Flawed ~ Kim Karr

by Karr, Kim

  Searching for his office with every step we take, I follow her through the magnificent rooms with their soaring ceilings, beautiful artwork, and sleek, stylish furniture. We pass an elegant staircase with two guards stationed on each side, and I feel despair wash over my skin.

  What if his office is up there?

  How am I going to get past them?

  In one of the rooms toward the back of the house is a massive fireplace. Above it hangs a family photo of Enrique, Penelope, and their children. It captures my attention. I’ve never seen his children and most of the time I make myself forget he has them. Now, it’s hard to ignore.

  Penelope sighs.

  I blink away my doubt of taking him from them.

  “We were happy then,” she whispers.

  Then?

  Not now?

  I can’t ask. I can’t go there. “You look it,” I settle on.

  Music is playing throughout the entire downstairs. The sound is mesmerizing as we weave through the space.

  Candles are lit everywhere and the house is even more extravagant than I’d envisioned.

  When we arrive at a granite bar that runs the length of the gourmet kitchen, Penelope takes me up a set of hidden stairs which lead to an upstairs hallway. This is a small, private hallway and there are only two doors. One has a keypad beside the doorframe and I know it is Enrique’s office.

  This is almost too easy.

  I’d never have found my way up.

  Penelope flings the other door open and steps inside. My mind is still on the door across the way.

  “Are you coming?” she beckons.

  “Yes.” I smile, snapping out of my daze.

  The room is a beautiful master suite fit for royalty. Floor-to-ceiling windows with silk draperies covering them, and so unlike the stark barren windows I live with. There are also French doors which must open to the beautifully starlit backyard.

  “This is stunning,” I tell her, glancing around. “You’re very talented.”

  “Yes, so you’ve said. There was a time Enrique used to think so too.” Penelope walks toward a closet the size of my entire bedroom. “Now it seems he really admires your skill.”

  Her typical bitchiness is back, but I choose to ignore the backhanded dig and take the complement at face value. “I appreciate that. We seem to gravitate toward the same type of art.”

  “Yes, I know and I have to admit, I find it hideous.”

  Again, I bite my tongue, refusing to engage in a war of words. I can’t risk the outcome.

  When she steps out of her closet, she’s completely naked except for a skimpy red lace thong. Her breasts are perfect, her skin smooth, and legs long. A bit shocked, I fight the flush of embarrassment when she catches me staring. “I try to stay in the best shape I can for my husband, but sometimes it feels like a losing battle.”

  I avert my gaze, becoming uncomfortable. “You’re a beautiful woman,” I offer.

  Pulling open a drawer, she yanks out a matching red bustier. “Not as beautiful as you, though.”

  I keep my eyes on the floor.

  She has the bustier wrapped around her body and has her back to me. “Isn’t that right?” she says, over her shoulder.

  “Mrs. Cruz—”

  “Fasten me.”

  With nimble fingers, I attend to the hooks.

  She traipses to her closet and stops in front of it. “I know my husband is infatuated with you, Gemma. And I know he wants you in his bed.”

  Dread starts to fill my lungs. “I’m not sure you under—”

  She cuts me off. “Understand?” she laughs. “Oh, please, I understand. I know my husband very well. You really don’t think you’re the first he’s attempting to purify before fucking, do you?”

  I want to run far from her, but I’m not sure that is a wise move.

  Disappearing inside the closet, she raises her voice when she speaks. “I’m going to be blunt, Gemma, my patience is wearing out. I want you out of our lives. In fact, I want you to leave town tonight, and I’m willing to pay you a million dollars to do so.”

  A frown tugs at my lips. She’s a wrench in my plan I never calculated.

  A plan that is simple.

  Grab the necklace. Pretend to be sick. And then poison Enrique’s wine with the ethylene glycol I bought off the dark web when he comes by later tonight to check on me. Then, after he’s dead, I can go get my father and disappear forever.

  A simple plan. Or it was.

