by LP Lovell
Her tongue slips between my lips. There's a sense of helplessness and defeat, longing that bleeds through this kiss. And I cave for her. Like I always have—even in the most wrong situations, I cave for her. I fist her hair, tugging her head back. "Fuck, Tor."
"I just need..."
Her fingers slide over my arms, her long nails digging into my flesh like she needs this just to stay grounded. I deepen the kiss, letting the anger and violence, the bloodshed swirl through me like a violent wave until she consumes it. Until she fucking takes it all away. My hands creep beneath her shirt, her warm, smooth skin so perfect against my palm. I cup her breast and groan into her mouth as she slowly grinds over me.
Tor grabs my fly and unzips it before pulling my jeans down my thighs and tossing them to the floor. Sitting up, I grab onto her, gliding my hands along the indention of her spine, slowly trailing my way to her neck. I cup the back of her head, forcing her lips against mine in another kiss. Deep. Hard. Fucking violent. I grab the waist of her sleep shorts and rip them down her legs with her thong. As soon as she’s kicked them off, she’s straddling me again, grabbing at my hard cock and shoving it inside her pussy. I clench my jaw on a groan because this woman feels so fucking good. She is everything I could ever want or need. She makes me a better person just because she's crazy enough to fucking love me, and it's moments like this I wonder what the hell I ever did to deserve her.
I tighten my hold on her, forcing her against my chest as she rides me. "I fucking love you," I breathe against her neck, kissing down her throat before I bite her. She tosses her head back and moans as she moves her hands along my sides, my arms, resting them on my shoulder. Her head's still thrown back, and I take this moment to watch her, to fucking admire the way she moves and feels, and then I grab her chin and tilt her head down. Each thrust is hard and slow, determined. "Look at me, Tor," I say and her nostrils flare. "Tor..." She moves over me harder, her hold on my shoulders tightening. There is something here that feels so desperate, so angry and lost. "Look at me,” I say again.
When she finally opens her eyes, several tears roll down her cheek and she falls forward, burying her face in the crook of my neck. Her movements slow and I grab her by the waist, attempting to move her off me, but she locks her thighs around me. "No," she says.
"Tor—"
She keeps grinding over me, her pace quickening. "Fuck me, Jude, please,” she whispers.
Exhaling, I grab her and flip her onto her back, quickly settling between her spread thighs and sinking into her slow and deep. She stares up at me, her hands on my cheek, her eyes searching mine. I move steadily inside of her, my eyes locked with hers. "I love you," I say, and she chokes on a sob.
"And I love you." Tears fall down her cheek. "I always will, no matter what. Know that." She pulls me down to her, kissing me hard and deep.
I can't help it, and honestly, under the circumstances I feel guilty as shit, but my dick reacts to her without my permission. A bolt of pleasure tears through me hot and fast and I come, groaning against her lips as she clings to me. Her fingers sweep gently along my jaw as I rest my forehead against hers and catch my breath, then I lie back, pulling Tor onto my chest. I comb my fingers through her hair. "Sleep, doll. Try to sleep," I whisper.
Her fingers weave a trail over my arms, tracing my tattoos as she inhales a deep sigh. She's falling apart. I feel it and I fucking hate it, but the truth is: so am I. Every moment that passes and Cayla's not here tears a piece of my fucking heart clean out. But I can't let Tor see that. I have to be strong for her. I must give her hope even though I fear there is none. Things have gotten out of hand and Ronan...I don't trust him. I should, but it's hard to trust anyone in this twisted world of power plays and death traps. Only fools completely give their trust to someone. Only fucking fools.
32
Tor
I wait until Jude’s breaths even out and grow heavy with sleep, and then I sit up, silently climbing out of bed and throwing on clothes. I feel bad for doing this, of course I do, but what else can I do? What I'm doing may seem rash and desperate, but I am desperate. I stand at the side of the bed and watch Jude sleep for a second. His dark lashes shadow his cheekbones and the hard, angry lines of his face seem so much more peaceful in sleep. I lean over and very gently brush my lips against his.
"Tor," he mumbles in his sleep before falling silent again.
