Sex, Vows & Babies: Save Me (Kindle Worlds Novella)

by Tia Louise

  “You’re still so beautiful.” His accent curls every word like the blue smoke rising from his thin brown cigarillo. “You can’t imagine how it hurt me to realize I would have to kill you.”

  I tilt my head, looking up at him through slanted eyes. “There’s something left to hurt?”

  He laughs, and smoke drifts around us, burning my nose. Just as fast he sobers, inhaling with a hiss. “I am a fool for a beautiful woman.” He shakes his head and takes another step, circling me. “I was an old man the first time I saw you. Yet my dick sprang to life at once.”

  “You weren’t so old.”

  “Fifty eight is an old man, Amorosa. I stopped having spontaneous erections long ago. Long, long ago.”

  I have no interest in listening to this. Only two things are on my mind at this point. “Is the girl real?”

  He stops moving and steps back. “Oh, si, mi amor. Lajuana is very real. She’s as close as I could get to you while I was incarcerated.”

  His eyes run over me as if they were hands on my skin. I’m still as a statue, thinking about the meaning of his words, the connection I felt to the photograph. This time he does reach out and touch me. A reptilian, talon-tipped hand clutching my chin. “I see your emerald eyes working, pequeña.”

  I jerk my face away. “What are you saying?”

  He doesn’t answer. He only holds my eyes with his. Another pull off the cigarillo causes a stream of blue smoke to drift into his eye, and it blinks slowly.

  “I left Miami after my grandmother died. She was the last of my family.”

  “Making you the perfect bait. The authorities sent you to me because you had nothing to lose. You had no family for me to leverage, nothing for me to make you obey.” Another long pull, another stream of smoke rising around us. “Until now.”

  “The girl is not my family.”

  “It’s possible… You have not heard her story.”

  “I don’t need to.” My lips twist in a frown as realization seeps into my skin. A painful knot is in my throat, and I blink fast. “It’s why you had your men kill him…” I have to stop speaking to breathe through the pain.

  Rage flares in his eyes. “I had my men kill him for what he did to me. I should have cut off his fingers for touching what is mine, cut off his dick for fucking what is mine.”

  “Is that so?” Pure venom is in my voice. “Why didn’t you?”

  “I wasn’t taking any chances.”

  “You knew he would beat you.” I spit the words at him. “He will always beat you. He put you in prison. He beat you with me. I’ve only loved one man my entire adult life. Mason—”

  I’m cut off with a SLAP! Lights flash behind my eyes, and I hit the floor hard as the room spins. No… I slowly shake my head trying to regain my bearings. My cheek throbs, blood is in my mouth from his ring cutting my lip, but I won’t cry. I won’t let him see me break. I force myself to get to my knees. I force myself to stand, not even attempting to hide the hate shining in my eyes.

  “Yes, Amorosa.” His voice is a lusty growl, and the hand he slapped me with moves up and down his crotch.

  I don’t look, but from my peripheral, I can see the erection straining in his trousers. Abusing women has always turned him on. Only, this is the first time I’ve been the target of his abuse. I know he’ll try to fuck me, and I welcome taking a shot at that delicate organ. I’ll make him pay.

  “Where is she?” My cheek throbs and my voice is flat, tinged with disgust.

  His reptilian smile is back. “Not so fast, mi amor. Not so fast. I still have to decide what to do with you. I still plan to kill you, yes, but now that I have you back, you must be seen to pay for humiliating me.”

  You do not have me back. I don’t say the words out loud, and he continues walking, musing. “I can’t have anyone off the street thinking she can waltz in and try to best me.”

  No need to worry about that. I will kill you, even if I die in the process. I don’t speak. I only observe as he continues walking, listening to the soft shush of his shoes over the Spanish tile floor.

  “Your old room is waiting for you. Your clothes are still in the closet. It seems my house staff was either nostalgic or afraid to dispose of your things without my permission.”

  My money is on the latter.

  He stops then, focusing his gaze on my battered face. “Yes…” It’s a throaty hiss. “You are so fucking appealing. Perhaps I will allow you to live a bit longer… I must find a way to punish you that doesn’t ruin your beautiful face.” He reaches out and runs a talon over my lips. “Otherwise I would cut you so no man would ever desire you again.”

