by LP Lovell
I nod. Wait and fucking pray because we'll have no way to know if it worked until we show up— without fucking Andrea.
"Ah, shit," Gabriel groans. "Fucking shit. We need a stand-in for Andrea." He pulls out of the motel parking lot, tires squealing. A string of Spanish profanities swirl around the front of the car and Gabriel pounds his fist over the steering wheel before he turns his classical music up full blast. He shakes his head, still mumbling in Spanish as we tear through the city.
He stops at a red light and a young guy walks in front of the car, the headlights bouncing off his white shirt. "Good enough," Gabriel says as he throws the door open and hops out of the car. The classical music keeps blaring as I watch Gabriel run up to the guy, point the gun at his head, and grab him by the arm, yanking him across the street to the car. Gabriel opens the back door, keeping the gun aimed at him as he climbs in the front seat. "Damn, ese.” He throws a hand up. “Pull your gun on him."
Eyeing Gabriel, I slowly raise my gun and point it at the guy shaking in the backseat. "Por favor no mates," the guys pleads.
Gabriel laughs. "I won't kill you. Welcome to the Juárez cartel."
I glance back and notice a growing dark spot on the guy's jeans. "Gabe," I say, shaking my head. "You just made him piss his pants. This is fucked up, even by my standards."
"Ah, everyone wants to be in the cartel," Gabriel shouts, pulling a U-turn and speeding off.
28
Jude
We pull up in front of a rundown, concrete house. Chickens scurry across the yard and there’s a little boy next door riding a tricycle around on a patch of dirt. Gabriel and I stare at the house. Watching. The guy Gabriel abducted last night sits in the back seat wearing Andrea’s bloodied clothes and shaking. His hands are tied and a burlap sack covers his head. He is our dummy just in case anyone sees us.
I go to open the car door, because damn it, if Cayla is in there, she's all alone, but Gabriel grabs my arm, halting me. "Wait, we have to make this believable. We have to be surprised. Outraged..." He takes his phone and taps the screen before he pulls it to his ear. "Jesús, we're here. Your men shoot at us and Andrea is dead. You hear me? You call them and tell them not to touch us." I can hear some man shouting on the other end of the line. "We get Cayla first." More shouting. "I'll put a bullet in his head right now and then you'll have fucking Domingo to answer to."
I grab Gabe's arm, glaring at him. Gabe looks at me and nods before closing his eyes and biting his lips. "Bueno." And he hangs up.
"Ready?" I ask, cocking my gun.
"I guess, ese." He sighs as he pushes the door open.
The hot air wraps around me when I step out of the Hummer. Gabriel drags the guy from the back seat, pointing the gun at the back of his head and forcing him to walk. Loud music thumps from the house—which is a good sign because hopefully it's been playing since last night.
With each step we draw nearer, my heart races. I'm only a few feet away from the house where my daughter is. Alone and amongst hopefully dead bodies. My stomach knots, slipping around itself as I think about how terrified she has to be. Crying. Her cheeks red. I clench my fist, closing my fingers more tightly around the cool metal of my gun. Gabe flips the latch to the gate and it creaks open. As soon as we set foot in the yard, a dog comes bounding through the tall weeds, barking and snarling.
"Aw, shit." Gabe moves his gun away from the guy's head, aims at the dog, and shoots. The guy jumps and screams at the same time as the dog yelps. Gabriel glances back at me. "It's a good sign, no? It's quiet." He doesn't wait on a response, just keeps forcing the guy to march along with us to the front door.
The music pounds through the wooden door, shaking it with each thump of bass.
I use the heel of my gun to bang over the door. The music is thumping so loud I can hardly hear Gabriel telling me to wait. Gabe's already on his phone again, using the hand he's holding his gun with to plug his ear. This is the part of the plan everything hinges upon. If the guys inside that house drank that poison, they’re dead and we have to pretend to be surprised. We have to pretend they wouldn’t let us in. We have to pretend to be outraged. Bust down the door…"Jesús,” Gabriel says, “Tell your hombres to open la puerta. They aren’t answering the door." Gabriel bangs over the door. “Open the door coños.” There's a pause. It may only be seconds, but it drags out. "What the fuck?” he says into the phone. “Did you set me up, Jésus?" He glances at me, a deep grin spreading across his lips.