  Penelope is going to ruin everything.

  “Gemma, I know you think you’re special. That you’ll have a place in his life. But he’ll tire of you soon. He always does. That’s why you really should take my offer before it’s too late. There are too many things that could happen to a pretty thing like you and you won’t be able to avoid them all forever.”

  Avoid them all?

  What is she talking about?

  Just as she comes out of the closet fully dressed once again, there’s a knock on the door. “Go away. I’m busy,” she calls.

  “Mrs. Cruz, it’s Smith.”

  “Oh, you’re back,” she says, sounding annoyed.

  “Yes, we are.”

  “Good, I’ll be down in a bit.”

  He clears his throat. “I have some things to discuss with you, and they’re urgent.”

  “Fine, come in,” she huffs, obviously not happy that she’s been disturbed.

  “I can go,” I offer, thankful for the chance.

  She glares at me. “Think about what I said. Let me know by the time the benefit ends tonight.”

  I can’t seem to get my jaw to close.

  “And remember, this is our little secret.” She swooshes her hand. “Now run along to do whatever it is you do that captivates my husband so much.”

  In a flurry, I leave the room, buzzing past Smith, but I don’t go downstairs. Instead, I stop on the first step. As soon as the bedroom door closes, I creep back to the door and place my ear to it.

  “Where’s Enrique?” she snaps.

  “Still in the car. He’s on the phone.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t be up here,” she tells him.

  “I thought you’d want to know, Mr. Cruz is on the phone with Maria.”

  “Maria?”

  “Maria from San Quentin.”

  “Why would she call him?” she barks.

  “I heard her say she’s worried for her son’s safety and wants his promise that her son won’t be harmed.”

  “In exchange for what?"

  “I don’t know. Enrique ordered me out of the car before she said anything else. When I was almost to the house he called me back and asked for me to arrange for Gemma to spend the night in the guesthouse.”

  “What! I won’t have it.”

  “I thought as much.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “I don’t know. It must have something to do with what Maria told him.”

  “Well, it couldn’t have been the truth or you wouldn’t be standing here.”

  Truth. What truth? I swallow a lump of fear.

  “You need to take care of her, now!”

  “I can’t get to her.”

  A shiver crawls up my spine. Am I the her or is Maria?

  “Make it look like it’s an accident. Why do I always have to be the one to come up with the solutions?” she barks, then adds, “No, make it look like her bodyguard killed her.

  I am the her.

  And she does know about Caleb.

  I keep listening.

  “He’s very good at his job. I’m not sure I can do that.”

  “Well, try.”

  “Penelope,” he sighs, “I think we might have made a mistake involving Carlos.”

  We?

  “You should have taken care of her yourself in Mexico instead of sending those two incompetents.”

  “You know I couldn’t. Enrique expects me by his side. He’d sense something if I disappeared. The notes are making him paranoid. We n
eed to stop them.”

  “Yes, I think you’re right. I’m sorry, darling,” she purrs. “I know you’re doing the best you can, but you have to take care of her.”

  My heart beats out of my chest. Penelope and Smith? Penelope and Smith what? Are they having an affair? No, I doubt it. Is she using him? Pulling him by the balls with promises of more? Of her? That seems more like her.

  How long has she known about Enrique and me?

  And if I’m not the first, why is she so worried?

  What is she up to?

  I continue to listen. “Smith, you know this will all be worth it. Enrique will falter, and you’ll be there to pick up the pieces.”

  More than likely she’ll be there to pick up the pieces.

  Panic floods me, burning away the shock. She wants to control Smith. Control Enrique.

  She’s crazy.

  Insane, even.

  Apparently, everyone has underestimated her, including me, and now she wants my life.

  I have to hurry.

  Get what I want and get out.

  Rushing across the hallway, I stop at the office door. It has a passcode lock on it, and I pray the code is the same as his phone and computer.

