War (Wrong Book 4)

by Stevie J. Cole

  He shrugs as he shoves a sandwich inside his mouth. "Gabe said it was the only way he could make sure you didn't pull some loco stunt."

  "Fucking hell..." I hang my head and stare at the filthy floor. I want to jump up and pound my fist against the wall, pull at those iron bars, but it will do no good. Tor is alive, and Gabe knew I'd lose my shit trying to get to her, so he does this shit.

  I get up and pace the cell, dragging my hands through my hair over and over. David taps on one of the bars. "Want a smoke?" he asks.

  I nod, and he passes a home-rolled cigarette through followed by a lighter. I cup the flame and inhale a heavy drag, the sweet taste of cloves coating my tongue.

  "Gabe said he'd be back tomorrow to get you," he says.

  And so that's it. I'm fucking stuck in this shithole with David until tomorrow. Unable to get to her. Unable to do a thing.

  6

  Tor

  I'm not sure how much time has passed since I first woke up. Days. Weeks maybe—I don't know. But I do know that although my body may be slowly healing, at the same time, my soul is dying. Piece by piece, day by day.

  Jésus allows me to roam the house, but I don't. I stay in this room as much as possible. I'm here because I need to be, but it doesn't mean I have to pretend I like it.

  "Chiquita."

  I turn away from the window and find Jésus standing in the doorway, shirtless, wearing only a pair of linen trousers. A slight smile shapes his lips as he approaches me, his eyes slowly dragging over my body until my skin crawls under his scrutiny. He makes me feel like property, something to be possessed and desecrated all in the name of some twisted form of revenge. I've realised that my grief isn't enough. Jude's death wasn't enough for him. He wants to shit on Jude's memory, take what was once his. And I'm left with no choice but to allow it. Because Cayla is all that is left of him. She is Jude's legacy.

  Dominance and lust pour from him, the same as always, and then without warning, he grabs my jaw and pulls me against his body. The heat of his chest seeps through my dress. His thumb strokes over my skin as his eyes drop to my lips. Jésus has made it very clear this is what I am now: his.

  He slams his lips over mine, and I don't fight it. I simply go numb. After all, without Jude, what is there to fight? I can barely feel enough to even identify the trace of disgust that rises under his touch. But my purpose now is to keep him happy so he leaves Cayla alone.

  His tongue slides between my lips, and his grip tightens. "Oh, Victoria, you can do better than this," he says against my mouth. I open my eyes and look at him. Really look. His features are chiseled, his oil- black hair thick with a slight wave. He would be handsome if it weren't for the coldness in his eyes. He holds himself with an heir of power and authority, but he lacks the absolute resolution that Jude did. Jude walked into a room like he owned it, and he didn't care about a single person in it. He made people feel like they were inconsequential to him. Except me.

  He made me feel like the world began and ended with me. With us, and then Cayla. He did stupid things. He was a criminal, a bad boy, but I never doubted his love, not for a second.

  Jésus is sadly lacking. He wants to be like Jude but he never will be, even with an entire cartel behind him. But, nonetheless, I need to convince this man that I want him. And perhaps...perhaps if I accept that this is my life, things will be easier. I muster as much feeling as I can and, taking a deep breath, I kiss him. I imagine he's Jude for second, but my mind quickly coils away in horror. He groans into my mouth before he scrapes his teeth over my bottom lip.

  "You taste like victory, Victoria," he says, laughing as he steps away from me. "And soon, I'm going to take my prize. I find myself quite taken with you." His eyes roam over my body in a way that has bile rising in my throat. "Consider yourself lucky." He turns away and walks towards the door. "Oh, and you're moving to a new room," he throws over his shoulder casually.

  "What room?" I ask nervously.

  He pauses in the doorway and turns to face me, a satisfied smirk on his lips. Of course, I already know what he's going to say.

  "My room."

  My stomach knots tightly because I know exactly what that means. With that he walks out of the room. Leaning against the wall, I slide down it until I hit the floor. I wrap my arms tightly around myself as tears fall freely. This is what I am now: a cartel whore. The sooner I accept it, the sooner I let go of Jude, the sooner I can do what I need to protect my child. If I have to fuck Jesus for the rest of my life to keep her safe, I will.

