by LP Lovell
"You just did."
I finish my shower and get dressed. When I go downstairs, Tor's in the kitchen making Cayla breakfast. She turns and glares at me as she sets Cayla's plate in front of her, and I can't help but laugh. I walk over, lean down, and give Cayla a quick kiss on the head. "Be sweet for Mommy. She's having a rough day." I turn to Tor and wink.
Marney snickers at the breakfast bar. Tor sits next to Cayla and props her elbows on the table, clasping a mug of coffee. "Every day is a rough day when we have to put up with Daddy," she says through gritted teeth.
Cayla squeals, smiling as she slams her hands down over her tray and knocks her juice over. "Dada. Dada."
"Daddy will be back later,” I say. “Love you."
She grins and I blow her a kiss. Tor just glares at me. "Love you too, doll," I say before walking out to the car.
It takes me an hour longer to get to the bar from the new house. I park in front of the bar, cutting the engine and glancing around the empty parking lot. The only car here is Pepe's run-down Toyota, but something doesn’t feel right.
I walk in with my hand on my gun. The safety off. I hate this fucking feeling. Out here on this island, I'd almost forgotten what it was like to worry about shit. Being a figurative dead man has had its perks—until now. Pepe glances up from behind the bar. When he smiles his gold front tooth glints in the sunlight.
"Hola, boss." He reaches under the counter and my grip on my gun tightens. I don't trust a fucking soul right now, for all I know everyone works for the cartel. Pepe lays a bank bag on the counter and pats it. "All the money is in here." Reaching behind him, he grabs a bottle of whisky and pours a shot, sliding it across the bar to me.
"Thanks, Pepe." I gulp the whisky back just as the door bangs open and fucking Gabriel comes wandering in. "Pepe, give me another," I say. He nods, pours one out, and hands it to me.
"Sorry about the other night,” Gabriel says, stepping up to the bar, “the Russian is crazy."
I cock a brow. "You don't say?"
"He's Russian, they're all crazy."
"You gonna tell me what the fuck he wanted and why the hell I had to get involved in that shit show?"
Gabriel shrugs as he takes a seat on the barstool.
"Cerveza?" Pepe asks and Gabriel nods.
"Some bullshit about wanting my cocaine. I told him no." He snorts. "Everyone wants my cocaine. It is, after all, the best."
"Right," I say over my glass. "For some reason, I don't see that going over well."
Gabriel shrugs as he takes the beer from Pepe. "What the fuck is he going to do, ese? Russians are not welcome in Mexico. If the pale lord of Narnia steps foot on Mexican soil," Gabriel uses his finger to slice across his neck, "his throat will be slit and we'll hang him up by his intestines." He takes a sip of beer.
The thing is, Gabriel isn't exaggerating. He'll do it, but still, I’ve heard enough about Ronan to know you don’t say no to him. "The pale lord of Narnia..." I cock a brow and Gabriel glares at me.
"What? Narnia...isn't that some place in fucking Russia with snow and shit?" He lifts his beer, gulping it back.
I drum my fingers over the counter. I can’t do this. Not with Cayla. Not with Tor. I can take no risks. "I'm fucking out," I say and set the shot glass on the bar top. "Pepe," I shout, "the fucking bar's all yours, mi amigo." A blank stare falls over Pepe's face.
"You're just going to run?" Gabriel rolls his eyes, mumbling in Spanish under his breath. "So dramatic. You catch sight of the Russian and you're ready to abandon paradise? The Russian is nothing. I shit on him."
"You don't fucking get it. This is not about me, Gabe. It's about Cayla and Tor." I sigh. "I don't need this shit in my life, I had enough of that to last a goddamn lifetime."
"This is your life, bookie.” His lips curl in a wry smile. “You can't run from it any more than I can."
Turning, I point my finger in his face. "Don't fucking call me that!"
He shrugs one shoulder. "Why not? Tor knows what you are. I know what you are. It is you who have forgotten, ese."
"I'm nothing anymore." I back toward the door. "I'm a fucking ghost, remember?"
"Not to the Russian," he says in a mocking tone.
"Gabe," I push the door open, "look, it's been fucking great. You take care of yourself and forget you ever knew me." And with that, I turn and walk outside. I'm not stupid enough to think I'm free of this shit. Chances are, I'm not. But at least I can tell Tor I tried...
