by LP Lovell
Eventually the door to my room swings open. A man with a gun appears in the doorway and jerks his head in a gesture for me to follow him. I gather my dress in my hands as I slowly make my way to the doorway. The moment I step beside him, his hand wraps around my arm in a bruising grip. He leads me through the house until we reach a door that leads outside.
The early morning sun blinds me as we walk around the side of the house to a large deck. Amongst the bright rays, I can barely make out the silhouette of a man sitting at the edge of the deck. The guy with the gun releases me, shoving me forward hard enough that I stagger. I catch myself as I stumble into the shadow of the flower-covered arbor and approach the man sitting calmly on a wicker chair with a newspaper in his lap. His greying hair is damp and swept away from his face. He looks like any normal businessman in his white shirt and linen trousers. When I approach, he looks up from the paper and glances at the man behind me.
“La esposa del corridor de apuestas,” the man laughs over my shoulder.
The man in the chair smiles as he waves the other guy away. I stand nervously, my heart pounding as his dark, intelligent eyes drag over me. Propping his elbow on the arm of the chair, he taps his index finger over his lips. "Victoria Devaux, in the flesh," he drawls, his accent barely noticeable. “Or is it Pearson?”
"Jesús Lopez, I assume?" I say, attempting to seem calm although I’m anything but.
He pushes to his feet and slowly approaches me, his grin widening with each step. He stops right in front of me and I look up at him. He's tall, but not as tall or broad as Jude. The strong scent of his cologne overpowers my senses as he takes a piece of my hair, twirling the strand around his finger. "Jude Pearson and Gabriel Estrada have proved a thorn in my side these past weeks. I have lost my brother and one of my men at their hands, and the boss—well, Domingo wants his son back and their heads on spikes. Andrea is the only reason they are still alive. You have walked into the middle of a war señorita How desperate Pearson must be to send his woman."
I take a cautious step back, my hair dropping from his grasp. "He doesn't know I'm here,” my voice trembles.
"So then,” he quirks an eyebrow, “why are you here?"
My temper bubbles dangerously. "Because you took my daughter!"
He laughs, the grin never leaving his face. He gestures to one of the chairs. "Please, sit."
I take a seat in a wicker chair as Jesús sits next to me. From here I can see a single man looming in the doorway of the double French doors that lead back into the house. For some reason, I take a small comfort in his presence. Jesús leans back, leisurely crossing one leg over the other. "I did take your child, señorita. It's not personal. Just business."
I grip the arms of the chair so hard I can feel my nails bending and screaming in protest. "She is my child. It doesn't get more personal," I say through gritted teeth.
"Pearson has made some dangerous friends." He shrugs one shoulder before lifting a cup of coffee from the small table next to him. "Gabriel Estrada,” he sighs and tilts his head to the side. "That is a problem. It's a problem for me, which means it's a problem for your man and now…you."
"What do you want?"
"Ah, chiquita,” he smirks. “Never ask a powerful man what he wants." He sips on his coffee. "The answer is always more power."
"And how does taking my daughter achieve that?"
He sets the coffee back on the table and picks up a cigar. He places it between his lips and lights it. I wait as he inhales a stream of smoke, snapping his lighter closed. "It is not of your concern. You are here now." A grin pulls at his lips. "Your mistake will play to my advantage." He leans across the arm of his chair and grabs my chin. His thumb drags across my bottom lip and bile rises in my throat. "I hope Pearson comes through for you, chiquita,” he whispers. “It would be a shame if I had to... motivate him."
My lungs falter for a second as a rush of memories surrounding Joe flood my mind. This wouldn't be the first time that I've endured horrible things at the hands of one of Jude's enemies. But this isn't for Jude, this is for Cayla.
"I want to see my daughter," I whisper through my tightening throat. Jesús stares at me for a moment before his gaze drops to my lips. I swallow hard. I know it's all intimidation tactics, but I can't help but close my eyes and start praying. I walked in here for Cayla. I know what needs to be done to get her out, but this is all a game to men like Jesús. Show my hand too soon and I've lost before we've even started. After a moment, Jesus huffs a laugh and releases me. His fingers snap. I open my eyes, my stomach knotting as I watch the man lingering inside the French doors turn and walk away.
