiet, almost as though he doesn’t want to disturb the peace of the moment.
“Okay.”
“Stay here. You look tired.” His thumb swipes beneath my eye before he kisses my forehead again.
The bed shifts and I hear the door close before I fall back into unconsciousness.
I jerk awake at the sound of the bedroom door slamming open. Sitting upright, I clutch the blanket to my chest and glare at my sister who is now standing in the open doorway, arms folded over her chest, and dressed head to toe in her usual black.
“Get dressed,” she says, picking my shirt up off the floor and tossing it at me.
I get out of bed. “Why? What’s happening?” I turn my back to her, tugging Rafe’s shirt off and replacing it with my own.
“It’s nearly noon, Anna.”
My eyes widen as I turn to her. “Shit, sorry.”
“One of my contacts finally came through. I have a location on Dominges.”
My pulse instantly ticks up in anticipation. “Where is he?”
“An hour outside of Juarez.”
“Have you told Rafael?”
She frowns. “The less people who know the better. Dominges could have people in here.”
I sigh. “You can’t not tell Rafe, Una.”
She places her hands on her hips. “Your cartel boss draws too much attention. There are eyes on him, and Dominges is expecting him to come. Better that it’s just you, me, and Sasha. Their security is prepped for a mass attack, not a stealth one.”
I drag a hand down my face. “We need to tell him.” This is his war, his territory. I made an agreement with him.
She tilts her head to the side. “Does he own you, Anna?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then stop acting like it,” she snaps. “It’s embarrassing. We leave in ten minutes.”
She slams the door on her way out, and I stand there in shock for a moment. She has this way of making me feel like a disappointment, simply for feeling anything for Rafael. Una hates him, and I don’t know why. Truthfully, without him, I’m not sure what I would be. Maybe that’s what she hates. After all, he was there for me when I didn’t even know she existed.
I find my bag placed at the end of the bed. Rafe obviously had it brought up here. I dress in a pair of black denim shorts and a clean tank before pulling my hair into a braid that falls over my shoulder. Fastening a leather holster across my chest, I take both my guns—the one that Rafael gave me, and a colt 40.—and slide them beneath each arm. When I step out of the room, I find a guard posted right outside the door. Narrowing my eyes, I pass him by and exhale a frustrated breath when he follows me. Turning to face him, I stab a finger into his chest. He drops his gaze to my finger and frowns.