The Blood In Between (The Safe Haven Trilogy Book 3)

by Randall G Ailes

  I knew better than to imply I was not interested in him, and so I made his wife the reason for refusing such generosity.

  “Women aren’t to own businesses anyway.” Omar said. “Perhaps I should expose your situation before I get in trouble.”

  “It will only be trouble for you in allowing this business to thrive. We will be shut down and the unusually high rent you charge will be lost. Then, who do you think will be in trouble with Felice? Besides, you are in love with Mia and couldn’t stand the thought of her suffering with cold and hunger.”

  Omar pretended to weigh the pros and cons. “You are right. If I escort you away from here, I fear it would only draw attention wherever I left you.”

  I nodded in agreement.

  “Besides,” Omar said. “It might set a precedent. Other renters might seek the same protection services. And my sweet Felice would think me heartless to cause this grief for your daughter. I will go outside and call Nebar and make loud work of it. You can duck under the tent and hopefully leave here unnoticed.”

  “I hope,” I said, “that your cat is not even now waiting by the opening of the tent.”

  “He is not.” Omar replied. He nodded his head and I followed his line of sight to a chair in the corner where Nebar lay curled up and asleep.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t let it be known you are a nice man.” I promised.

  His eyes shifted to the left corners then the right, as if making certain no one was listening. “Good. That would be bad for business.”

  I left in the darkness, awkwardly slipping under the tent, listening to Omar’s calls for a cat he already had, and carrying my universe in my arms. I hoped we were not noticed and I don’t believe we were, but that doesn’t mean our trail wasn’t anticipated somewhere along the way. I became increasingly certain we were being watched. No, not watched, stalked. I was tired from a long work day and weighed down by a satchel over my shoulder and a child who insistently went between being carried and walking beside me, and not happy about holding my hand.

  I could hear my pursuer more than see him. A scuff of a foot here, something kicked or tread upon there, though this sounded noisy and untrained in stealth, it was because there was an effort to be silent that I knew I was in trouble. I could not move fast or quietly but I tried to be cagy in my manner and route. When I rounded a corner, I moved slowly and burdened by my load. But as soon as I had disappeared I would scoop up a protesting little girl and sprint as best I could to the next building and quickly duck behind whatever offered a screen between me and whoever was after me. I was probably easy to follow, because Mia was not trained in the tactical art of silence when eluding dangerous pursuers. She was a child, doing what children do. I was very scared and trying desperately to get us home. It seemed as though every time I might have impossibly escaped my pursuer, Mia would give a cry or make a loud protest, or even resist my carrying of her in the ways that little ones can do.

  As the chase drew closer I tried the doors and openings of dwellings I was passing by in hope of finding rescue. Try after try, I found doors barred or locked. Openings were blocked or at the very least, curtains were tied taut and close. I moved on, taking a route that ran parallel with the docks and the building where I lived.

  “Mama go home?” Mia inquired.

  “Yes, Mimi, we’re almost home.” I comforted.

  I looked up from Mia and knew suddenly that I was being followed by more than one. I don’t know how that knowledge came to me, but I was certain of its truth. There were three; one behind, one ahead and one waiting outside my home. No wonder I couldn’t shake them. The one up ahead waited and the one behind was closing the distance.

  “Stand right here. There are bad men after us and they will take you away if they get a chance.”

  Mia stood quietly and moved closer. I knelt to the ground before an entryway and felt for the stitching used to secure tough fabric meant to block anyone from entering or leaving. I tore at the leather lacing with my fingers, so afraid to let go of Mia’s hand but knowing I needed both of mine to try and find a way in. I worked to gather enough loose leather string to find a slightly worn spot and used my teeth to sever it after a struggle. The lacing kept the material tightly stretched across the entry way. I was familiar with many of the shops and businesses near to my home, and this door led inside a cantina. Being so near the docks, it served a rough crowd, mostly men and the women who served them.

  “Mia, I need you to crawl under here. Can you do that for me? First you and then me, you can hold my hand all the time.” I tried to give information out in small doses. I didn’t want to overcome her with the task or with my fright. I’ll help you get through and then I will follow. We must find someone who can help us.”

  I helped her to her hands and knees, then flat onto her stomach. “Now, take hold of my hand. Scoot in. I will be right behind you.” I kept re-enforcing what she must do and our togetherness in this move, every time I felt hesitation. If she were to fall apart or protest at this moment, it would make noise for a follower to target and hold us up as they drew nearer. She understood what was required of her and with gentle urging and praising she scuttled under the loosened flap and I followed, fearing both that Mia would be snatched from me by someone in the dark interior or that I’d feel a firm grip on one of my ankles.