"You are foolish coming here, chiquita, foolish but brave," he says, inhaling on his cigar. "I can appreciate both qualities in a woman."
"I'm a mother."
Closing his eyes, he tilts his head back before releasing a long stream of smoke. When he drops his chin, his eyes flash open. "Children are but a blade in the heart, are they not? A crippling weakness. So innocent, so precious."
A horrible feeling washes over me and it feels as though there are a thousand tiny spiders with prickly legs crawling over me. Jesús is still smirking at me when I spot movement in my periphery. I turn in my chair just as a woman sets foot onto the deck, her long white dress—just the same as mine—blowing around her legs. And in her arms, is Cayla. My heart threatens to pound from my chest as I jump up, knocking the chair over as I rush toward her.
“Momma! Momma!” Cayla’s face lights up as she reaches for me, and the second she's in my arms, my heart can beat properly again. She wraps her little arms around my neck and I inhale the scent of her hair.
"It's okay, baby. I'm sorry I left you," I say. She rests her cheek on my shoulder and I fight back tears at the sheer relief of feeling her in my arms again when I never thought I would.
"‘Milla," she says, lifting her head and pointing to the woman who was holding her.
The woman’s long, ebony hair falls across her face, tumbling over her shoulder in thick waves. Her eyes are focused on the deck and her hands clasped gently behind her back as though there's a sadness that clings to her.
"Thank you," I say quietly. "For looking after her."
She lifts her head and her turquoise eyes meet my gaze. "De nada," she says, smiling softly at Cayla as she turns to leave.
Jesús steps up behind me and clears his throat. "You will be a guest in my home.”
I turn to face him, clutching Cayla more tightly. "A guest?" A prisoner.
"Call it what you will then." His eyes drift to Cayla and a twisted smirk tugs at his lips. He laughs, waving his hand through the air. "A cage without bars—at least until your man makes his move." He strokes his hand over Cayla's head and I yank her away from him. "Such a pretty child,” he says. “It would be a shame to hurt her."
A shiver works over my body. He offers one last smile before he turns and walks away, smoke billowing around him as he disappears through the French doors. I stay on the deck, unsure of what to do. I sit back down in the chair, clutching Cayla, holding her, staring at her to reassure myself that she's okay.
She squirms in my lap. “Dada…” she whines.
I sniff back tears. "Oh, baby. Daddy isn't here." She looks so heartbroken and it guts me. "He's...he's with Uncle Marney." I want to tell her she'll see him soon, that it won't be long, but I can't lie to her. I kiss her forehead and stroke her cheeks. She's so young, so oblivious to the dangers surrounding her. I wish I possessed just a touch of her blissful innocence. All I can do now is sit and wait to play my hand, hoping it's good enough to tip this game of life and death.
35
Jude
Gabriel is on the phone yelling about weapons and cocaine. One of his guys is sitting at the kitchen table with me, gun on the table. This is bullshit. Gabriel basically has me hostage. This Neanderthal sitting across from me watches my every fucking move because Gabriel is afraid I'm going to go on a rampage and start a cartel war…although, I
feel the war has already started. Marney shuffles out of the kitchen and over to the table with a cup of coffee and newspaper. He sits down and pops out the paper as he takes a slow sip.
"Marney, what the fuck are you doing?" I ask. "You can't speak Spanish, let alone read it?"
He peeks around the side of the paper and lifts a brow as he takes another drink from his mug. "I have to have the paper with my coffee. It’s ritual, besides there's pictures—" he folds the paper back and points to a picture of body bags lining the streets. "Violent place if you ask me. Mmm-mmm-mmm." He shakes his head and resumes—whatever the fuck he's doing with that paper.
Gabriel storms into the kitchen, his face blood-red. He stops by the table and drums his fingers over it before locking his eyes with me. "Fucking rocket launchers?" Gabriel shakes his head. "I guess the Russian’s going to blow up Juárez City."