***break***
I still can't fucking sleep.
There's this dark shadow falling over me. I can feel shit's about to hit the fan. I lie awake, listening to the waves crash outside the open balcony doors. The warm light from the early morning sun creeps through the doorway. Groaning, I roll over and wrap my arm around Tor’s tiny waist. I trail my hand over the dip of her hip as I kiss down her bare back and think about how hard I'm about to fuck her. Just as I slip my hand beneath the waist of her shorts, the phone buzzes over the wooden nightstand. I let it keep ringing. I have better things to tend to. Tor rolls onto her back, still half asleep as she grabs at my face.
"I want you," I whisper against her neck. The phone buzzes again and again. "Fuck," I mumble as I flip onto my side and feel around on the table until my hand grazes the phone. My brow wrinkles as I bring it to my ear and quickly slip out of bed. "Yeah?" I say and stumble onto the balcony, leaving the door slightly cracked. Silence. "Hello?"
"Hello, American," Ronan's distinct voice comes over the line. I scrub my hand down over my jaw before I lean against the railing. "Your friend didn't want to play nice. Pity for you." He laughs.
"Gabriel's shit is Gabriel's shit."
"But I am making it your shit. You'll be meeting my friend, Boris Chavekvez, at the Albatross Café today at noon."
"Go fuck yourself." I go to hang up, but I hear him shouting and bring the phone back to my ear.
"Pearson, you do not want to fuck with me. I do hate to kill a woman and her child for no good reason." I freeze, my pulse clanging in my ears. "At noon,” he says. “All you have to do is meet with Boris, after that, I leave you alone. You have my word."
My grip on the phone tightens, I feel my nostrils flaring as my blood pressure skyrockets. What the fuck am I supposed to do here? I grit my teeth just as the balcony door pushes all the way open. "Dada." Cayla rubs her eyes, smiling as she comes tottering out.
"Ah, I hear the little one..." Ronan says and there’s a long pause. "Boris will see you at noon, no?"
"Fucking fine."
"Thank you," he chuckles with an air of arrogance before the line goes dead.
White-hot rage travels through my veins. My jaw ticks, and as much as I want to shout and punch something, I can’t. I must control this anger because Cayla is right here. I clench my fist around the phone with such force the screen cracks in my hand. Cayla tugs at the bottom of my shirt before she holds her hands up. "Holt me. Holt me."
I reach down and pick her up and she lays her head on my chest, her tiny hand reaching for my face. “And just who invited you into our room?” I laugh.
She sighs. "I wuv you."
"I love you, too, little doll. I love you, too."
I sweep my hand over her tiny head, staring at the reflection in the window. She’s all curled up on me, so small in my arms. She loves me with a love so honest it makes me weak. And I would give my fucking life—the life of ten-thousand men—to keep her safe. I carry her back into our bedroom and lay her down between me and Tor, gently brushing my hand through her downy hair. Within minutes, Cayla's out like a light on my chest and my mind's reeling because I know this is not fucking good. I don't need to get involved in this shit, but what choice do I have? How did I become the middle man between a fucking Mexican cartel and the Russian mafia? And then Jesús’ guy showing up at my house—that can't be coincidence, can it? Fuck! Cayla shifts in her sleep and I lay my hand over her small back, quieting her. We'll leave the island. Tonight...but what if t
here's more to this than I'm aware of? My heart races, my muscles grow tense and as much as I fucking hate it, I think it may be best to see what the hell is going on before I just up and leave. I need to take a minute and weigh my options. Shit like this—I can't afford to make rash decisions.
My phone buzzes in my hand, Gabriel's number flashing on the cracked screen. For the past two years, my life has been perfect. Flawless. But monsters rarely ever get a fucking fairy tale...and I know that.
8
Tor
The sound of Jude's phone ringing wakes me.
“What the fuck?” he whispers. “I swear.” He shifts in the bed before he climbs out. I keep my eyes closed, listening to him. "I'm gonna fucking slit your jugular..." his voice drifts down the hallway and I sit up to find Cayla curled up on Jude's side of the bed, her little lamb tucked underneath her arm. "Fucking bullshit," Jude shouts, his deep voice echoing down the hall. "And you are fucking going with me!"