  Rosa, the woman whose face he did cut, drifts into my mind. I can still see her mouth, gaping and paralyzed on one side, drool always running down her chin. I still see the angry welts of the keloid scars across her cheekbones. She hid it all behind a curtain of dark hair, but when she looked at you…

  I don’t want to shiver. I don’t want to show any fear. Mostly, I don’t want to say there’s nothing he could do to hurt me now. He’s taken the only man I’ve ever loved from me. That thought rips through my stomach like a knife, leaving my insides gaping and spilling out.

  “When can I see the girl?” I don’t want to call her Lajuana in case her name is a lie like everything else he says.

  “Return to your room. I will call for you when I’m ready.”

  With that he walks out of the living area, leaving only the pungent smell of tobacco in his wake.

  “I am not yours,” I repeat softly. “I will never be yours. Mace is the only man…” But I can’t finish.

  The tears I’ve been fighting for hours spill down my cheeks like unbidden guests. I reach up to wipe them away and cry out from the pain of my battered cheek. I need a drink. I need sleep. I need my husband.

  Dinner is the next time I’m summoned to Araña’s presence. He sits at the head of a long mahogany table, and like something out of a classic movie, candelabras are placed along the center with white candles dripping wax down the sides and onto the brass.

  My face is swollen, but I have no interest in hiding it. I’ve changed into a white shirt and slacks from the closet. I’d been surprised to find the pants were a bit tighter from when I was here before, but I chalked it up to how happy I’ve been with Mace. Lifting my chin, I put that behind me along with thoughts of a different life. My life will end here—freeing this girl I never knew existed and ending the life of a monster.

  “So glad you could join us, Amorosa,” he says without standing.

  I don’t note that I had little choice in the matter. I’m too distracted by his use of the pronoun us. He and I are the only ones in the room at this point, but I know he’s up to something. I can tell by the way he leans on the velvet-upholstered arm of his ornate wooden chair.

  I stop at the end of the table and pull out the matching armchair. He exhales a short laugh and reaches forward for his short tumbler of whiskey. “No amount of distance will keep me from you. You are mine.”

  Silence has become my standing response to these insinuations of ownership. I’d love him to get close enough for me to cut his dick off. I welcome his attempts at a blowjob. My hatred for him is a molten rage just waiting to be released.

  “Lajuana!” He shouts, clapping his hands together.

  I jump and inhale fast. My heart races, and I look around not caring that my emotions are plain on my face. I should care. I know I should care. Any overt display of affection or attachment is an immediate liability. I can’t help it. When the door opens and the petite girl steps into the room, my eyes heat. She moves exactly like my grandmother—only she’s decades younger. Where did she come from? How did he find her? Could she possibly be related to me?

  I dismiss the thought. Mace had helped me scour the small Central American nation for any traces of my family, and we’d found nothing.

  “Hola, papacito!” She skips around the table and kisses that leach on the cheek. I cringe watching it happe
n.

  “Tijuana, you know I am not your papa.” Warm scolding is in his voice, and I have to fight the nausea rising in my stomach. How has he managed to fool her this way? “Pepito, I must introduce you to Amorosa.” A scaly, long-fingernailed hand is stretched in my direction. “She is your sister.”

  The girl freezes in place, turning to me, her dark eyes round. “Sister?”

  I know for a fact I have no sister, still I can’t resist the pull of her familiarity. “Lajuana?” I say, rising from my chair. “I’m Jessa.”

  Her slim brows pull together. “But…”

  I press on, ignoring Araña’s confusing words. “I’m here for you.” I don’t say what I really want. Instead, I say the most important thing. “Do you remember your family?”

  She blinks rapidly, and her innocence is so strong. I can’t let him take her, corrupt her, turn her into one of his girls. In that moment, despite the unrelenting ache in my soul for my husband, I vow to save her from this place.

  “Papacito took me from the sisters—”

  “I found Lajuana with the Sisters of the Sacred Heart in El Salvador,” he interrupts, and I turn my eyes to him, hatred burning in my chest. “It took me years, but I found your family.”