"It's been a day, Gabe," I say. "An entire fucking day." All he does is nod. "I don't like just sitting my ass here while my woman and daughter are with the fucking cartel."
Gabriel scrubs a hand over his jaw. Marney mumbles something under his breath. Boris walks into the room whispering into the phone in Russian. I glare at him, my temper spiking dangerously. I don't trust him. I don't trust Ronan. Fuck, at times I don't even trust Gabriel. Boris hangs up the call and glances at me.
"What the fuck are you guys doing about this shit?" I ask, my muscles tensing.
"We’re working on it."
"It's been a fucking day and shit's not happened." I stand and step toward him. He stares coldly at me. "What the fuck is going on? How do you know she's safe?"
"We don't."
Blood pounds through my veins sending an angry rage washing over me. My vision spots. My throat tightens. Every last one of my senses is on edge. I stare at him, at his smug fucking smile. He's Ronan's peddler and it's his fault Tor is gone. It's his fault I may lose both of my girls. It's his fucking fault I'm sat here with my thumb up my goddamn ass not able to do a fucking thing worth a shit to find my family. Without hesitation, I pull my gun, cock it, and before the sack of shit can bat a fucking eye, I pull the trigger. Blood splatters the table. A sense of euphoric release washes over me as I watch Boris fall to the ground, his blood pouring out onto the tile and staining the grout.
"Did you..." Gabriel groans and throws his head back. "Ai, ai, fucking ai, ese." He shakes his head as he stands over Boris' body. Gabriel glances at me, sighs, and walks off mumbling under his breath.
Marney peers over the paper watching Boris bleed. "I didn't like him much anyway," he says before flipping the paper back up and sipping his coffee.
Gabriel shouts at one of his men as he steps back into the room. “Had to shoot him, huh, ese?” he says as he places a hand on my shoulder.
I turn to face him and feel a sharp pinch in my neck. The bitter taste of metal fills my mouth as a warm tingling sensation shoots down my neck and through my arm before everything fades to black.
36
Tor
I'm sitting on the bed in the same room I've been staying in for the last twenty-four hours. I'm not locked in, but I don’t want to leave this room. Cayla is starting to get restless, but I'm not about to start wondering around the compound. There's a light knock on the door before it opens, and the pretty woman I saw that first day slips through the gap in the door.
"Milla, Milla," Cayla squeals.
The girl smiles wide at her—a perfect, blinding smile. "Ángel bonito," she coos before she looks at me. "I’m Camilla," she says.
"Tor." She's one of Jesús’ people. And no matter how nice she may seem, that means I don't trust her.
Camilla tilts her head to the side and then glances over her shoulder towards the door. She nods to the side of the room before she walks into the bathroom and waits by the door. I scoop up Cayla and follow her. She softly closes the door behind us before she goes to the shower and turns on the water.
"There are eyes and ears everywhere," she says quietly. I narrow my eyes, watching her warily. "You are the bookie’s woman?"
"Yes."
She tilts her head slightly. There's a beat of silence where the only sound echoing around the room is the noise of the water spraying the shower floor. "Gabriel didn't tell you about me?"
"Gabriel?" I'm so confused.
She rolls her eyes. “Es un idiota,” she sighs. "Gabriel is my brother."
"What?" My eyes go wide. I did not see that coming, but now that I look at her, Camilla is just a more beautiful version of her brother. Turquoise eyes. Defined nose. I'm still wary though. This could all just be a trap to lead me astray.
"When Domingo took Juárez City from Gabriel,” her voice drops to just below a whisper, “the Sinaloa took me as a hostage. It’s a ploy to keep my brother in line." Her eyes dart nervously to the bathroom door. "I can get word to Gabriel." I stare blankly at her. "That is why they sent you, is it not?"
I drag a hand through the knotted strands of my hair. Cayla fuses in my arms and I shift her to my other hip. "I...not exactly." She frowns. "Jude would never have let me come here,” I say. “He thinks they'll kill me, but I needed to be with her. And so far, Jesús..."
She shakes her head. "Jesús is a cruel man and Domingo even more so. Domingo runs the Sinaloa from prison. His reach is far and he will not hesitate to order your death if it suits him." I inhale a shaky breath as my chest tightens. "Do not underestimate them, and do not take any kindness at face value,” she says. “You need to escape."
