by LP Lovell
I slip my keys into my pocket as I skirt around a group of chickens darting across the dirt road. The front of the café is littered with rusted bistro tables. Palm trees sprout up everywhere. Mosquitoes buzz in the humid air. Paradise. Fucking paradise...
"Jude," Gabriel steps off the deck, a cigarette in hand. "The fucking Russians." He grabs his nuts. "They can suck these."
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I exhale, annoyed as all fuck at this. "Sometimes, Gabe, you need to just learn when to shut the fuck up. This isn't Lopez. He's smart and calculated and those are the ones you need to worry about. He somehow has shit on me and he's threatened my family. I swear to god, if I could get away with it, I would fucking hurt you."
I make my way to the patio of the rundown, beachfront café. My gaze drifts over the tables filled with locals and it stops on the single man in a suit. His pale skin gleams in the sun, making him stick out like a sore thumb.
Gabriel leans in close to me. "Look at him, ese, in his fucking suit. I want to slit his throat."
I clench my jaw as I watch Boris' thinning blond hair flutter in the breeze. He slicks it back down. "I swear to god,” I say, glancing at Gabriel, “you get me out of this shit, you hear me?"
"No problemo. I'm sure the fucking Russians are reasonable." He laughs.
I'm sure he finds all this entertaining, hell, he strings fuckers up by their entrails on a daily basis, but this is too much for me. "Cartel wars are not my forte, okay? This is your shit. You handle it."
"Shit, ese, you need a drink.” He wrinkles his brow. “You're always so angry."
"Let's get this over with so I can get back to Tor before she loses her shit."
Gabriel nods before he walks up the rickety stairs. With each step I take, my fingers draw into fists, my short nails clipping into my skin. We stop at the edge of the table and Boris glances up, his steel-blue eyes locking on Gabriel. "Boris?" I ask and he simply fucking nods.
"Sit, my friends."
I shake my head and pull out one of the metal chairs. Gabriel sits next to me, his leg bouncing with agitation. "The fuck you want, Russian?" he says.
"My name is Boris. Not Russian." He glares at Gabriel and Gabriel chuckles.
"What does Ronan want?" I ask.
"An alliance," Boris says as he folds his hands on the table.
"I don't work with fucking Russians," Gabriel basically spits the word.
Boris glances at me. "He wants you to launder his money." He glances at Gabriel. "And you, you dirty fucking Spic, to supply his cocaine."
“I’m Columbian.” Gabriel rolls his eyes.
I slouch down in my chair. "I'm not trying to get any more involved in this shit than I already am."
Boris points at me. "You clean his money. And until your friend,” he glances at Gabe, “is allied with my friend, you are considered an enemy." He grins. "It's not good to be enemies with Ronan Cole."
Gabriel drums his long fingers over the table. "I'm not fucking working with him." He spits on the ground. "Let him step foot in Mexico, I'll have his testicles hanging from my door as a welcome trinket."
Boris stretches his neck.
"Fine,” I say. “I'll fucking clean his money. I take twenty-five percent though."
A horn blares and a car door slams. "Oh shit, ese." Gabriel’s staring at the parking lot. "Your woman's here and she looks pissed."
"Fuck." I push to my feet and shove my hands in my pocket as I make my way down the steps and walk right into fucking Tor. My muscles tense. I close my eyes on a frustrated groan.
She smiles a smartass grin. "Care to tell me what this is?" She points at Gabriel and Boris and the empty chair I was just occupying.
Grabbing her arm, I spin her around and lead her back to the car. "What are you doing here?" I say in a low growl.
"It's fine Tor..." She snorts. "Sure looks like it."
"Jesus-fucking-Christ, woman. I'm at a café. Am I not allowed to fucking eat outside of the damn house?"
She peers angrily over my shoulder as I push her toward the Range Rover. "Who's that man with Gabriel?"
"A guy."
She glares at me. I open the car door and shove her into the driver's seat and shut the door before circling around the hood and getting into the passenger side.
"You're up to something," she says, her fingers clutching the steering wheel.
"No." I slam the door closed with such force the entire car rocks. "I'm not. Now why the fuck are you following me?"