"I love you," I whisper. "More than you know." I smile sadly. My beautifully broken man, so strong and fierce, so loyal. I step away, tucking my phone in my back pocket before I walk to the door. I quietly open it and slip out of the room, jumping when I turn and find Boris leaning against the wall.
"Jesus." I press my palm to my chest. "Do you have to loiter out here like a creeper?"
He offers a blank expression before he turns around and walks down the hall. My pulse thrums erratically in my ears as I follow him. The hallways are dark. I'm anxious, nervous that at any moment the guards will descend on us. When we reach the bottom of the stairs, two figures emerge from the shadows. I jump away from them, but they simply fall in behind us following us silently. I assume they must be Russian.
It's not until we're near the front of the house that we encounter some of Gabriel's men. Two of them step forward. “¿A dónde vas?” one of them says, pulling his gun.
Boris already has his gun drawn and shoots them both in the head, the small pop pop of the silencer the only noise before their bodies slump to the floor.
I gasp, stepping around the two men and the blood now spreading rapidly across the carpet. Doubt starts to creep in. These are Gabriel’s men, and isn't Gabriel trying to help us? "Do you have to kill them?" I ask.
Boris glances over his shoulder, his chilling blue eyes meeting mine. "They will not let the bookie’s woman escape. How else will you leave?" I release a steady breath. I'm doing this because I have to, I tell myself. This is for Cayla. And really, who's life wouldn't I sacrifice for Cayla's?
When we step outside the front door, two more of Gabriel's men greet us. One takes a bullet, the other gets a snapped neck. We hurry down the drive where a car is waiting for us. I'm bundled inside, the two strange Russians taking a seat either side of me as Boris pokes his head in and offers me a shark-like smile. "Goodbye, Victoria Pearson," he says and slams the car door.
The vehicle lurches forward. This is it. My choice is made. There is no turning back now. By the time we reach the front gate the guards are already on the ground, dead. The gate is wide open and we pass through without a problem. I'm not sure whether I should be terrified or in awe of how organised they are. They just made breaking out of a cartel compound look like a stroll in the park. And now, they sit here, perfectly stoic as though they've done just that. I've judged Jude for getting into bed with the cartel, but what have I just done? Who are these people I just made a deal with? They may be worse than the ones who have my daughter, but I have to take my chances.
An hour later and we're winding through the dusty hills just outside the city. The truck climbs a steep hillside dotted with small trees and then I see the gate appear in front of the headlights. At first glance it looks abandoned, but within a few seconds several masked and armed men appear, filing out in front of the gateway. My heart pounds in my chest as a very real fear takes hold of me. I don't want to do this. I'm scared, but I won't leave Cayla and my need to be with her is stronger than any fear I might have for myself.
"We are here," one of the men says before he opens the door, climbs out, and waits next to the car for me.
I take a deep breath and slide across the seat to get out of the car. The ground is even under my shoes, but I feel like it’s shaking. The second the door closes behind me; several guns are pointed at me. I hear the car engine rev as it pulls away. Tyres squeal as the Russians pull off. I'm on my own now. Absolutely, completely on my own.
I raise my hands in surrender as I cautiously walk towards the gate. "I need to speak to Lopez," I say. The guards don’t budge. Their
guns remain raised. "He has my daughter."
One of the men finally steps forward and shifts behind me. “Andale,” he shouts, jabbing the barrel of his gun into my back. "Walk.”
The massive iron gates swing open and I’m escorted through to a villa and an unknown fate. Bright lights shine along the driveway and the entire area around the house is lit up like the Fourth of July. Olive trees dot the path that leads to the large, wooden front door and an array of fast cars decorate the white gravel drive. The roof is lined with a stone ledge and armed men patrol along it, looking deadly and vigilant. Maybe I should be scared, but I'm not. All I can think is that Cayla is here. I'm so close to my baby.