Escape? Oh yeah, sure. I'll just get past the armed guards and then cross the desert with a two-year-old.
"I can't,” I say. “I came here to—I have a plan."
"Whatever it is, be careful.” She steps close to me, stroking her fingers over Cayla's cheek. Cayla stares up at her adoringly. “I will help protect her at all costs." Camilla kisses Cayla's head before she steps away, opening the door and leaving the room.
Cayla is sound asleep in the middle of the bed. I tiptoe to the door and open it, slipping outside and locking the door behind me. I place the key in my pocket and venture down the hallway. I've been here for two days and two days is long enough. With each passing hour, the likelihood of Cayla and I getting out of here grows smaller. Time is not our friend.
Ronan said to wait a few days, that I needed to bide my time and make Jesús think that this is a ploy of desperation. It is a ploy of desperation, so it shouldn't be too hard to convince Jesús. I wander through the house, every guard I pass staring at me, whispering under their breath. I walk into a large den with an open fireplace, finally stumbling across an unarmed man.
"Jesús?" I ask him.
“Si.” His eyes shamelessly drag over me before he turns and leads me through a hallway.
All of the men here look at me like a piece of meat, and as angry as it makes me, I can’t do a thing about it. Everything I do here must be tentative because honestly, the only thing keeping Cayla and I alive is the fact that they want Jude.
The man stops in front of a large wooden door, knocking before he pushes it open to Camilla sitting on Jesús’ desk. Her dress is pooled around her waist and her legs wrapped around Jesús’ hips. His large hands roam over her body as they kiss. Jesús glances over Camilla’s shoulder and I immediately drop my eyes to the floor. "I'm sorry. I…uh…" I stammer awkwardly as I back out of the room, bumping into the guard in the hallway.
"Victoria," Jesús drawls, "come in." I freeze for a moment. A shiver of disgust works over me, as I wonder if that may be how he treats all his prisoners?
I step inside the room as Camilla pulls her dress back into place. She hops down from the desk and moves around it, her hips swaying with every step. Everything about her is exotic and sensual. I'm not surprised Jesús wants her, but I can’t help but wonder if Gabriel knows his sister is sleeping with the enemy. Maybe she's doing it to get close, to feed Gabe information? Jesús grabs her arm, stopping her midstride and placing his arm around her waist before he kisses her neck. Sh
e smiles at him, and it looks so genuine. He slaps her arse and she walks off with her gaze trained on the floor.
"Victoria," Jesús says, directing his attention to me. He readjusts himself and I fight the bile creeping up my throat. "Please, sit." He moves back behind the desk and falls into the chair, smoothing his hand down the front of his white shirt.
I take the seat across from him and cross my legs. My long dress billows around my ankles, but the front drops low, exposing too much cleavage. I don't miss the way he stares—the appreciation in his eyes. I feel like a deer caught in the sights of a predator which means I have to make this quick. I know all too well that men like him take what they want. I have a neat row of brands down my back to show for it.
"What can I do for you, chiquita?" His voice is laced with implication, and the smile that pulls at the corners of his lips backs that theory.
I clear my throat. "I want to make a deal with you," I say.
Jesús throws back his head, a deep laugh rumbling from his lips. "You have cojones, I'll give you that, chiquita. And you are a pretty little thing. " His eyes meet mine, his face going serious. "But I would suggest you do not push me."
My heart pounds as I try and force the next words past my lips. You have no choice. You have no choice. The words ring through my ears over and over. "You want Jude," I say and his dark eyes narrow in interest. "I can get you Jude."
His lips curl into a wry smile again and he leans forward, bracing his elbows on his desk. "Interesting," he muses. "You would rat on your own man?” He takes a cigar from a marble ashtray on his desk, placing it between his lips. I watch as he strikes a match and cups it carefully, puffing away as he lights the cigar.
"Yes."
He shakes his hand, extinguishing the match as he takes a deep pull from his cigar and stares at me. "Now why would you do that?"