  My heart bangs in my chest as I key in the numbers that correspond with the word F L A W L E S S, and then it stops when the lock releases. Slowly, quietly, I turn the knob and crack the door open.

  It’s a small corridor, like a secret passage. The door closes behind me. I follow the lights on the floor and at the end is a wall.

  This can’t be it!

  A dead end?

  No, it doesn’t make sense. Using the palms of my hands, I search for another keypad, but what I find instead is a lever. Pushing on it, the wall starts to rotate.

  A secret entrance.

  Slowly, quietly, it opens.

  My heart is hammering in my chest.

  Peering through the opening, I can see a room. It’s dark, but there’s enough of a glow inside that I can tell by the art on the walls that this is Enrique’s home office—the place he keeps all his conquests.

  The place he would keep the necklace.

  On tip toes, I step inside the room. Awe overcomes me and I’m momentarily distracted. It’s like a storage room in a gallery in here. Pictures on the walls, paintings stacked against the wall below them. There are also swords, guns, and knives in cases everywhere.

  Just as I start to shut the secret door, my breath catches and I freeze right where I stand. Wordless, soundless, I stare straight ahead. There it is—my necklace.

  I take a step toward it but freeze before I take another. For a long minute I can’t move because, despite the rain, the moon is pouring through the huge windows like a floodlight and behind an oversized ornate desk sits a figure.

  No, not a figure . . . a man.

  Chapter 36

  Flames

  Caleb

  THE BLUEPRINTS WERE spot on.

  Too bad the guard outside Cruz’s door was not. Knocking him out is a huge wrench in my plan.

  I have to hurry before Smith discovers his lookout post has been abandoned or worse yet that the guard he posted there is passed out in a hallway closet.

  I check my watch and let out a breath of irritation as my gaze tracks the progress bar on the flash drive plugged into Cruz’s computer.

  In and out.

  Retrieve what I need and get the fuck out.

  The data—dates and places for the hits he ordered, checks written to fund his human trafficking operation, any kind of evidence incriminating him in the drug ring he runs too cleanly, and most importantly, a trail of transactions that proves he runs the underground ring on the dark web—that he is Leonardo and the Mona Lisa is his.

  That’s the plan—or it was.

  Tick tock.

  My fingers itch as I wait because my damn conscious is making an unwanted appearance.

  Directly in front of me, enclosed in a glass case, is the necklace Cruz stole from Gemma. I want to take the necklace back for her but I can’t risk it. The pang of guilt that rips through me like a razor-sharp blade takes me by surprise. Even if she does somehow make it in here, she’s never going to be able to get the necklace out without being caught because there’s an alarm trigger at the base.

  I know how to disarm it, but I don’t have time.

  “How’d you get in here?” The voice is soft, trembling, and I know in an instant who it belongs to.

  Taking in a hard, fast breath, I swear under my breath. The blueprints failed to display a second entrance into Cruz’s private office. “Gemma.”

  “You said you’d help me.” Her voice sounds ruined.

  I spin to the left in the swivel chair and jump to my feet. “I want to, Gemma, I do, but look. It’s on an alarm.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “You’ll get caught.”

  She starts to walk toward the case, mesmerized. “Smith is going to try to kill me anyway.”

  Chaos swirls in the air. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “He and Penelope are the ones making threats to Enrique. She’s purposely trying to make him paranoid so she can get rid of me. They’re the ones who arranged the ambush in Mexico.”

  My hands curl into fists. “Fuck! You have to get out of here, Gemma. I can’t protect you and get what I came here for.”

  “I already told you, I’m not leaving.”

  “You’re going to get us both killed,” I growl.

  “Not if you leave.”

  My laughter is harsh. “I’m not leaving you here alone.”

  She’s right in front of the necklace now, staring at it like it’s going to bring back what she lost, and maybe for her it will. “Well—”

  “Shhh,” I whisper, my gut tying in a knot that can’t be undone.