The front door creaks open and more armed men file back, standing either side of the doorway as I'm shoved through. Just inside the door is a foyer with marble floors and chandeliers hanging from the ceilings. It is beautiful, like a Mexican palace—beautiful things bought with ugly deeds. I’m led through the house, down a hallway, and to a door. One of the guards opens it and the guy behind me rams the gun into my back as he shoves me inside. I fall to my knees. Before I’m able to stand, the door pulls closed, the lock clicking behind me. Climbing to my feet, I glance around the large room. There’s a bed in the middle, a dresser, and an open closet full of long white dresses. I turn and test the door handle, sighing when I find it locked. A bedroom or a prison cell?
"Hello?" I shout. "I want to see Lopez." Silence. "I need to see my daughter." No response. I close my eyes and inhale.
Okay, I need to just calm down. I came here for Cayla, but this is enemy territory. I have to be patient and wait. I must play by their rules and their ways because honestly, what other option do I have? This is not the same as when I ended up captured at Jude’s. I could tell Jude wouldn’t really hurt me, or perhaps it was Caleb...I always knew he had Caleb as his moral compass. But this is different. These men don't have morals. They kidnap children for god's sake and I have no doubt they would kill Cayla if that suited their needs.
I sit on the edge of the bed, bracing my head in my hands. This sick feeling in my gut tells me I made a grave mistake coming here, but how can this possibly be wrong? Cayla is here, and dead or alive, dangerous or not, I will be with her. I would never abandon her.
Ronan's words ring in my ears as I think about what I need to do. My heart squeezes painfully, but I push the hurt away. I'm doing what I must—the only thing I can do for my daughter. I'm not stupid, this is the cartel. You don't survive the cartel, so I must buy our freedom with the only thing I have to offer.
33
Jude
The warm sun streams through the window and I roll onto my side to escape it. I reach out for Tor, but feel only cold sheets. I open my eyes and stare at the empty space as I groggily sit up and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. I stumble into the bathroom, leaning one hand against the wall to steady myself as I force my morning wood down to take a piss.
"Fucking bullshit!" I hear Gabriel shouting in the hallway. "Fucking bullshit."
I finish pissing and rush out of the room, through the house, and to the living room. From here I can see Gabriel and Marney standing over two men. Their bodies lie sprawled out on the floor by the door and there's a pool of dried blood on the carpet. "Where is Tor?" I say with a deep growl, my blood pressure rising with each breath. Gabriel glances up at me and I see it on his face. "Did she..." I swipe my hand down my jaw before I point at the dead men. "Did she fucking do this?"
Why the hell would she have done this? Why would she...Inhaling, I clench my fists and make my way through the kitchen to the den. "Tor!" I shout. "Fucking Tor?"
I throw the French doors to the patio open, the sudden commotion causing the birds to take flight in a flutter. "Tor!" I scream, but I’m met only with a deafening silence. "Shit." I slam my fist against the stucco wall, pain splintering through my knuckles. She's fucking gone. That's what that shit was about last night. “Damn it," I breathe as I turn and storm back into the house. "Gabe!" I call as I head down the hallway. "I know she's gone to that fucking cartel to try and get Cayla."
Gabriel steps out into the hall, groans, and throws his head back. Marney comes creeping down the hallway. "Should've known she'd pull a stunt like this,” he says. “She's determined to get that baby back."
"She's gonna get them both fucking killed," I shout just as Boris appears in the doorway with two men on each side of him. He has a sly smirk on his face. It was him. "You mother—" I rush him, shoving my palms against his chest and him against the wall before I slam my fist into the side of his face. His lip splits. Blood dribbles from the fresh wound and rolls over his pale chin. I yank my gun from the waist of my jeans and cock it as I aim at Boris' round head.
Boris' men draw guns on me. My finger itches over the trigger. "Tell me why,” I demand.
He stares coldly at me. I hear the click of another gun cocking. Now Gabriel has one pointed at him, too. "You killed my fucking men." Gabriel's gaze swings from Boris to me as he points a finger. "I told you I didn't want to work with the Russian and this is why. Backstabbing pale fucks." Gabriel steps forward, shoving the gun against Boris’ temple.
"It would not be wise to shoot me." Boris sighs. "It's all part of the plan."
"Part of the..." I throw my hands up and grip my head, the cold metal of the gun I’m clutching searing through my flesh. "What fucking plan, Boris?" I glance at his men who still have guns raised.