"Why the fuck do you think?"
"Well, let's see, Tor. I don't fucking know, hence why I just fucking asked you!"
"I'm following you because you're a shady shit, killing cartel members in my garden...Russian mafia…" She glares at me.
Dragging my hands down my face, I groan. This woman is unfuckingbelievable. "Don't do that shit. This is shit you don't need to get involved in. I told you that!"
She leans forward, pressing her forehead against the steering wheel and inhaling. "Don't do this, Jude. I didn't walk through hell and back with you just so you could start lying to me now."
I shake my head, because what the fuck else can I do? "I haven't lied to you," I say through clenched teeth. "Now, go home, Tor." I reach over, start the car, then go to open the door.
"I'm not your bitch, Jude. Now get the fuck out of the car."
I have one leg out of the car already, but freeze. I slowly turn to face her. "Two and a half years and you haven't figured out telling me to do something is a trigger?" I glare at her, biting down on my lower lip. "I told you to go home. Now," I place the other foot on the ground, "go home." I close the door and start around the front of the car still glaring at her through the windshield. She glares right back, and then the engine revs, the V8 growling at me like an angry cat. Oh, she fucking did not. I stop, placing my palms flat against the smooth paint of the hood. Arching a single brow, I lift one hand and point my finger at her. "Don't fucking test me," I mouth.
The engine revs again, the car inching forward and kicking gravel everywhere as the wheels spin. There's a flutter from behind the car as a couple of chickens run off. People on the café deck are turning in their chairs, looking at the crazy woman in the noisy Range Rover trying to fucking run me over. I meet her gaze through the windshield and a smile pulls at her lips. She delicately places her wrist on the top of the steering wheel, her lips widening to one of those smartass grins she's so good at as she slowly raises her middle finger.
I'm not dealing with this shit. Shaking my head, I turn and head back toward the table Gabriel and Boris are sitting at. The engine growls again, I hear gravel sling everywhere, a few chickens squawk. There's a loud bang. Metal against metal. I stop dead in my tracks, heat flying all over me. I slowly turn around and see the back of Tor's car smashed into the driver's side of my BMW.
"What the fuck!" I shout.
Tor rolls the window down, smiling from ear to ear. "Oops, sorry, honey."
Gravel crunches under the wheels as she pulls forward. I'm staring at the huge fucking dent in my car when I see her reverse lights gleam against the black paint. "Don't you fucking—" But it's too late because she's just rammed into it again.
"Oh, sorry again. You know, I'm just a helpless woman who needs to stay at home and mind the children. Fucking arsehole!" She flips me the bird again and blows a kiss before she pulls away.
"Goddamn it," I say, turning around.
Everyone on the patio is staring at me and I shrug, brushing dust from my shirt. I ignore them as I head back to the table and take a seat. Boris glances up at me. “Your friend does not want to come to an agreement.” I glare at Gabriel. “I’ll tell Ronan you are reasonable, American, but as for your friend. I make no promises.” He grabs his water, taking a sip as he stands and gives Gabriel one last glance. And then, he walks off.
I look at Gabriel. “Really?”
“I told you. I don’t work with Russians. It’s no Bueno.”
“Just don’t drag me in
to any more of your shit.” I pull my keys from my pocket as I head back down the stairs. My blood pulses through my temples, clanging in my ears as I stare at my dented-to-all-fuck car. “God knows what she’ll do when she finds out I made a deal with Ronan.”
10
Tor
As soon as I’m home, I’m inside and throwing Cayla's clothes into a bag, swearing under my breath. I was foolish to think that I could live in this blissful ignorance, that I could trust him not to get wrapped up in anything serious. He was meeting with Gabe and a guy who looked distinctly bloody Russian. He’s not getting out. He’s getting in.
"Where are you going?" Marney asks.
I turn from the wardrobe to find him in the doorway with Cayla in his arms. She plays with the buttons on his shirt. "I don't know."
