by LP Lovell
“It’s not.”
“You sure about that?” I chew my bottom lip and drop my gaze away from his. He leans in, trailing his nose up the side of my neck.
“They took something from me that I didn’t want them to have,” I say quietly. “I hate that they’ve had a part of me you haven’t.”
“Why?” He pulls back, his eyes locking with mine. I say nothing for a moment, and he lifts a brow. “I need to hear you say the words, avecita.”
“Because it’s different.” His lips twitch in a hint of a smile. “Because you aren’t them.”
“No, I’m not.” His lips brush over mine, his fingers releasing my wrists and trailing down the length of my arm, over the bandages on my wrist. “Ask me again,” he says against my lips, his breaths ragged.
“Please take it all away,” I breathe.
He kisses me again, his fingers skating my stomach and pushing the tank top up, our lips breaking apart only so he can remove the material. His eyes never leave mine as he sits up and strips my pants and underwear. Nervousness flutters through my stomach, and that flight instinct teeters just on the edge of my consciousness, but I fight it. Rafael unbuttons his shirt, revealing hard muscle, tanned skin and endless ink winding over every inch of him. He’s beautiful in a feral, wild way. He’s something that can’t be tamed or leashed, a beast with the inclination to bite, and yet, the way his fingers trail over my skin, the way he looks at me; I know he would never hurt me. He’s my beast.
He strips until there’s nothing between us, and then his body is pressing over mine, his hot skin branding every inch of me until I’m burning up. His fingers skate over my jaw, his eyes searching my face. “So beautiful.”
I blush, feeling exposed in ways only he can elicit. He strips me in every possible way until I feel like I’m standing before him with my heart clutched in my hand, offering it to him. He could hurt me more than any of the men who have come before him because he has something they didn’t: my trust, my heart, my soul. It’s all so very fragile, and yet I want him to have it. He’ll either bind all the fragmented pieces of my soul, or he’ll destroy it so entirely there’ll be no coming back.
His lips brush over my neck, my collarbone, my breast, my stomach. With each tiny touch, I tremble. He keeps going until his broad shoulders are resting between my thighs. “Look at me,” he demands.
I do, and as our eyes lock, he places his mouth on me. It feels wrong and yet so right. I want to both pull away and never move. This isn’t like last time though. I know what’s coming. Foreign sensations wash over me, sparks igniting from somewhere deep within. My body moves of its own violation, my back bowing away from the bed. And then he stops. I glance at him, and he smiles wickedly, placing a kiss on my lower stomach. He sits up and slides an arm around the small of my back, yanking me off the mattress until we’re face to face, my thighs either side of his. Our lips are barely an inch apart. I can feel the ragged rise and fall of his chest against mine, and his hot skin brushes against me, I shiver. Fingers slide around the back of my neck, his forehead touching mine. “You okay?”
I force a small smile, my courage dwindling. “Yeah.”
“Then focus on me.” He pulls back a fraction, his eyes imprisoning mine as his hands slide to the top of my thighs. He lifts me, and I instantly feel him, pressing against me there. My heart beats faster and my breaths speed as every muscle tenses. “Anna, look at me.” I can’t. My mind starts to spin, thoughts melding into a muddy blur like static on a TV. I can’t focus, I can’t think. Survival instincts override everything logical, and I feel myself gravitating toward that dark little hiding place deep within myself. “I love you,” he whispers against my ear. Those three words are like lightening ripping through black clouds, illuminating everything and cutting through the static. Everything stops. There’s a moment of absolute silence, permeated only by the ringing in my ears, and then a single breath sucks into starving lungs. He pushes into me. The storm breaks loose in all its glory, battering against my defenses and washing away everything. It’s chaotic and ugly, yet beautiful. Rafael tears apart all the facets of me that existed before this moment, ripping up my foundations and destroying everything in his path. He lays waste to my body and soul, and all I can do is cling to him as the tears streak down my face. Yes, he ruins me, just like I always knew he would. But then slowly, piece-by-piece, he completes me. Every soft touch, every gentle kiss, each slow roll of his hips feels magnetic. He’s pulling me back together, re-arranging everything I was until it all makes sense—until I’m stronger, better…his own personal masterpiece.