"The fuck," I shout—all part of the script. Every-fucking-thing about this must seem real. "What the fuck, Gabe?"
"Ese, what the hell is going on?” he shouts in the phone. “I'll put a bullet in Andrea's stupid head."
My heart clangs in my ears. "What the fuck is going on, Gabe?"
"Jesús!"
"Open the fucking door," I bang over the wood. "Where's my daughter?"
"Jesús, where are your guys? I'm gonna end Andrea..."
I can hear Jesús shouting, swearing. And I don't give a shit, I take a few steps back and run toward the door, slamming all my weight against the door.
"Ese!" Gabriel says. I just back up again and ram my shoulder into the door over and over until the hinges start to give way. Breathless, I step back and kick the door. It comes crashing down, that shitty music blaring out into the early morning air.
"Oh, Jésus, your guys are all dead," Gabe says, dropping the phone to his side.
Dust settles and all I see are bodies. Ten men lay sprawled out on the floor. Two of them naked. The empty bottle of brandy is on a table. Roberta is on the couch without pants, her legs spread wide with two men slumped between them on the floor. I step over the threshold, the shattered door crunching underneath my shoes.
"Cayla?" I shout, frantically looking around. I’m angry as hell she's been in the middle of this shit right here. "Cayla?"
Gabriel shoves the guy inside the beaten-down door and rams the barrel of the gun against the burlap sack near the guy's temple. "You fucking move from this spot and I will kill you. Do you understand?"
The guy nods and Gabriel starts down the hall with his gun drawn.
"Cayla...little doll?" I shout. With each second that passes, fear takes root in my chest. I walk to the stereo and turn it down, the sudden silence almost deafening. Doors bang open as Gabriel clears each room. I push dead bodies out of the way, pull the couch from the wall, open every fucking cabinet in this shitty house, and she is nowhere
I feel uneasy. Lost. I'm in a foreign fucking land owned by the cartel, maybe that's why.
"Jesús," Gabriel screams. "Lying fucking puta." I sink to the chair right next to one of the dead men and bury my face in my hands. He grabs our hostage and shoves him back out the door. "I'm fucking calling him and..." His voice trails off.
I can't think. I can't process a damn thing. Rage and loss—the greatest fucking loss I've ever experienced—settles over me like a slow fog because they never intended to hand Cayla over. She's not here. She never was here, and if the life of Domingo's own son won't cause them to release her, I don't know what will. Tears blur my vision and I hang my head to my chest. I want to rip the heads off all Jesús’ guys. I want to gut them and drown them in their own blood, but that's nothing but a fucking pipe dream. If they hurt her though—I will kill as many of them as I can before they kill me. At least I can die knowing I served some type of justice for my little doll. I choke on the tears, angrily swiping them away as I allow the anger to consume me. Anger I can handle because it drives me but fucking grief, it drowns me. I can't drown right now. I take a steadying breath and drag both hands down my face before I push up from the filthy couch.
When I step outside, Gabriel is leaning against the Hummer with his head hung.
"She was never here, was she?" I ask as I cross the yard, stepping over the dead dog on my way to the driveway.
"No." He exhales. "I don't know where Jesús is keeping her.” Slowly, he moves away from the car. "I am sorry, my friend." He o
pens the door and climbs in, cranking the engine. My last hope right now is Ronan and I don't know how I feel about that.
29
Tor
I walk through Gabriel's gardens, the perfectly manicured, damp grass soft beneath my bare feet. The scent of Jasmine swirls around me as I wander through the darkness. The further I get from the house, the less light there is and I like it.
I find a stone bench next to a huge pond filled with coy fish. I sit, watching the white and golden fish swim aimlessly in circles as I allow the night air to wash over me. It goes a small way to calm the turmoil that’s constantly swirling through me like waves crashing against rocky cliffs. I don't want to see anyone. I don't want to talk to anyone. I sit out here for a long while, submerged within my thoughts, my worry, and then I hear Jude calling my name, a hint of panic in his voice.
