Violent Ends (White Monarch Book 2)

by Jessica Hawkins

  Disappointment at the loss of him struck me first followed quickly by horror. I didn’t want to miss his touch or wander down that path. To cover up that confusing feeling, I quickly agreed. “Deal.”

  “I’ll pretend you said that with a little less vigor.” He frowned. “Would you like to think on it a moment?”

  “No. How long is a while?”

  “Days. Maybe even weeks, if I’m unlucky.”

  Weeks? He seemed to both keep his hands to himself and touch me non-stop. “And you won’t touch me at all?”

  “Not even to help you from the car.”

  “All right.” I closed my eyes and waited, but nothing came. When I looked again, he was pulling back the sheets of his bed.

  “Ven aquí,” he said, lying down.

  “We had a deal.”

  “Come here,” he repeated.

  I trudged back to my side of the bed, climbed in next to him, and curled into a ball with my back to him as I had every night.

  After a moment, he tugged me close with a loose grip on my bicep. I glanced over my shoulder at him and met his eyes, dark with demands once again.

  He ghosted a finger over the tattoo. “Mine,” he said. “Mi mariposita. My rare and unusual, beautiful white monarch.”

  “You’re wrong,” I whispered. “He made the wings orange, not white.”

  He barely traced the outline of it. “The butterfly’s orange color warns of its poison,” he explained. “It’s dangerous to be colorless. And you, my wife, are toxic to predators.”

  “This isn’t just a reminder to me.” I had suspected as much. “It’s a warning to others.”

  “She is mine.” He moved some of my hair behind my ear and pressed closed lips to my mouth. His hand tightened around my arm, but he stayed still, not yet pushing for more.

  He angled his shoulder over me, cocooning me. His butterfly. It shouldn’t have surprised me to feel him harden against the cushion of my ass. I should like to be able to roll over and be inside you. I tried to think of anything to keep from wanting that. To keep from falling into him as he slid his hand down my forearm, squeezed my wrist, caressed my hip and the curve of my ass.

  I wanted him to keep going. To slip between my thighs and relieve me of the arousal he’d inspired, to chase my shame away without permission so I didn’t have to face that I wanted it.

  I had to think of anything else or I wouldn’t just ask him for more—I would beg for it.

  Out of habit, Diego came to mind. Had it felt like this to kiss him? Like I was standing at the edge of a black hole, and he was both pushing me over the edge and pulling me down into the dark? I’d always known that darkness was too easy to walk into, and now, Cristiano knew it, too. He’d drag me down, ruin and defile me, while Diego had wanted to keep me pristine.

  No, the kiss with Diego hadn’t been a magic spell like Cristiano’s, because it wasn’t just about sex. I believed Diego had loved me on some level, as much as he was capable. And I also knew on some level that I’d known that what I’d had with Diego wasn’t real.

  Cristiano was real. Raw. His honesty could be brutal, but it left no room for pretense, and my body responded in kind.

  I moaned greedily and thrust my tongue into his mouth first, then gasped at my forwardness.

  Cristiano smiled against my lips. “Goodnight. Sleep tight knowing you’re safe from me for a time. And should you realize that isn’t what you want, take comfort in the fact that this is far from our last kiss.”

  When I awoke next, it was to a dark and empty room, yet I sensed dawn had broken. I rose from the bed and opened black-out shades to find the sun rising in the distant desert.

  Below, Cristiano carried his suitcase to a town car.

  No wonder he’d promised not to touch me. The sneaky bastard was going somewhere.

  Cristiano was a master of words and manipulation, and that wasn’t news to me. But in place of the fear I’d been clinging to, I suddenly wondered if I could keep up with him. If I could learn to decipher the true meaning behind his words, thoughts, and actions—and play on his level. Something told me he wanted that too.

  And just like that, already, that small shift in mindset was working.

  I knew without asking why he was leaving.

  He was going in search of answers that would fill whatever void existed in him. Of the key that could unlock the something—the everything—he wanted.

  Or he’d drive himself mad trying.

  And where would that leave me?