My mind snaps back into place, and the fear, the loathing, the disgust…it all disintegrates as if it never even existed. It’s like nothing before this point was ever of any consequence. Him and I—that’s it. This is it.
His hand cups my cheek, and I focus on him, on the feel of him moving within me, making us one. I grab his face, slamming my lips against his. I want this. I want every little piece of him.
“Anna,” he groans against my lips.
He forces me to experience everything until I’m pulled under a tidal wave of feeling, drowning and yet breathing for the first time. He swaddles me in his love, making an unbreakable vow with his body. He name falls from my lips like a prayer and his muscles tighten beneath my fingers, a long growl working its way up his throat. It’s raw and primitive, my big bad wolf.
When he tries to move away from me, I pull him closer. I’m not ready to let go of him yet. He kisses my forehead. “Are you okay?”
A soft smile pulls at my lips. I wish I could explain it to him, but I can’t. This sensation can’t truly be put into words. I stroke my fingers over his lips. “You’re like coming home when I’ve never had one,” I whisper.
His arms create a band around my back, tightening like a vice. “Good. I want to be your everything.” He has no idea how much he is.
He lifts me, placing me on the bed before he stands completely naked and walks over to the bathroom. I hear the shower start, the water pounding over tile. “You coming to join me?” he says, popping his head around the corner.
“Maybe later?” I need a minute to just…process everything.
“Okay.” The door closes, and he leaves me alone with my thoughts, but when I slowly lower the guard on my mind, expecting a barrage of feelings, there’s nothing—only a blissful acceptance, as though I finally know where I belong. The absence of turmoil is just that; absent. It’s strange.
Rafael is a balm to my battered soul, and for now, it’s quietly healing.
The next morning, I wake up to bright sunlight streaming through the open balcony doors. Dust particles catch the light, sparkling like little bits of glitter. This morning, the sun is just a little warmer, everything just a little prettier. I stretch, my aching muscles screaming in protest. I can hear the low rumble of a deep voice coming from somewhere nearby. I think it’s Rafael, and the conversation sounds one-sided, so I guess he’s on the phone.
I roll onto my back and lift my hand, allowing my fingers to play through the dust moats. I sigh when I look at the strange flat void where my little finger once was. I haven’t been present enough to process the simple fact that I’ve lost a finger. It almost looks as though it was supposed to be like that, except it’s not. Part of me is missing. I drop my hand to my side, unable to look at it any longer.
Getting out of bed, I go to the bathroom in search of a bandage or something, anything to cover it. I go to the vanity and glance at my reflection in the mirror. I look pale, the shadows beneath my eyes so dark they’re almost purple, but I look alive again. I no longer look like a walking dead girl, and there’s some relief in that. Tearing my gaze away, I drop to a crouch and rummage around in the bathroom drawers until I find a bandage. With trembling fingers, I try to wrap it around my maimed hand. I know Rafael is there without even looking. His hands cover mine, taking the bandage from me. I fight back tears, unable to look at him. It’s just a finger. There are worse
things that could happen. I don’t know why I’m so upset about it, but I can’t bear to look at it.
Rafael says nothing as he starts wrapping my hand in the bandage. “You didn’t have enough bandages already?” A small smile plays over his lips as he wraps and then ties it off.
“I don’t want to see it,” I say hoarsely.
“It’s okay to be upset about it, avecita.”
“It’s just a finger,” I say, more to myself than him.
His thumb brushes the inside of my wrist. “No one wants to lose a body part,” he says, a trace of amusement in his voice.
I shake my head. “She didn’t blink.”
He sighs. “Your sister must have her own reasons.”
I lift my gaze to his. “What possible reason can there be for that?”
He grips my jaw, swiping his thumb just below my ear. “You know what kind of a man Nicholai is…”
I step away from him. “Are you defending her?”