The shadowy outline of his large frame comes into view and he pauses midstride. "Tor?"
Fear grips me. “Where is she?" I ask, but I already know if he had her she would be in his arms. I doubt he’d ever let her go again. I know I wouldn’t.
"She wasn't there," he says quietly.
The worst thing is, as upset as I am that she's not here, the fact that she wasn't there at least means she might still be alive. Hope can become such a tenuous thing when absolute tragedy lingers so close. Jude takes a seat next to me, wrapping his arm around me and rubbing his warm hand over my shoulder. We sit in silence, because honestly, what can either of us say? There is nothing that will make this better, nothing that can fix this aside from getting her back.
I wind my arms around him and press against the warmth of his chest. He's the only thing keeping me from losing my mind right now. I know he'll get her back. He will…
His hand strokes over my hair. "I'll never forget the first time I saw her," he says. "God, it took me days to get to you two, and when I walked in that room and saw her lying in that crib..." A smile works its way over his lips and it breaks my heart into a million tiny pieces. He loves her so much. "I picked her up and she was so tiny in my arms. The way that felt, Tor..." He kisses my temple. "You two are my world."
I pull him closer, wanting to clutch onto him as tightly as possible. He stands up and takes my hand, pulling me to my feet as his arm comes around me. I feel like he shelters me from everything with his massive presence. Bringing me into his side, we walk.
He leads me through the house, up to the bedroom, and straight through into the massive bathroom. He turns the water on and undresses himself. Then, without a word, he strips my clothes off before pulling me into the shower. I can see the pain clinging to him, swirling through his eyes. This hurts him every bit as much as it hurts me and yet, he pushes it aside. He tries to be strong for me.
Exhaling, he squeezes shampoo into his hand and washes my hair, his hands roughly pulling at the strands as his fingers massage over my scalp. I close my eyes. The hot water pours over my body as his hands work at washing the suds away. When I feel him place a light kiss to my shoulder, I open my eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. I can’t say anything. He takes the soap and lathers his hands, sliding them slowly over my bare skin. His hands glide over my legs, my arms and back, my neck. My chest grows tight with each loving caress, each soft touch. He kisses my cheek, his warm breath fanning over my skin.
“I’ll make it better, I promise…” he says so quietly I’m not sure if he’s talking to me or himself. “You need to rest, Tor,” he says as he gathers my hair in his hands and wrings the water out. Jude moves me toward the door and steps under the spray himself.
I open the door, grab the thick towel from the hook, and wrap it around me as I head into the bedroom to crawl onto the bed. I just sit here, numb. Unable to think about anything that isn't Cayla.
When Jude walks into the bedroom, he takes one look at me and sighs. He pulls on a pair of boxers and crosses the room, crawling onto the bed and sitting behind me. He takes my hair and places it in the towel, drying it. After a few minutes, he pulls the duvet back and lies back, dragging me down against his chest.
"Try and go to sleep, Tor," he whispers, placing a tender kiss to my head.
We both lay here in silence, but Jude's breaths never even out. Neither of us will get any sleep tonight.
30
Tor
Cayla. She's right in front of me, in the arms of a stranger who's face I can't see. My baby smiles wide and reaches for me, but the stranger turns and walks away. I try to follow but my feet are heavy, as though they're stuck in cement. Cayla's smile fades and a look of panic crosses her soft features.
"Cayla!" I scream, watching as she continues to reach for me over the stranger’s shoulder, her little face breaking in anguish as tears streak down her cheeks.
"Please," I beg weakly as I collapse to my knees. I watch as the stranger takes my baby from me and there's nothing I can do. Not a single thing.
A bang jolts me from my sleep and I sit bolt upright, dragging in several deep breaths. Warm afternoon light pours through the open balcony doors. How long was I asleep?