"Ronan's plan," Boris says. I stare at him, Gabriel swears under his breath, kicking the wall as he drops his gun. Boris' men still don't lower theirs. "He knew you wouldn't agree with it."
"Oh, really?" I snort. "How fucking genius of him to realize I wouldn’t willingly let my woman walk into the cartel." I spin around to face Gabriel. "Take me to Jesús."
"Fuck no, you've lost your mind, ese."
I aim the gun again, this time at Gabriel. "Take me to fucking Jesús." My teeth grind together as anger beats away at me shredding any bit of rational reasoning I have left. I'd just as soon put a bullet in every fucker's head that's in this room right now.
"Jude..." Marney's voice comes from behind me. I jump when I feel his cold, meaty hand land on my arm, slowly lowering the gun. "That's not gonna do you any good."
Boris clears his throat and turns away just as another one of the Russians walks into the room with an open laptop. Boris grabs it with a nod of gratitude and props it on his arm. There, on the screen, is fucking Ronan.
"Ah, American…and the Mexican,” Ronan says. “Everyone is here." He grins, placing a cigar between his lips.
"Fuck you!" I shout, spit flying from my mouth. It's all I can say to the fucking pussy sitting all the way in Russia.
"I am sorry. " He sighs. "But I did what none of you could do. I made a plan. Victoria understands that sacrifices must be made."
"You gonna tell us this fucking plan?" I ask. All I can hear is the blood pulsing through my ears as a savage heat consumes me.
"It is simple, Victoria will lead Jesús to you at an agreed location. We set a trap and we kill them all." He shrugs. "All you have to do is wait for her call."
My nostrils flare. "Why the fuck would you send her? Out of everyone fucking here you send my woman, you sick fuck. I swear to god if I ever see you again I will slit your motherfucking throat."
"American’s are so angry." He smirks. "I sent her because she has the most convincing reason of all: a mother's love."
Swallowing, I glare at the screen.
"You fucking idiot," Gabriel mumbles. "The cartel doesn't give two flying shits about a mother's love."
Ronan laughs. "Ah, my friend. Maybe not, but they will buy the fact that Victoria is willing to hang her dearly beloved out to dry in exchange for her sweet daughter." He smiles like the sick bastard he is. "You know they'll kill all of you unless you kill them. This is the only way." His eyes flicker with a type of madness I've never seen before. "Ambush," he laughs.
"He's fucking loco, ese," Gabriel
whispers. There's a pause. I have no doubt that Tor would go along with this plan, and I have no doubt she will be convincing. I've seen her do it before, but..."What if they see through it?" I ask.
"They would see through it if it were a lie..." That word hangs in the air. "But your woman doesn't think it's a lie. She truly will do anything for that daughter of yours, American. Even sell out her one, true love." He lifts a brow and blows a stream of smoke through his lips.
I fight the choking sensation working its way up my throat. I fight the hurt threatening to consume me. I want to kill them all—Ronan, Boris, Jesús...my grip on my gun tightens. My finger plays with the trigger. Part of me is crushed that Tor would sell me out, but the bigger part of me is fucking proud. The only things that matters to me are her and Cayla. I know she did it to save Cayla, I just wish she would have told me. My heart violently pounds against my chest, sweat creeps over my brow, and I exhale a long held breath.
"Do not be upset my friend,” Ronan says. “She is a good woman that one."
Growling, I jerk the laptop from Boris' hands and chuck it against the wall. The screen cracks and splits, pieces of plastic fly everywhere. Boris huffs and shakes his head before he turns and makes his way down the hall.
"This is fucking bullshit," I shout, glancing at Marney and Gabriel.
Gabriel steps beside me, clapping his hand over my shoulder. "He has this web woven so tightly, any way you turn you're fucked."
34
Tor
I sit at the window and watch the sun slowly creep into the sky. They left me here all night. What did I expect really? I reach for my necklace, clutching the small hummingbird charm which instantly makes me think of Jude. I glance into the courtyard below, watching as men pass by like clockwork, guns slung over their backs and guard dogs at their heels.