He drags a hand through his hair. “No, but…she sacrificed herself for you. She sacrificed her baby.”
“What if that was always the plan? She is Nicholai’s ‘daughter’.”
“You didn’t see the way she looked at Nero.”
“She’s Elite. They’re trained to seduce, Rafe. Manipulate and kill.”
“Then why kill for Nero in exchange for you?”
I grit my teeth. “Nicholai could have orchestrated the entire thing. You don’t know what he’s like.” I do. He’s sheer madness.
His eyes soften, and I see the pity in his eyes. I don’t want his pity though. I want him to feel the same anger I feel. “And Nero? You think he was in on it? That I was?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I don’t know anything anymore, but my sister is a traitor, Rafe.”
He steps closer to me, backing me against the vanity unit. “Fine. You don’t trust Una right now. And you have reason not to trust Nero, but do you really doubt me?”
My eyes meet the endless dark depths of his. “Maybe I should.”
“But you don’t.”
“But you’re the only person I trust. My sister is dead to me. You’re all I have.”
He slides a hand around my neck and pulls me close, pressing his lips into my hair. “Give it time, avecita.” He moves away and turns around, walking out of the room.
Time? No amount of time can ever make this okay. She was my last hope in a hopeless place, and she betrayed me. And it’s this pain, this blinding level of rage and hatred that made me hide for so long. Because it hurts: soul deep, to the bone, hurt.
The only blood relative I have left, and she turned on me.
26
Anna
I wander through the house, feeling the eyes of everyone on me. As soon as I walk into the kitchen, everyone stops talking. Rafael glances up from his phone, his gaze flicking over my body. One simple act has changed everything. He feels more vital, more engrained on my soul than he ever did before. Still, the silence reigns throughout the kitchen until he clears his throat.
“Avecita.” He beckons me forward, pushing his chair away from the table. I walk over to him, just to escape everyone else. Taking my hand, he pulls me into his lap and kisses my temple.
Maria places a cup of coffee in front of me, a watery smile on her face.
“We’re so glad you’re back.” She places a hand on my head and then retreats. I glance sheepishly around the table, catching the eyes of Samuel and then Carlos. Do they know? Do they think I’m some crazy girl who tried to kill herself?
I look for the one missing face in the room and whip around to face Rafael. “Lucas?” I whisper. For a second I’m right back in that eucalyptus grove with his blood pouring uncontrollably through my fingers, watching him die, completely unable to do anything about it.
“He’s recovering.” I release a tense breath.
“Good. That’s…that’s really good.”
“Anna,” Carlos says. I glance at him. “Thank you. For calling me. You saved him.”
“He was shot because of me.”
Rafael’s hand grips the back of my neck in an iron hold. His breath whispers over my neck before he whispers in my ear. “The Russians shot my men and took you. I’d love to hear how that’s your fault, little warrior.”
“He’s your bodyguard. It’s his job,” Carlos says dismissively.
Rafael’s fingers tighten on my neck as if daring me to argue, but I will never see Lucas as my bodyguard because he was my only friend back when I was still nothing more than a whore to anyone. “Is he here?” I ask quietly.
Rafael checks his watch. “He should be in the gym now.”
I nod and push to my feet. He lets me go without a fight. “Make sure you eat,” he says as I walk toward the door. Was he always so demanding?
I make my way to the gym, expecting to find Lucas working out. What I find has my stomach balling into a tight knot and bile rising in the back of my throat. There are two white railings set up in the middle of the gym at waist height, and Lucas is holding onto them, slowly taking one step at a time as a woman watches on, giving him encouragement. Discarded to the side is a wheelchair. Lingering in the doorway, I press my hand to my chest, trying to relieve the lump in my throat.
When he catches sight of me, his young face breaks into a wide grin. Still smiling.
“Anna!”
I walk further into the room, forcing a smile on my face for him. “Hey.”
He hobbles to the end of the railing and throws one arm around my neck in a tight embrace. “I’m so glad you’re okay. Rafael wouldn’t let anyone see you.”