What the hell is going on? He moves us across the island, has the Russian mafia after him, and now this shit. I hop out of bed and walk down the hallway to the top of the stairs.
"...and what the fuck am I supposed to tell Tor?" He pauses and I hear an agitated groan float up the stairwell. "Just—fuck, just let me see what the plan is." There's another pause. "We’re supposed to meet him at noon."
Jude, I swear to all that is holy. I storm down the stairwell, my hands clenched into fists.
Jude's sitting on the floor in his boxers with his back against the wall and the phone pressed to his ear. The early morning sunlight streams through the windows, casting a warm golden haze over his broad chest. He glances up at me. "Fucking Boris Chachvaka or some shit." Another brief pause. "I don't fucking know. You figure that shit out yourself." And he hangs up. I watch his chin fall to his chest and he slowly inhales.
I step around the corner of the stairwell. "What was that about?" I ask, placing my hands on my hips.
"Don't fucking worry about it."
"Don't give me that shit, Jude!"
He pushes to his feet, glaring at me with his murky green eyes. I'm not scared of him, but every so often he still gives me a look that sends adrenaline jolting through my system. "I'm going to take a shower," he says.
"I asked you a question."
He waves me off. Oh, he did not just dismiss me like I'm some trophy wife who doesn't need to worry her pretty, little head. I pick up the nearest available object—which just so happens to be a Beanie Baby lamb—and I throw it at the back of his head.
He freezes on the step, slowly turning to face me. His eyes drift to the stuffed animal by his bare foot before they slowly rise to meet my stare. "The fuck, Tor?"
I point at him. "Do not fucking ignore me," I whisper-shout, trying to keep my voice down so as not to wake Cayla.
"I wasn't.” There's a slight gleam in his eye as one corner of his mouth lifts into a dangerous smirk. “I told you I was going to take a shower,” he says as he steps back down the stairs toward me. "And don't fucking throw shit at me."
"Don't worry about it is not an answer, you arsehole."
"Oh, excuse me." He grins. "How about: none of your fucking concern..." he pauses and that grin deepens, "woman."
He thinks this is funny? I pick up the next available object, a butt-naked Barbie, and launch that at him. He catches the doll midair. "You, shady fuck!” I say. “If you think I'm going to put up with your shit, you've forgotten who you're dealing with. I will slit your throat in your sleep."
On a smirk, he throws the doll to the floor then comes stomping across the foyer toward me, all hard, dominant male.
"Fuck me,” he says on a groan when he stops in front of me. He grabs a handful of my hair and yanks my head back as his mouth inches toward my throat. My heart hammers against my ribs. "Tell me you'll slit my fucking throat again." He tugs my hair and smirks as his large hand leisurely makes its way to my throat. His fingers slowly wind around my neck and he grips the side of my jaw with his outspread fingers. "I like it when you threaten me, doll. You know it's a turn-on." His lips brush mine.
That adrenaline rush hits me with such force my vision blurs for a second and I feel lightheaded. "Tell me what you're getting us into, Jude," I breathe against his lips.
My fingers twitch, desperate to touch him, but I don't. This man can own me with a look, and I'm not about to help his cause, even if it is tempting. This is how Jude works: I get mad and he seduces me until I can’t even remember what I was angry about. And I fall for it every time. It’s not even a choice, I can’t resist him.
"Trust me when I say, it is nothing to worry about. I'll handle it." His lips brush over mine as his hold on my throat releases. His hand drifts down my stomach, slipping with practiced ease beneath my thong. "Sometimes,” he says, “I don't tell you things to protect you." His finger slides over me and my knees threaten to give way. I throw my hand out, resting my palm against the warm skin of his chest.
Damn him. "I don't need protecting," I whisper. "I'm not a child."
"Oh, trust me. I know that." His fingers sink farther into me and I bite back a moan as I wrap my fingers around his wrist, halting him. Our eyes lock in a silent standoff. He lifts a brow and forces his fingers deeper inside me. "Fuck, I like you angry." He kisses down my throat, biting every few inches.
"Stop," I gasp.
"Don't do this to me, doll," he pleads against my neck.