  Once inside I tightened the lace and re-tied what I could. We were now in a darker area but our eyes were already accustomed to the night. We did not stay around by this entry. When the one trailing us met the one lying in wait, they would double back and find the only place we could have disappeared. There were chairs on top of tables, and tables turned on top of tables. This was a room used when the crowds became large. Otherwise, storage was its main use. Though it was late for us to be out, the night was young for this tavern, with a crowd that would grow well into the night. We looked into the room being used from our darkness, awaiting a time to move into the fray and exit the door. I was aware of our pursuers and glanced over my shoulder often, to where we had come in. This was a good thing because, one time, when I was looking, a knife blade punctured the curtain wall and sliced downward to the floor. We could no longer afford to wait for an opportune time to weave our way through the chairs, tables and drinkers. We launched.

  I had my cloak drawn over me and hid my face in the hood’s shadow, carrying little Mia and my satchel. More than anything, I did not want to be noticed, but if I was to be observed, I hoped it would be by the patrons rather than the staff who might be asked if someone matching our description had been seen. Determined to pick my way through, I stagger-stepped between tables and open areas, of which there were few, through the tavern to the door without a shout or wandering hand.

  Through the doorway and out once more into the street, there were couples with wandering hands and lips, using the archway as support. They paid little attention to me. I glanced back through the archway, through the lighted room, and there stepping from the darkness was Desmondo Milan.

  He didn’t see me, I was already outside looking in, but I had stepped from a lighted area into the darkness, which would make me easy to see from the dark. I feared both ends of the street were watching my transition from the cantina. With that in mind, I walked toward the buildings on the other side of the street to quickly distance us from the glow. I was shaken, I know, from the sight of him and what he represented. Though it had been several months since my escape, the feelings of the prisoner I was, hadn’t gone so far away. I lost my senses for but a few moments and then looked both ways down the street to consider my next move. I could see a dark form at both ends, both just coming into view, rounding from the previous row of buildings, I imagined. I didn’t know whether they were people uninvolved, just happening to be where they were, or if they were the ones who had been following me, but their presence was enough to stop me from going in either direction.

  Desmondo Milan appeared at the doorway of the Cantina, searching the darkness with his eyes. The dark fo
rms at the ends of the street began to move my way and Desmondo stepped outside. I had felt, since leaving Omar that those hunting me were closing in. Though this was a frightening prospect, it was not the same as seeing it unfold before me. I pulled further into the shadows, not convinced that they really saw me, but if it were true I had nowhere left to turn and was out of tricks. I prepared for them to run me down, and as a last resort, looked around for something to hide behind, but discovered instead one last, wild chance. My heart leapt at the risk I was taking. I carried Mia for three or four strides and stood before the door I had been strongly urged to avoid. I opened it inward and stepped forward, as I had done when I had rushed after Mia who had wandered into the building once, weeks ago…years ago. I hurried in and quickly reached the top of the stairs where breathlessly I called out.

  “I carry the mark of Lucido Del Rio. I am in trouble. Please, help us.”

  24

  Veria posed where I could see her from the side. She slouched in her chair and propped her feet up so that her lacey next-to-nothing gown slid down…or up her wonderful legs and gathered in a bunch at her hips. She traced her hands along the neckline of her gown until they came to a stop at her breasts. The movements were natural to her, bred into her and rigorously trained into her. I was ashamed of myself for having thoughts of lust during a time when, though she didn’t betray it, her thoughts were looking through a spyglass. It was upon a time long ago yet spilling from her heart as if those events were happening now.

  To shake the unintentional spell emanating from an enchantress, I tried to break its hold through urging her to go on so that the tale would again take my attention. Her eyes slowly shifted to me which seemed to take the air from the room even though we were in a large tent, hardly an air tight situation. I met her eyes and did not waiver. She kept eye contact as well and yet I felt she was scrutinizing me. I felt her hunger….

  …but then her recounting continued.

  “As before, the room was dimly lit from lamps hidden from view, yet their glow cast a uniform radiance that would appear to be dark when entered from daylight, and nearly so when entered at night. My eyes were accustomed to the night and adjusted quickly to the room. I heard not a sound but felt again the presence from somewhere in the building, although I felt certain it came from deeper in the darkness at the bottom of the stairs. I wouldn’t say I was comforted by this. A sound came from behind me and I saw the door to the outside, slowly swing inward. When at last it came to a stop, the entire entrance was revealed and standing in the middle of it was Desmondo Milan.

  “Stand where you are right now. If you try to run, my friends will send arrows after you and it won’t be only you they will be finding in the dark. You’ve had your run like the dog breaking its tether and running wild…sniffing here and there, rolling in the muck. It’s time to come home. All of the expense involved in finding you will be added to your debt to the river people and you are going to pay.”

  “Leave me alone. I wish to be free of you and your people. Find someone else to capture and force to your needs. In my small cage I prayed every night for freedom to act as I choose, live as I choose and it never happened, but a chance to risk an escape did and I took it.”

  “…which makes you a runaway, not someone who lives free. You can’t live free. You have no rights.” Milan interrupted. “You are property, property of the river people. You are owned. A great deal of money was spent on your purchase.”

  “I am not property. I was taken against my will by the people who gave me to you.”