  For her.

  *****break***

  I sit on the edge of Jésus' bed, my stomach knotting horribly. The white gauze curtains catch on the breeze as the night air blows the scent of jasmine through the open balcony. My nails cut marks into my palms as I clench my fists in my lap. Anxiety has me so tight in its clutches that simply breathing is a struggle.

  The distant sound of voices in the hallway sends my heart into a sprint. I try desperately to pull the front of the white maxi dress a little higher, but it's pointless. It dips to the bottom of my sternum, leaving my breasts partially exposed. This is all I have to wear. Jésus has an entire wardrobe of them, the same dresses that Camilla once wore. It's as though he wants us to look like something pure and innocent, carbon copies of each other. The dress may as well be prison chains because it does nothing but remind me that I am indeed a prisoner, not even allowed to cover myself. I've wondered often what happened to Camilla. I hear whispers from the guards that the Russian stole her, but I don't believe it. I picture Jésus breaking her like an unwanted doll, replacing her with something new, something easier to manipulate. Me.

  The door handle clicks, and I hold my breath as Jésus steps into the room, talking to one of his men outside. The door closes and silence descends ominously. He stares at me as he crosses the room, and I shrink away from his gaze.

  "You look so perfect, waiting for me, Victoria."

  "You ordered that I be here," I say, lifting my gaze to his. I may have to be here, but I can make it known that this is not a choice.

  With a sigh, he takes a seat next to me. I tense, waiting for him to touch me, or remind me that I'm a prisoner. Instead his fingers gently trail down my arm, which is even more disarming. I'd rather he just hurt me. These games are the hardest part of being with him, because honestly, he's yet to hurt me. He's never forced himself on me beyond a kiss, and it throws me off. There's nothing worse than not knowing what your enemy's play is.

  "The bookie is dead," he says.

  "I know." I still try not to think about Jude, but with so much free time, it's hard. Strangely, my times with Jésus are an odd salvation. When I'm with him, I think only of myself and Cayla, and our safety. I don't have the ability to dwell on Jude.

  He gently grasps my chin and twists my head towards him. His eyes search mine before flicking to my lips. "You are safe here," he says quietly, sweeping his thumb over my chin. "I would protect you, chiquita, from all who would harm you."

  I stare at him for a beat. His expression is softer than I'm used to, and there's almost a vulnerability in his eyes. "Except you," I whisper.

  His lips curl up into a small smile. "I do not want to hurt you." His eyes drop to my lips again. "Quite the opposite. I could give you everything."

  "Why?" I frown. "Why would you want that?"

  His thumb drags gently over my bottom lip. "You are an extraordinary woman, Victoria. You impressed me when you came here for your daughter. Women of such strength are hard to come by." He drops his hand from my face. "Your man is gone. Your daughter is safer away from you. I ask only that you join me." He holds out his hand and I stare at it. "You can be a prisoner, or you can be a queen. The choice is yours."

  "Queen of what?"

  He smirks. "The Sinaloa cartel, of course. Prove your loyalty, and everything you've ever wanted could be yours."

  Everything I ever wanted is gone, but I don't say that. This could be an opportunity.

  I stare at
his outstretched hand. If I take it, I'm betraying Jude. I know that. But can you betray a dead man? Or do you do whatever you can to avenge him, to protect his daughter? Jude would hate this, but he understood revenge in a unique way. He would hate it, but he would understand, so I tentatively take Jésus' hand.

  He grins, his fingers wrapping tightly around mine. "You are a woman that will bolster a powerful man. Stand beside me." His hand cups my cheek and he leans in, pressing his lips over mine. The kiss is gentle, yet probing, as though he's trying to coax more from me. I reluctantly part my lips. I feel myself folding in, imploding and crawling into this dark hole inside the deepest recesses of my soul. His fingers wind through my hair and he tilts my head back until my lips break from his. "I want you, Victoria."