  19

  Natalia

  A dark-haired, petite mirage of a girl wrung her hands in front of a dusty black SUV. I shielded my eyes from the sun as Alejandro took a beat-up suitcase from the trunk.

  As I ran down the front steps, my flip-flops slapped against the stone. “Pilar?”

  My best friend threw her arms around my neck. “¡Dios mío, Natalia!”

  I took her by her shoulders so hard that she winced. Loosening my grip, I looked her over. “What are you doing here?”

  Her crystal green eyes widened. “I have no idea.”

  I whirled around. “What the hell, Alejo?”

  He shrugged. “Cristiano said you might be lonely while he was away.”

  “So he took my friend?”

  “No.” Alejandro winked at Pilar. “I did.”

  Her cheeks flushed as she glanced away, but I didn’t. I scowled at Alejo and grasped Pilar’s elbow to pull her up to the house. “What happened?”

  “I was at the market getting milk,” she said. “I was making arroz con leche for Manu, and—”

  “For Manu?” I asked, leading her through the foyer. “You bake for your family’s panadería for a living. Why are you making anyone anything when you aren’t working?” I waved my hand. “Never mind. What happened next?”

  “He,”—she nodded behind us at Alejandro—“told me to get in the car. I recognized him from . . .” She lowered her voice as if someone might be listening. “The wedding.”

  “And you got in?” I balked. “That’s one of the first things we learn as kids. Never get in the car or you’re as good as dead. He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

  She chewed her bottom lip. “You know me. I don’t have to be ordered to do anything twice.”

  It was true. My sweet Pilar had no backbone, and she never had. I hated that Cristiano had dragged her into this, first by burdening her with being a witness to our wedding ceremony, and now by bringing her here. But I was glad Alejandro hadn’t been forceful, and truthfully, I wouldn’t actually think he’d be. “He brought you straight here?”

  “My bag was already in the car when I got in. He packed it for me. I don’t know when or how.” Her eyebrows met in the middle of her forehead. “Now all the ingredients are just sitting on my kitchen counter.”

  “Puta madre, fucking domineering asshole—” When Pilar shuddered, I forced myself to calm down. I would deal with Cristiano later. “Don’t worry.” I attempted to soothe her as we approached the house’s main room. “Alejandro is a good guy. I mean, as good as it gets around here.”

  “I’ve been worried sick for you,” she said under her breath, then stopped at the grand dining table with brass candelabras. She took in the fireplace, wooden coffee table with wild dahlias, and the regal tapestry on the wall. Turning in a circle, she surveyed the majestic room. “I didn’t know what to expect. I thought it . . . I thought you would look . . . different.”

  She’d probably been expecting wreckage and devastation. I wrapped the slinky, colorful cover-up I’d found in one of my drawers over my bathing suit and pursed my lips. “Looks can be deceiving.”

  “Vengan.” In the doorway, Alejandro ordered us to follow and turned back for the staircase. “You’ll be staying upstairs, Pilar.”

  “For how long?” I demanded.

  I didn’t expect an answer, and I didn’t get one.

  At the second floor, I left Pilar with Alejandro and promised her I’d be back in a moment. I continue
d up to Cristiano’s bedroom and went to my nightstand. When I’d returned from La Madrina last weekend, I’d found a cell phone in the top drawer with only one number programmed in it. His.

  I’d considered it some kind of annoying joke considering our last encounter with a phone, but now, I picked up and prayed it actually made outgoing calls.

  He picked up on the first ring. “How are you, my beautiful bride?”

  “You asshole.”

  “Ah. I assume Alejandro delivered Pilar.” His shit-eating grin was unmistakable, even over the phone. “I thought you’d be pleased—you said you were bored.”

  “I didn’t mean you should kidnap my friend.”

  “Relax. It’s only for the weekend . . . unless she wants to stay longer, that is.”

  “She has a life. A fiancé and a family business. You can’t just rip her out of it for no reason.”

  “Not for no reason,” he said. “For you. I thought seeing your friend would make you happy.”

  Pilar was like a light in the dark, but I wasn’t going to force this life on her for my own amusement. “She’s scared half to death.”