“I uh, wasn’t exactly good company.” He stares at the ground, nodding awkwardly. “Lucas, I’m so sorry you got shot.”
He rolls his eyes. “I’m your bodyguard.” Why do they all say that like it makes it okay? I don’t say anything though because I don’t want to hurt his pride.
“How are you?” It seems a stupid question when he can barely walk.
“The bullet lodged in my spine. No permanent damage, but its like learning to move all over again. It’s harder than it looks.”
“It looks hard.” He smirks, and the woman brings the wheelchair around for him to sit in. He slowly lowers himself and glances up at me. “Do you have to do more rehab?”
“Nope. I’m done for the day.”
“Well then, let’s go and do something.” I missed him, and I hate that he went through all this without a friend.
He grins. “I’m all yours.”
I grab the handles of his wheelchair and push him through the house. “What do you want to do?”
“We could go outside?”
The thought instantly makes my blood run cold. Nothing truly feels safe anymore.
“How about a movie?”
“Fine. But I’m not watching The Notebook.”
“What’s The Notebook?”
He groans. “Ah, see, now I feel like you’re missing out on a right of passage or something.”
I smile, and it comes to me so easily. “I’m sure I’ll live.”
I wheel him into the huge living room. There’s no theatre room in this house, but there is a massive flat screen on the wall. Lucas wheels himself over to a bookcase and pulls out a DVD, handing it to me. “Just press that button.” He points to a button on the little machine on a shelf, and I follow his instruction, putting the disc inside. He wheels back over to the large corner couch. “I might need a hand.” I offer him my hand, and he takes it, hauling himself out of the chair and flopping down on the couch.
“So, uh, what happened to your hand?” The hoody I’m wearing covers the bandages on my arm, but there’s no hiding my hand. Just like that, my mood darkens, and even Lucas can’t keep my morbid feelings at bay.
“My sister cut my finger off,” I say coldly.
“That’s…”
“Fucked up? Yeah.” I tug my sleeve down over the bandage, not wanting the reminder.
“You have a miss
ing finger, and I walk like a guy who’s drunk a bottle of tequila. What a pair we make,” he says, a gawky grin on his face and a flush in his cheeks. I know he’s trying to make me feel better, but he makes me feel so guilty. I lost a finger. He lost his ability to walk properly. Three months in, and he’s still using a wheelchair. I’m horrible.
“I’m sorry,” I take his hand, and he threads his fingers through mine.
We sit, and I watch The Notebook for the first time ever. Lucas falls asleep about ten minutes in, and I smile as he slumps awkwardly against me. I end up putting a pillow on my lap and rearranging him until he looks comfortable. This movie is heartbreaking and beautiful, and by the end, I’m crying. I’m not sure if I’m sad or happy.
I’m just swiping away tears when I hear a throat clear. I look up and find Rafael leaning against the doorframe, thick arms folded over his chest.
“The kid ‘Notebooked’ you, didn’t he?” I sniff, and he shakes his head. “Trying to put the moves on my girl.”
I snort. “He didn’t even watch it. Passed out and snored the entire way through.”
Rafael moves closer, glancing over the back of the couch at Lucas’ sleeping form. “Looks like he got a good spot.”
I tilt my head back against the couch cushions until I can see him. “Are you jealous?”
He grabs the back of the couch and bends down until his lips press to mine. He kisses me slow and sweet. “Maybe.” I quickly remember Lucas and a blush heats my cheeks.
“Rafe.”
He pushes up until he’s hovering over me? “Are you getting shy on me?” I shake my head, and he laughs. “You’re going to have to move sleeping beauty there. We’re going into Juarez.”
I frown. “Why?”
“I have business.”
“And I’m coming with you?”
He releases a slow breath, his expression becoming pinched. “I don’t trust anyone else with you, avecita.”
He glances at Lucas, so I shift my weight, carefully sliding away and replacing my lap with a cushion. Standing up, I round the back of the couch and go to Rafael. His lips are pressed together in a tight line, his jaw ticking furiously.