  I don't know how to play this yet, so I say nothing. His fingers glide beneath the strap of my dress, moving to flick it from my shoulder. I panic and grab at the front of the dress, holding it in place. "I..." I look up at him. "I'm not...I can't." I stumble over my words because honestly, I don't know how to rebuke him without angering him. I don't know if there will be consequences, and I'm sure if I don't give him what he wants, he'll simply take it.

  He smirks and pulls back slightly. "Sweet Victoria, you will come to me willingly." He leans in, whispering in my ear. "And I can wait." He stands up and pulls his shirt over his head, before undoing his trousers. He stands in just his boxers, and my gaze drops, my face heating in mortification. He rounds the bed and gets in, pulling the sheets up to his hips before he turns the lamp off. I sit rigid still in the darkness, listening to his even breaths against my racing pulse. "Chiquita, lie down," he orders.

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to calm myself and steady my breathing. His fingers brush my wrist causing me to jump before lowering myself onto the mattress. Every muscle remains tense as I lie here. Jésus lets out a low chuckle, but makes no move to touch me. And I think this might be worse. The not knowing, the waiting. This is the worst part. I'd rather he just got on with it, whatever it is he has planned for me, because I don't believe that he's looking for some girl to meet his cartel wife criteria. This is a ploy of some sort; I just don't know what yet.

  As hard as I try, I can't find sleep, so I just lay here, listening to Jésus' deep breaths. I remember when this was once Jude and I, captor and captive sharing a bed. Did I ever fear Jude the way I fear Jésus? Did I ever hate him like this? Jésus took everything from me, but I remember when I thought that Jude had taken everything too: my life, my career. How ironic that those things feel so insignificant now. But what Jésus took will never be insignificant. No, I never hated Jude like this. Honestly, I can't really remember a time when I didn't love him, even when it was so damn wrong. He always felt like something right, something true. And this...this will never be right.

  7

  Tor

  I sit on the back deck, a glass of wine in my hand as I look out over the city below. Juarez is a sprawling mess of buildings, each fitted around the next in an odd jumble of concrete. The sun has just dipped below the horizon, streaking the sky in pinks and reds. As soon as night touches the city, it lights up, explosions creating dabs of orange glows amongst the city lights. The steady popping of gun fire is like its own morbid symphony, reminding me of exactly where I am.

  Hell. Cartel central. Juarez.

  I reach up, clasping my necklace out of habit, only it’s not the little hummingbird charm that Jude gave me. Instead my fingers brush the heavy diamond that sits on a platinum chain. Jésus gave it to me, and the weight of it on my skin makes me feel cheap and tainted. Sighing, I picture Cayla wearing the little hummingbird and swallow around a lump in my throat.

  I don’t know how long I sit here, but the last traces of light leave the sky, and I shiver as the cool night air touches my skin. My glass is empty, so I get up to go back inside. When I turn around, I bite back a startled scream, dropping the glass. Shards scatter across the wooden decking. I wince when a piece slices my foot.

  "God, you scared me," I say through clenched teeth. One of Jésus' men stands in front of me, a frown set on his face as he looks at me. He holds out a phone, and I stare at it before taking it.

  "Who is it?" I ask, but he remains silent. I pull the phone to my ear and wait. "Hello?"

  "Ah, Victoria. How are you fairing?" The arrogant Russian drawl instantly puts my back up.

  "What the hell do you want, Ronan?"

  "You wound me. I thought we were friends." I can hear the amusement in his voice, as though this were all just a big game to him.

  "No, I did what you asked. I sold Jude out and now he's dead. I lost my daughter. I want nothing to do with you."

  There's a long pause. "Your daughter is not dead though." Now I'm the one that says nothing. How does he know that? "And you are staying with Jésus to protect her."

  "How do you—"

  He laughs. "I hear everything. I am, after all, Ronan Cole."

  "What do you want?"

  "Only a small favor."

  "I'm all out of favours where you're concerned," I say on a growl.

  He laughs. "That's just not true." He sighs. "You want your daughter safe? She will never be safe as long as Jésus is alive. What happens when he bores of you? When your pussy gets too old for him to care about you? Killing him resolves all your problems."