Another loud bang startles me and I realize it's someone rapping on the door. I get out of bed, swiping the tears from my face as I open the door. Right in the doorway stands a man dressed in an immaculate suit. His skin is pale, his hair so blond it's nearly white. He looks as though he just stepped out of an office in New York rather than the dusty streets of Mexico. I vaguely recognize him as the man I caught Jude and Gabriel meeting with at that cafe.
"Victoria," he says in a thick Russian accent.
"Who are you?"
"Boris," he says. That's it.
"Okay.” I eye him warily. “What do you want?" I have no idea where Jude or Gabriel are, but I don't like this man being here.
"My boss would like to speak with you." Boris simply hands me a phone and I take it hesitantly. "I will wait here," he says and I nod, closing the door before lifting the phone to my ear.
"Hel..hello?"
"Ah, Victoria, how are you, my dear?" The accent is Russian. Articulate, almost seductive.
"I've been better. Who are you?"
"I am Ronan Cole, and I am going to help you."
"You're the mob boss," I say.
"That makes me sound so sinister.” He laughs. “Think of me as a friend in your situation. As I said, I can help you get your daughter back." I clutch the phone for a moment in silence. This is the Russian, the man that had even Jude worried. That means I should fear him, but it also means he's powerful...and the cartel is powerful. Sometimes you must fight fire with fire, right?
"How?" It’s one word—an invitation and I know deep down that I'm selling my soul to the devil, but for Cayla, I'd give it up in a heartbeat.
“It’s simple,” Ronan says. “Very, very simple…”
Hours later, I'm half asleep again when I hear the bedroom door creak open. The gun under the pillow is in my hand before a thought crosses my mind. I sit up, aiming it at the obscure figure in the doorway.
"It's me, Tor." Jude holds his hands out in front of him and I blink, slowly lowering the gun.
Between the armed guards everywhere and the creepy Russians seemingly appearing out of nowhere, this place has me on edge. I slide the gun beneath the pillow and lie back down. I know Gabriel is Jude's friend—his ally even in this fight—but this is still the cartel. I lost Cayla because I trusted someone with her and that experience has taught me that anyone could be a mole. Anyone could be an enemy. This is a dirty fight where rules do not apply and underhanded tactics rule. Jude is the only person I’ll allow myself to trust.
I watch Jude move around the room, undressing as he makes his way to the bed. The mattress dips with his weight and then his warm arm wraps around my waist, tugging me against his hard body. His lips brush the back of my neck and I close my eyes, basking, for moment, in his ability to make me feel complete. The empty void that has taken up residence in my chest slightly threads together in his arms, because despite ever
ything that has happened, Jude is still the other half of me. And he is the only person who can possibly understand what I'm feeling right now. I'm mad at him, I am, but I'm tired. I'm tired of being angry. I'm tired of this turmoil. And I now have a plan. I'm going to follow it through even though I know it will hurt Jude every bit as much as it will hurt me, but it's necessary. For Cayla. So, for now, I don't want to fight with him. I turn over and he holds me close, stroking his fingers gently across my cheek.
I glide my palm over his chest, allowing the heat of his skin to seep into me. He captures my hand and threads his fingers through mine. Tilting my chin back, I seek his mouth and tentatively brush my lips across his. He kisses me gently, cupping my cheek and stroking his thumb along my jaw. "I'm sorry, doll," he breathes against my mouth.
I shake my head and press my lips harder over his. I just want to feel connected to him one last time because we both know we can't all survive this. The walls are pressing in on us. Jude has a gun pointed at his head and he's just waiting to see who will pull the trigger. I shift in the bed until I'm straddling his body. My tongue dances over his lips and his hands land on my hips as he sits up, bringing us face to face as he stills over me.
"Tor..." he groans against my lips, his hands finding their way to my hair.
"Just...” I grip his face in both hands, “make me feel whole again, Jude. Just for a moment."
This is all I will get. A moment. A memory. I want him—all of him—imprinted on my body and soul.
31
Jude
"Make me feel whole again, Jude. Just for a moment," she breathes against my mouth, her warm breath washing over me.
Fuck. I thread my fingers through her soft hair and kiss her. I want to stop her because this feels wrong. It feels wrong to love her like this when the most precious part of us is gone. Lost.