  There’s a lot of noise coming from the main hallway. It’s hard to hear what’s being said over the pounding rain, yet, I listen anyway. The seconds tick by with ruthless slowness but soon I can clearly hear Enrique shouting for Smith.

  Angry.

  Thick.

  Rushed.

  My heart careens out of control. I spin Gemma around so she’s facing me. As soon as I do, I’m licked by a million flames. She’s staring at me like she’s never seen me before. Like I’m the devil. The evil one. And I feel like I am. All I want to do is wash my soul in the bottomless brown of her eyes. Give her the world. Give her what she wants.

  I lean in until my forehead rests against hers and our lips almost touch. Almost. It’s the story of us. Close and yet so very far away. “Please, Gemma, you have to get out of here.”

  She shakes her head no. “Not without the necklace.”

  My fingers brush the side of her cheek. I tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear and then I whisper three words I’ve never said out loud to another. “I love you, and I can’t lose you.”

  A single tear falls down her cheek where I just touched her skin. “Don’t say that, please, don’t say that.”

  “I love you,” I repeat.

  She closes her eyes as if in pain. “Please, don’t say that again,” she whispers, her voice broken and filled with despair.

  I get it. This isn’t about love. It never was. It’s about vengeance, and the two don’t mix. They can’t.

  Footsteps pound down the hallway. “Smith,” Cruz calls again. “Where the hell are you?”

  There’s no time. I know what I have to do. It rings out like a plea. A beckoning. A new deal with the devil that can’t be undone.

  My heart is beating too fast. What I’m about to do is against everything I’ve worked for.

  It’s not just dangerous.

  It’s deadly.

  Stepping in front of Gemma, I pull out my gun and aim it at the alarm. With a quick squeeze, I fire. At the same time the glass shatters, the alarm goes off. In a rush, I grab the pink stones and twist around, handing them to Gemma. “Here you go, sweetheart.”

  With a look of complete
awe, she starts to tremble as she takes the pink stones that make up her mother’s necklace. Staring at it as if in shock, a ripping sob tears from her throat.

  There’s no time for triumph or remorse or gratitude. She needs to get out of here. I reach into my pocket and slip a set of keys into her other hand. “Take these. They’re to my Jeep. It’s parked just outside the back gate to the right.”

  She shakes her head no.

  I ignore her. “All you have to do is slip out the back and go around the guesthouse. Use the garden’s entrance. I unlocked it.”

  Tears are streaming down her face. “What about you?”

  Leaving her is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But before I know it, I’m walking to the secret entrance, opening it, and then turning around. “I’ll stay back and stop anyone from following you.”

  Her eyes are frantic. “No! Just come with me.”

  I push her inside. “We won’t both make it.”

  She tries to step back into the office. “We have to try.”

  The door clicks from the main hallway, the key easily unlocking it.

  We’re out of time.

  I push her harder, hating that she falls to the ground. “Go! Now!” I order. “I’ll come find you at the bunker.”

  “Promise,” she cries, staring up at me.

  “If I’m not there by morning, go get your father and disappear,” I tell her, unable to promise anything, and then I close the panel.

  Lunging over toward the desk, I glance at the screen. Eighty-five percent.

  Shit.

  The knob starts to turn. I can hear his voice. He’s stopped to yell orders to his men. I glance at the screen. Eighty-six percent. Eighty-seven percent. Eighty-eight percent.

  I don’t have a choice.

  I have to stay.

  I’ve waited too long not to.

  Chapter 37

  Look Alive

  Caleb

  THEY CALL ME Ghost.

  Moving fast and disappearing—it’s what I’m known for, and I’m never more thankful than when I manage to get behind the door before Cruz swings it open.

  He steps in and flicks the lights on. “Stay out here unless I call for you,” he barks to his men.

  My hands are steady as I raise them and press the barrel of my gun into the back of his skull. “Don’t move.”

  “Guards,” he calls, lifting his hand in the typical tyrant fashion he has about him, that blue-stoned ring flashing as he does.