My resolve wavers for a beat. "You can't just fuck me into silence," I whisper.
"Wanna bet?" His fingers flex and I whimper. He slams his mouth over mine, biting down on my lower lip. That's all it takes for my resolve to dissolve into nothing. I'm always so weak for him. He pulls his fingers from me, his hands landing on my waist and he lifts me. The wall hits my back, his massive chest pinning me. Before I can protest, his boxers are shoved down over his thighs and he shoves his cock deep inside me. I can't fight this. He feels like home. He makes me feel whole. Moaning, I close my eyes and throw my head against the wall. "God, your fucking pussy," he groans as he drives into me.
"Jude," I breathe. His teeth pinch my jaw and I turn my head to the side, allowing him more access.
"Take it, Tor."
I'll always take everything he has to give. I fist his hair and yank his head back, coaxing a guttural growl from him as I press my lips over his. Anger and lust mix together until I'm caught somewhere between wanting to fuck him and hurt him. "I fucking hate that you do this," I say on a gasp and he thrusts harder inside me. I rake my nails down his chest and he hisses as thin lines of blood well on his skin.
"I know you do.”
"Fuck you, Jude," I cry, tightening around him as pleasure fires through me.
Without warning, he grabs my throat and one by one his thick fingers close around it as he presses me to the wall. This feeling—the way he completely dominates me, takes me, owns me—nothing will ever compare to this. It's primitive and raw and so very Jude. So very wrong.
"Fuck, Tor." His fingers twitch over my throat and I find myself falling over the edge, heat spiraling through me. I moan, I claw at his arm, I writhe and buck as the bliss crashes down on me like a rogue wave, and then he's right there, falling with me. I open my eyes just in time to see him throw his head back on a deep growl, his brow wrinkling, muscles flexing. Another deep groan rumbles through his lips and he stills inside me as he looks up, his green eyes locking with mine.
He drops my feet to the floor and we stand staring at each other, our chests heaving. A light sheen of sweat glistens on his skin. The claw marks on his chest stand out a bright crimson against his tanned skin. Never has a man made sex feel so much like a war.
He still hasn't told me anything and I realize he's not going to. I walked right into that because he wanted me to. With a heavy sigh, I turn and walk up the stairs. Cayla's still sleeping in the middle of our enormous bed. The sight of her bursts my sex induced bubble. I love Jude. He sets me on fire, he loves me, he understands me...he's my
soul mate, and Cayla is my cold dose of reality. Jude may be part of my soul, but Cayla is my heart. My everything. I would love nothing more than to stay, to be loved by Jude for the rest of my life, but I know now I can't. He's never going to tell me what's going on and if I don't know then I'm not risking her. He will always believe that we are safest with him, but what if we’re not? After all, the Russian mob isn’t after me or Cayla, just Jude.
I climb onto the bed and curl on my side, wrapping my arm around her small body. She blinks her eyes open, the shadow from her long lashes fanning over her plump cheeks. She clutches at a piece of my hair and I kiss her cheek, inhaling the sweet smell of baby lotion.
"Hey baby," I say, smiling.
She stretches her little arms and legs out and turns to face me. "Dada?" One word and it brings tears to my eyes. I fight them away and plaster a smile on my face for her sake.
"Daddy's downstairs," I whisper hoarsely.
"I'm right here, little doll."
I glance over my shoulder to find Jude crossing the bedroom. He leans over me, pressing a kiss to my shoulder as he scoops Cayla up off the mattress. She smiles, squealing as he lifts her in the air. His eyes meet mine and he pulls her tight to his chest. I look away before he sees the tears in my eyes. He's such a good dad. He loves her and she adores him. Can I really take her away from that?
I roll onto my side, facing away from him. I have to be sure. I know what's happening is bad and dangerous. I know that without a shadow of a doubt. But I need more than just his cryptic phone calls and his shady behavior. I need to know whether he can get us out of this.
I have to know what's going on before I tear my family apart.
9
Jude
The gravel crunches beneath the tires as I pull into the parking lot of the Albatross Café. I park under the shade of a palm tree, cut the engine, and open the door. The sticky Caribbean heat wafts inside, along with the cliché sound of the steel drums off in the distance. This is fucked up. So fucked up.