  “I have searched for years, and I’ve never found anyone.” I can’t disguise the antipathy in my voice.

  “Please, let’s sit.” He waves around the table ignoring my disgust. “Aren’t you happy, my pet? It proves everyone has someone in this world.”

  “If only you had someone.” Acid drips from my tongue as I resume my seat, but it’s a lie. I have no interest in hurting anyone to get to him. I will go directly to him and carefully inflict as much pain as possible as I slowly eviscerate him.

  “Your sister is angry with me.” Araña’s eyes feign sadness, and he raises his eyebrows as if I’ve wounded him.

  “Why is she angry, papa?” Lajuana’s voice is so sweet. I watch as she pulls out her heavy wooden chair.

  I’d been a sweet girl in Miami before a thug shot my grandmother, before she’d been caught in the crossfire of rival drug lords. In less than a year, I’d become what I am now, a killer.

  “I took something from tu hermana. Something very precious.”

  “Can’t you give it back?” She glances my way with wary, dark eyes.

  “I’m afraid not,” Araña says. “I’m afraid this precious thing is gone for good.”

  My teeth grind. I don’t want to hear this.

  Focusing on the girl, I push my pain down deep. “I’d like to get to know you better,” I say, forcing a smile.

  “We might have to put that on pause.” Araña holds up a Bowie knife. He places it on the table beside his plate, and once again, our eyes meet in a clash of loathing.

  “Perhaps we’ll see what happens,” I reply, not giving an inch of ground.

  The remainder of the meal is essentially quiet. I watch Lajuana, wondering to whom she really belongs and how I can get her back to them once she’s out of this place. Finally we stand, facing one another before saying goodnight.

  “I hope we’re able to talk soon,” I say, extending my hand to her.

  Her eyes travel quickly around my face and then she looks down as if embarrassed.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “You’ve been hurt,” she says quietly, and I remember my battered cheek and cut lip. For a half second, I consider confronting papacito. Instead, I simply say, “I have a dangerous job. I’ll be okay.”

  She blinks up at me curiously, and I know she has many questions. Instead she only says, “I hope we’re able to talk soon, too.”

  I nod. “Can I hug you?”

  She steps forward into my arms, and I hold her small body against mine. It’s a good hug, warm and caring. I think of a time, long ago, when I lost my family. I fast forward to six years ago, when I started a new family. The pang of that second loss causes my breath to hiccup. This girl might not be my blood, but I’ll accept Araña’s offer. She can be mine, and I’ll make him pay for any harm that comes to her… just like I would for my actual relatives.

  “Goodnight,” she says, stepping back.

  I smooth a hand down her arm. “Goodnight, hermanita.”

  She smiles, and I watch as she goes to the door and exits, leaving us alone, me standing beside my chair. Araña stands beside Lajuana’s empty seat. He’s watching me. My eyes move slowly until they meet his, and I see his satisfaction. He thinks he has power now. He thinks love makes me weak.

  I’ll be happy to teach him otherwise.

  9

  Jessa

  The night is pitch dark. A few security lights create a faint glow in the sky outside my window, but it doesn’t matter. There’s no way in hell I’m sleeping tonight.

  I’d started in my bed, lying on my back and staring at the ceiling as the pain in my chest bore through me, through the mattress, pulling my insides past the floor to the bowels of hell.

  Sheer exhaustion won for a brief moment, but now I’m awake again. I’d been sure Mace was beside me, and like a phantom limb, I’d reached over… only to be greeted with cold, empty sheets.

  My insides collapse harder this time, forcing me from the bed and its emptiness to the floor. I crawl across hand-woven Persian rugs to the dark corner beside my closet. My face is pressed into my knees, and I grasp one hand over my mouth as I wail. Every muscle strains against the pain, but it’s no use. The pain is tearing me apart. It’s a chasm in my chest. It’s a black hole of misery sucking all of my life into it and leaving nothing in its wake.

  Everything is gone—my hope, my dreams, my future… I’ve lost everything. I’ve lost the strength to keep going, but more than that, I don’t want to keep going. My life has no meaning. I don’t want to find meaning.