  “So show her she has no reason to be,” he said over some static on the line. “You have free rein of the house. All I ask is that you continue your lessons with Alejo—and bring Pilar with you. I get the feeling she couldn’t tiptoe over an ant without shedding a few tears.”

  Pilar might be prone to trembling, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t tough in her own way. My nostrils flared. “You—”

  “I know, I know. I’m horrible.” He cleared his throat. “I’m also heading into a bad area, so I have to go.”

  “Bad?” I asked, straightening as alarm jolted me. I’d be surprised if whatever mission he’d left on was legal or safe—after all, if this thing he wanted so badly was easy to get, he’d have made it his a long time ago. But for someone in this life to consider an area bad, it had to be dangerous. “What do you mean bad?”

  “Er—bad for reception,” he clarified.

  Surprisingly, relief passed over me—and with that, my irritation was free to return. Especially with myself over finding out that my gut reaction to Cristiano in danger wasn’t joy, but . . . concern.

  “Is there anything else, Natalia?”

  “Yes,” I said. “About a million things.”

  I thought I heard his breathy chuckle through the phone. “Will you call me tonight?”

  “No.”

  “I like seeing your name light up my phone, mi amor. Call me when you’re in bed, and tell me how it went with Pilar.”

  He hung up before I could protest.

  I hurried down one floor and followed voices to one of the bedrooms. Pilar stood at the foot of a bed, gaping at the ornate, four-poster frame, large window overlooking the water, and beamed ceiling. “Do you have a room like this?” she asked me as I entered. “There’s a fireplace.”

  “Yes, I do,” I muttered. “Cristiano’s room.”

  “Oh . . .” Concern creased her forehead as understanding dawned. “Oh, no. I mean, of course. It makes sense, but—I’m sorry.”

  Alejandro, standing in the doorway of the walk-in closet, stared at us with one eyebrow arched as if we were speaking another language. “Jaz will unpack your things,” he said.

  “I spoke to Cristiano,” I said, pursing my lips at Alejo before turning to my friend. “You’re not stuck here forever—just for the weekend. Did you have plans?”

  Pilar sat on the edge of the bed. “Well, Manu’s arroz con leche—”

  “Never mind the arroz con leche,” I said, exasperated.

  “He really likes it,” she said slowly. “He expects it. When I don’t bring it over, he won’t be happy.”

  Alejandro typed something into his cell phone. “Manu’s the fiancé?” he asked without looking up.

  “If Manu has a problem, he can take it up with Cristiano,” I said, ignoring Alejandro. What did he care?

  “I don’t know,” Pilar hedged, sticking a fingernail between her front teeth. “Are you sure?”

  “Don’t worry. Any man in his right mind wouldn’t challenge the Calavera cartel,” I reassured Pilar and sighed. There was nothing really left to say. “Did you bring a bathing suit?”

  “No sé.” She glanced at Alejandro. “Did I?”

  “There’s one in the closet,” he said. “Cristiano gave me a list of things to pick up.”

  “And I was at the top of it,” Pilar said.

  Alejandro laughed heartily, while I just stared at her. She wasn’t generally one to make jokes, especially in a tense situation. “Go change,” I told her, tearing my glare from Alejandro. “We’ll get in the pool. It’s supposed to be especially warm today.”

  Alejandro tucked his phone back in his pocket, dipped his head, and left the room, closing the door after himself.

  In the walk-in closet, Pilar’s little suitcase sat in one corner, but I wasn’t sure why Alejandro had bothered with it. We found ourselves staring at enough outfits to last her a month. “Jesus,” I muttered to myself. “What, does Cristiano own a woman’s clothing brand?”

  “Is this stuff yours?” she asked me.

  “I think it’s for you.” I shook my head. “Cristiano’s doing.”

  She fingered a light, floral dress. “This is from that boutique you and I go to in the plaza at home. Do you think Alejandro went shopping for me?”

  Alejandro was no Cristiano, but he was certainly a big, burly, scarred—and armed—guy who had no business shopping for women’s apparel.