  "If I kill him, another will step up in his place, and the men that are watching Cayla...they'll kill her anyway."

  "You forget who I am. You take care of Jésus, I will take care of the rest. Surely you haven't forgotten that I'm a powerful friend to have."

  I clutch the phone in my hand. What do I do? I'm in bed with a monster, and now the snake wishes to wind its way around my throat.

  "Hello?" Ronan coos. "I'm not a patient man, Victoria."

  "Why me? He's a cartel boss, Ronan, and I'm... I'm not a killer. Send one of your men."

  "You think too little of yourself. Let's not pretend you have not killed before. I would do it, but he suspects me since the last time I tried to kill him. You are in his bed after all."

  I hate the insinuation, hate that I'm seen as Jésus' whore. "I need to think about it."

  "I'll give you one day. That seems fair. And Victoria, let's not forget, I know where the child is, too." He hangs up before I can respond.

  Just when I think things are bad, they get worse. Surely there's only so much one person can take. I have to please Jésus to stop him from killing my daughter, and now I have to kill him to stop the Russian from getting to her. And I have no doubt that Ronan would use Cayla to get his own way. Whatever his issues with Jésus, they run deep and he's willing to do anything to end him. All I know is that Jude never really feared the Cartel. He took them seriously, but he never feared them. Ronan Cole on the other hand, is the only man to ever scare Jude Pearson. If that isn't the biggest red flag I've ever seen, then I don't know what is.

  8

  Jude

  I've been in this jail for a week. A fucking week! What the hell, is Gabe going to leave me here to rot? David comes waltzing over to the bars with a breakfast sandwich. "You need to eat, mi amigo."

  "Where is fucking Gabe?" I say through clenched teeth.

  Shrugging, he takes a bite of the sandwich. "He said he was coming today," he says, pieces of egg falling from his full mouth. He's told me that for the past seven days. "Sure you don't want some?" He holds the sandwich out with a grin before he turns his back to me and leans against the bars, watching the small TV placed on his desk. "I love Andy Griffith," he says before cramming more of the sandwich in his mouth. "I always wanted to live in Mayberry."

  "But you chose the cartel instead," I say, taking a step towards the bars.

  David's a nice guy. Too nice to be in with the likes of Gabe. He's just too trusting and I hate to do this, I really do but... I quickly slip my arm through the bars, wrapping it around David's thick neck and pinning him against the rails. He drops his sandwich and struggles, clawing at my arms as I squee
ze harder.

  "I hate to do this, David. I really have no other choice."

  His frantic movements weaken and within seconds, he's limp. I grab the keys from his belt loop, ripping them off before I release him. He falls to the floor with a thud, and I reach through the bars again, shoving key after key in the old lock until one finally clicks and the heavy door creaks open. I step over David's unconscious body and run out of the jail, because he won't be out long.

  The heat envelops me when I fly out into the parking lot. I fumble with the keys, looking for anything that resembles a car key and finally find one with the Toyota logo. I glance around the parking lot, my eyes stopping on a rusted Toyota pickup, and I hurry to it, opening the door and climbing inside. The smell of stale drive-thru food hits me and I choke back a slight gag as I peel out of the lot with no idea where I am going. I sure as fuck can't go to Jésus unarmed.

  When I reach the outskirts of Juarez, I stop at a small gas station to use a phone.

  A bell dings when I walk inside and an old woman peeks up from behind the counter, smiling. I wave and grin as I step up to the counter. "¿Puedo usar tu teléfono?" I clear my throat. "Por favor."

  She grabs an old rotary, and I dial Marney's number, swearing under my breath as I wait for the dial to come back around. "Y'ello?"

  "Don't say a fucking word. Is Gabe around?" There's nothing but static on the line. "Marney? Oh for fuck's sake, just don't say my name."

  "Nah, he's gone."

  "I need you to come get me. And bring guns."

  "Um-hmm, so I see you broke out. I told him not to do it, but ain't nobody listening to old fucking Marney..."

  "Marney! Are you gonna come get me or what?" I grate into the phone, and the woman warily lifts a brow at me.

  "Yeah, yeah. Where am I meeting you at?"