Marney drops his chin to his chest and walks up behind me, placing his free hand on my shoulder. "It's a hard life, that's for sure. My old woman couldn't handle it. Took my kids..." a sad smile spreads over his lips. "I hate it for you and Cayla and Jude." I throw Cayla's little stuffed lamb into the bag and close it, turning around and reaching for her. "I know you're upset,” he says, “but maybe you should just give it a little think. Have a conversation with him about it before you just up and hightail it outta here?" He hands Cayla to me.
"I have given Jude every opportunity to talk to me, Marney.” I take a deep breath. “He hasn't. You can protect his arse all you like, but we both know this is some deep shit." I lift the bag over my shoulder. "I can't risk Cayla."
"Aw, now. Just calm down for a second and wait on him to get back," he says, rubbing his hand over the back of his head.
The sound of gravel beneath tires sifts through the open window. Marney peers out and laughs. "What the hell happened to his car?"
I shift Cayla on my hip. "I drove into it."
"What the hell'dya do that for? It's a nice car."
I lift a brow at him. "He's a lying sack of shit, that's why. Pick up that bag, will you?" I nod my head toward the suitcase on the floor. My hands are shaking as I clutch Cayla to me and head down the stairs. Truthfully, this may be the hardest thing I will ever do. My heart is breaking with every step I take toward the front door. I reach the entranceway just as the front door flies open and Jude storms in. Marney stops beside me, resting the suitcase next to the wall.
"Nice job, Tor. Fucking ruined my damn car." He shakes his head. "So fucking angry."
"Hey, hey, hey now," Marney says. "Little ears." He points to Cayla with a stern look and Jude glares at him.
"Would you take her for a minute?" I ask quietly as I turn toward Marney.
Marney smiles and takes Cayla from me, singing to her as he walks down the hall.
"You're a fucking psycho. You know it?" Jude says. "Fucking trying to run me over because I wouldn't tell you what I'm doing. Fuck, it's not that serious. You need to go see someone about your temper, woman."
I say nothing as I press my hand to my stomach in an attempt to calm my nerves. He stops and I feel the atmosphere change. I lift my gaze to his and his eyes narrow before they drop to the floor beside me.
He points at the suitcases. "What the fuck are those?"
I inhale sharply. I swear my entire body aches. "I'm leaving, Jude and I’m taking Cayla."
A low growl rumbles from his chest and he snatches the bags from the ground. "The hell you are."
I knew this would be war, but he has to see. He has to let us go. I don't want to run from him because he will hunt me to the ends of the earth. I know that. "Jude, you are in over your head."
He storms up the stairs with my bags and I sigh, following after him. He tosses them down on the floor. Crossing his arms over his chest, he glares at me and all I'm reminded of is the first time I met him, that moment I was thrown in front of him, bound and gagged. He seemed so hard then, so brutally unbreakable.
"You are not leaving me, Tor. You fucking hear me?" Anger laced with heartache pours from his voice. "I fucking love you!"
God, this hurts. "I love you more than you know. But, Jude, you have the Russian mob after you—"
"The fucking Russian mob is not after me." He tosses his head back and combs his hands through his thick hair. "Shit."
"I don't feel safe. Don't ask me to stay when I feel like Cayla's in danger."
He storms toward me, grabbing me by both arms and staring down at me, his nostrils flaring. "You are no safer away from me than with me."
"Aren't we?" My voice is barely a whisper.
"If that were the case, I'd tell you to go." He takes a deep breath and I can see the pain in his eyes. "Look, I know this is scary, but I promise you, I have it under control. They aren't after me, they just want me to work with them."
I think Jude truly believes he has this under control, but in the space of two weeks I've had a Mexican man killed in my front yard and now Russians. This is about to blow up in his face. "I don't want you working with them!" I snap. "The mob, Jude. Really?"
"And how the fuck is that any different than what I do for Gabe?"
I throw my hands up. "It just is. It's Gabriel. It's not the same.”
"It's not any fucking different!" he shouts his face growing beet red before it softens and he steps toward me. "You've always known what I am, doll."
"I knew you were a bookie," I say. "And let's be honest, Jude, it's not like we dated. It's not like I made an informed decision, is it?" I shake my head.
Now his face goes red again, his jaw ticking. "You came back. Don't act like I didn't fucking let you go. And you came back."