  “You know what you are. The mark of Cartier is tattooed on your head. Cartier, the symbol of beautiful women for purchase, specially bred and trained, meant for a man’s pleasure. Too bad you hadn’t reached the lessons on temperament and attitude. We were forced to continue your lessons from our own meager knowledge. We didn’t have to go that deeply. Just enough to convince those interested that you were the genuine article, trained and ready for market or…use.”

  “A little girl caged and mistreated by the river people…your people, preying upon the misfortunes of others, stealing lives.” I commented.

  Two men now appeared at the doorway, on either side of Desmondo Milan. I had seen them before. They were from the river people as well. One was often a partner in the Milan brother’s taunts and trickeries they played on me and others, and the other was a strong, well-muscled man they called Ricardo. Through the gaps of cloths thrown over my cage, and at least once when my captors had forgotten to cover me, I’d seen him fight unfortunates, those captive, rebellious, or considered enemy, several times to the death. He was quick with a knife and his hands were death grips. Woe to anyone held by them. He was a protector of the river people and a threatening enforcer of their group laws. Both of the men with Desmondo, stepped further into the room. Their intention was to draw near and snatch me before I descended the stairs. So correspondingly, I stepped deeper into the blackness below. I held Mia and she hugged me tighter, clinging to the security of my embrace. My heart was pounding from fear of my situation. It had been a strangle hold ever since leaving the tents this evening, with an increasing squeeze. From below me I heard a voice with not even a rustle of noise giving me warning that someone was there.

  “BE GONE WITH YOU!” This voice thundered. My body startled and started to tremble quite badly.

  “Is there some gathering I’m not aware of…a secret society perhaps? Why is there trespass into my quarters? We are beyond business hours and closed for the day. State the nature of your intrusion or shall I summon the constable.”

  The entire room brightened as this man ascended the stairs. I did not know how this feat was accomplished and could tell the others didn’t either. It was both mysterious and powerful. There was a quiet thunder in his voice. The chase that had led us to this moment seemed somehow petty, compared to the situation now. As he approached on the steps, I began to retreat but he raised a finger and fixed me with a look that stopped me where I stood. Further, he moved his hand in a motion that let me know I was to sit on the top step. He paid no more attention to my presence, and turned instead to the others who had hunted me and driven me to where I now sat.

  “This woman belongs to me.” Desmondo said. He remained before the door. The other two drew toward the door as the man from the bottom of the stairs advanced.

  “You will tell me your name. Then we shall see about your claims.”

  He moved toward them with authority and yet I feared for him because he seemed to disregard the danger he was in. He was out numbered and had no idea he was amidst murderers and cutthroats.

  “I am Desmondo Milan, son of the Great Milan. My people are….”

  “…the river people, yes, so I have heard you say. And these friends here with you are?”

  “This is Joseph and the other is Ricardo. They have helped me track her down. Hand her over now and we will leave in peace.”

  “It is too late for that. My peace has already been disturbed. You have trespassed here with a clamor enough to wake the dead, as if you have the right to go where you will. But this is not why you cannot have her. You cannot take her with you because I do not recognize your claim. You say she is yours. I say she is mine.”

  Ricardo bristled for a fight. The other two were uneasy and confused by this response.

  “I am Lucido Del Rio. Your people may be lords of the road they travel, but this holds little sway here, this goes for your claim as well. I am a shipping merchant and lord of my own roads, be they land or sea. These roads stretch the world over. I know a few things. I will tell you now, how it is.

  I claimed beautiful Veria before you ever encountered her. She is mine not as property but as family, much as the river-rabble to whom you so proudly belong. I look after her. She has been wrongly taken and held, and the conditions of her daily life are not something any of us would enjoy. I have a mind to teach you a lesson first hand, so mind your tongue while you still have it, as we come to an accord.

>   Your people’s money was ill-spent with her purchase, as was the time spent in her training. She will not be compensating you for your investment. You have stolen her life and there is not an amount you could pay that would reimburse her for that kind of loss…from your kind of thievery. She will take all the coin you now carry with you. Spill it from your person. Do this. I will know if you hold anything back.

  All three began to search their pockets for money and then one by one they sheepishly stopped and gave Lucido hard, cold looks. Lucido appeared unaffected by this and moved closer although he was unarmed. All three brandished blades. Ricardo crouched and swayed menacingly.

  “And so,” Lucido said. “You come into my house uninvited, disturb my evening, demand that I give you what is not yours and now threaten my life?”

  “This is not an idle threat.” Ricardo spat back. “She is ours, bought and paid for. We take her now.”

  “She bares my mark. Placed there before you ever knew of her, and now this brings you before your deaths. If you wish to go back to your river band of thieves, turn about now and join the one crapping his pants at the doorway. He is the one content to let you two deal with me while he waits to run if it turns out badly and…it is going to end up very badly. Those like us, we don’t back down. And when that happens, (he quickly assumed the pose of a Spanish dancer and brought his hands and arms in an arc from his side to a position above his head).”

  Sparks flew from his fingertips. His hair, which had been neatly groomed, now appeared shaken and some locks flowed over his face.

  “Enough of your insults and threats,”Desmondo growled. “Give her to us. Now!”