  Pilar and I exchanged a look and despite myself, I laughed. Taking my cue, she also giggled.

  At the dresser, I opened drawers until I found a couple bathing suits. “Imagine what the salesgirl thought when a man like him bought all this,” I said, handing her the only one-piece. “There’s even a sun hat.”

  “I think maybe she didn’t notice,” Pilar said, pretending to inspect the suit’s fabric as she blushed.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Oh, come on. You didn’t notice?” she asked. “His face is a bit distracting.”

  I lowered my voice. “He is handsome,” I agreed. “And he may be nice. But he’s also dangerous, Pilar. All these guys are.”

  Her emerald eyes turned into big, sparkly gems. “I didn’t mean—I was just saying . . . I don’t mean that anything makes up for what Cristiano did. I’m sorry I laughed earlier.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” I said gently and pulled her into a hug. “Laughter is good. That’s why Cristiano brought you here—he knew it would make me happy.”

  She drew back, her eyebrows cinched. “Really?”

  “Yes.” I needed to try to stay positive about him and my situation. It would be a lot easier on Pilar if she felt safe and realized I wasn’t in any immediate danger.

  I went to leave the closet—Pilar was as modest as it came and wouldn’t even change in front of me—but she stopped me. “Are . . . are there cameras in the house?”

  “Not in the bedrooms.”

  She mouthed, “Microphones?”

  “No, at least I don’t think so,” I said, frowning. “The house isn’t surveilled to spy on us. It’s to protect us.” I rolled my eyes inwardly. That was something Cristiano would say.

  “But will you show me where the cameras are?” she asked, twisting the bathing suit through her hands. “I mean, if you even know. If you want. It makes me anxious to think I’m being watched.”

  I went back and kissed her cheek. “Of course,” I said soothingly. “Don’t be anxious. I’m the one he wants, not you.”

  “I still can’t believe you’re here,” she said.

  “I know, neither can I most days,” I said as I left to give her privacy.

  I had to admit, though—I was getting used to things. Cristiano had been gone almost a week, and I’d even been bored enough to miss him in a way—or at least his stimulating conversation. With him gone, what I looked forward to the most were the self-defense les
sons I did once or twice a day. Solomon wasn’t as afraid to get physical with me as Alejandro was, and he was more patient than my brutish husband. I could already feel my body getting stronger in small ways.

  When Pilar came out of the closet, she took modesty to a whole new level. To go down to the pool, she’d pulled on drawstring pants and a navy cotton shirt with sleeves long enough to hide her hands. Since I could make out the shape of a swimsuit underneath, I didn’t question her.

  Downstairs, I walked her to the patio and down to the sparkling infinity pool set amongst the jungle and overlooking the ocean. I’d been spending my days there, too, since Cristiano had left. Even during intermittent showers, I’d sit under an umbrella with a book.

  I almost felt a sense of pride as Pilar lifted her sleeved hands to her mouth and gasped, “Wow.”

  Navy-and-white striped lounge chairs and matching cabanas surrounded the pool with a swim-up bar. It sat at the edge of the world, facing the ocean. The thing that got me was that I couldn’t imagine a single person in this house using the pool, least of all its master.

  As I stripped down and tossed my cover-up on a chair, one of the staff who helped Jaz on occasion approached us with large, sweating glasses of water. “Would you and your friend like lunch, señora?” she asked.

  “Are you hungry?” I asked Pilar.

  Her face seemed set in a permanent expression of shock. “I guess?”

  “Tell the chef to surprise us,” I said.

  “There’s a chef?” Pilar whispered as the woman walked away.

  “More than one.” I set my water on a side table. “We have a lot to talk about.”

  Pilar removed her pants and perched on the edge of a chair cushion.

  “Don’t sit,” I said. “Let’s cool off in the pool.”

  “I can’t swim,” she said.

  I furrowed my brows. “You’ve been in the pool at my house.”

  “I stayed in the shallow part, and there were always people around. I knew I’d be safe.”

  “There are people around now,” I said, taking her hand and pulling her up. “Come on. We’ll just go in to our waists. I shouldn’t get my tattoo wet anyway.”