I came back because I had nothing and no one and I loved him. I love him… That was before Cayla though. My reasons for staying then are not good enough now.
His phone rings, the shrill sound breaking through the tension. "Fuck." He takes it from his pocket and cuts it off. "Tor..." He steps forward and his phone rings again and again he cuts it off. Jude’s eyes become pleading and he strokes my hair from my face. "Please..." he whispers. His phone rings and rings and finally, he snatches it up by his ear. "The fuck is it now?" he shouts into the phone. “What?”
I rest my head on Jude’s shoulder so I can hopefully hear. "We have a problem, mi amigo.” I’m barely able to hear Gabriel speaking.
"Now is not a good time, Gabe," Jude says through gritted teeth.
"Someone put Pepe's head on a stick outside your bar…"
Jude's body tenses. "What?"
"His head. Your man. Your bar. I'd say that message was for you, ese."
I push away from Jude, shaking my head, my limbs trembling. Jude's eyes shoot up to mine, a deep frown marring his face as he hangs up the phone. "Tor..."
"Don't, Jude. Just let us go" I beg.
He backs me against the wall the way he does when he's trying to intimidate and dominate me. He touches his forehead to mine and the scent I associate with love and safety wraps around me. Jude has always been a safe haven to me, until now. And now I need to walk away from him. My heart aches at the prospect.
"Please," he begs, his fingers brushing over my cheek. There’s this desperation stretching between us. "I have to go handle this. Please just wait until I get back. You owe me that much, Tor. I love you," he whispers and presses his lips to mine. The kiss is short and sweet and so full of love. "You and Cayla are my fucking world. Don't take that from me." I can feel my heart breaking under his soft touches, his warm kisses.
"I'll wait," I tell him, holding back the tears threatening to spill out. He kisses me once more and then pulls away, walking out of the house without a backward glance.
I go into the kitchen and find Cayla sitting on the worktop, Marney holding her with a wide smile on her face. Part of me wants to leave now while Jude's gone, but he's right, I owe him enough to explain it to him properly, to make him come to terms with it. Though, honestly, how do you ever come to terms with losing your child? I want to believe that Jude could just stop doing this, go straight and live a normal life. God knows, we have e
nough money to. But he was born into this lifestyle, he's good at it, and it's all he knows. Normal day to day living...Jude wouldn't know what to do with that. I'm sure he'd tell me everything I wanted to hear. Hell, he might even do it for a time, but Jude is a man who lives on the edge. He needs it. He thrives on it.
I glance through the French doors that open out onto the garden. The sun has just dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of orange and pinks. I walk outside, inhaling the salty air. I will miss the island.
"He's not perfect," Marney says, coming to stand beside me. "But he loves you, little darlin'." Cayla leans away from his arms, reaching for me. I take her and prop her on my hip, stroking my hand over her cheek. She has always had her Uncle Caleb's eyes, but she sometimes gets this mischievous glint that's all Jude.
"I know he does,” I whisper. That's what makes this so hard. Cayla yawns, rubbing at her eyes with her small fists. "I'm going to go and put her down."
Marney nods. I walk back through the house and up the stairs. I give Cayla her bath and change her into her pyjamas for bed before I lay her down and read her a story about princesses and unicorns. This is what her life should always be: princesses and unicorns. At least until she's old enough to deal with all the ugliness this life holds. I will shelter her from this big bad world for as long as I possibly can. When I finish the book, she's fast asleep. I smile down at her peaceful face and tuck her in, kissing her head before I leave the room, telling myself I’m doing the right thing by waiting on Jude to come back.
11
Tor
I didn’t sleep at all last night, and it’s now catching up with me, so I lie down for a moment. I’m half drifting to sleep when I hear something. I sit up, listening intently to see if Cayla is crying. Silence. The room is completely dark and I squint, trying to find the bedside lamp.
I hear a floorboard creak in the hallway and I freeze. In the silence of the house it sounds impossibly loud. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and my heart rate speeds up. When you've lived the life I have, you learn to listen to your instincts and mine are screaming at me that something is wrong.