  I want to die.

  Lajuana… revenge… these things motivate me to finish this job, to finish him, but once he’s dead, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t live without my mate.

  My head is hot and aching, and every muscle hurts. Rotating my hips, I place my cheek against the cold floor and shudder as the sobs rack my body. I don’t notice the door opening. I don’t notice the quiet footfalls crossing the room to me. I only open my eyes when a small hand touches my shoulder. I still, but I don’t look up.

  “Jessa?” Concern laces her voice.

  It takes all my strength, but I manage to press my palms against the floor and sit up. “Lajuana…” My voice is thick from crying. “Why are you here? You could get in trouble—”

  “I brought you this.” She reaches out, and in the gloom, I see it’s a grey ice bag. “For your cheek.”

  The hard plastic top is cold around the metal edge. For several long moments I hold it in my hand, staring at it stupidly—as if I don’t understand what to do with it.

  “I don’t need this,” I say. “I’ll be leaving soon.”

  We sit in quiet. Far away, I hear the noise of the surf. Closer, I hear the screech of cicadas. The air is heavy with the perfume of orange passionflower. It reminds me of the first night Mace and I made love.

  “I need a drink,” I mutter.

  The girl shifts, and to my surprise, she pulls a narrow bottle out of her robe. “It’s tequila. I took it off papa’s rolling wet bar.”

  “Portable wet bar,” I correct her, my eyes fixed on the full bottle of yellow liquid.

  I take it from her and unscrew the cap, holding it to my lips and taking a long drink. I wince, and it burns all the way down. Without hesitation, I take another long drink. Holding the bottle out, I see I’ve finished a fourth of it in two sips. Now I only have to wait for the pain to dull. I take another long drink for good measure.

  “I wish you didn’t have to leave,” Lajuana says softly.

  I stare at the gold liquid, waiting for the pain to numb. It will probably require the whole bottle. No. It will require many, many bottles.

  Glancing up at her, I study her round black eyes. “Do you like living here?”

&
nbsp; She blinks down to her lap. “I think I would rather live with my real family.”

  “Do you remember your real family?”

  “I only remember the sisters.”

  She was in a convent in El Salvador, he’d said. I think about what I know of nuns, what my grandmother told me. “Were the sisters good to you?”

  She hesitates. “They taught me to pray. They taught me not to look at boys. They taught me it’s a sin to touch myself.”

  “That sounds about right.” I lean my head back and take another long drink. The pain is still twisting my guts like a washcloth being wrung dry. “Did they beat you or make you kneel on rice?”

  Her laugh surprises me. “No! Sister Caroline was very good to me. She said when I left I should do God’s work.”

  Closing my eyes, I feel the slightest edge dull off the jagged glass filling my stomach. “And what is God’s work?”

  Another thoughtful pause. “I think what I’m doing now? Helping you…?”

  I turn the ice bag over in my hand then I lift it to my cheek. “Why do you want to leave this place? Is Araña mean to you?”

  “He is very good to me… But… I feel like he is a bad man. I know he is not my father, yet he wants me to call him that.” Her dark head drops. “I think he might hurt me one day. I should leave here with you.”

  She’s a smart girl. I don’t know what it is, but whatever instinct drove my grandmother to leave her hometown and travel to an enormous country hostile to her race, the same instinct drove me to join the military after I’d lost her. The same instinct seems to be driving my little friend here to me.

  “I’ll help you escape,” I reassure her. “I don’t know how, but I will. Now you need to go back to your room. Go to bed and sleep.”

  She stands slowly and walks without a sound to the door, but before she leaves, she stops. “Will you sleep now?”

  I don’t have to think about my answer. “No.”

  “I’m sorry Araña hit you. I won’t let him do it again.”

  With that, she disappears through the door leaving me to wonder what she could mean. I’m pretty sure the petite teen has no idea what her “papacito” is capable of doing. I hope she never learns. In the meantime, I have to figure out how I’m going to keep my promise when I have no weapons, no contact with Ella, and I’m surrounded by armed guards.