Caged: The Complete Trilogy

by Francesca Baez

  “Well, good luck!” she singsongs after me as I catch up with Mateo. I wonder if I’m the only one who can hear the thick sarcasm in her voice.

  “Nice get,” Mateo says to me with a wink when we’re out of earshot of the women, as Fitzgerald gladly hands over his blue mallet and focuses his attention back on the drink in his hand.

  “Miss Palacios?” I ask, playing dumb. This croquet club, or whatever they call it, feels like a toy in my hands. “We’re just business partners.”

  “Uh huh,” Mateo says with a sardonic edge, slapping me hard on the back. “Oh, and don’t worry, after the game us guys are cracking open a forty year old whiskey. No more mimosas for you, my man.”

  “Fantastic,” I say, glancing at the small group around us. I bet they all sit at desks for a living, those who even have to put up a pretense at work, that is. I bet they all have soft hands, hands that have never held a gun, never drawn blood. Hands that have never taken a life. “Let’s play.”

  I glance back up at the sidelines, where a moment ago Isla and Selina stood close together, visions in pale pink and that enchanting emerald green.

  Now, however, Selina is nowhere to be seen.

  I march toward the house as fast as I can without making a scene. The first moment Vega was distracted, I told Isla I needed to visit the little girls’ room and made a break for it. It’s only a matter of minutes, maybe seconds, until he notices I’m gone, and he won’t hesitate to chase after me. Better to draw attention to himself now than to deal with the repercussions of me telling the world what he’s done to me.

  Once I’m out of view of the party I kick my Jimmy Choos into the grass and break into a run. I contemplated hiding out in one of Isla’s many guest rooms or empty closets until the coast was clear, but as long as I’m within reach, Vega will find me. No, my only chance is to run as far and as fast as I can. I know that I might be endangering Kate and my guards with my actions, but I also might be saving them. Besides, now that I’ve gotten to know my captors a bit better, I want to believe they aren’t truly capable of hurting innocents. Especially not Miel. There’s more to her than meets the eye. But Vega… There’s still something in those dark eyes of his that convinces me that he’s capable of anything, and maybe that’s why I have to run now, dangerous though it may be.

  There’s no one at the stables, thankfully, not even a spare stable boy or cute jockey for Isla’s entertainment. I scramble to the tack wall, grabbing the first saddle I see, and find Isla’s favorite mare. Isla constantly brags about her racing lineage. She’ll be fast, it’s in her blood, and then I’ll be gone. It’s in my blood. My fingers shake as I struggle to fasten the buckle, stirrups jingling quietly. The mare knickers, confused by the amateur fumblings of a stranger.

  “It’s okay, baby,” I murmur, giving her a quick pat for reassurance. “We’ll be okay.”

  “Will you?”

  I shriek in surprise and spin around, spooking the horse. She whinnies and rears up, all muscle and iron-clad hooves. In a moment, the intruder is grabbing me and pulling me out from under the frightened animal. The momentum throws me back against the stall across the hallway, the impact winding me nearly as much as the realization of who saved me.

  Vega.

  “I warned you not to fuck with me,” he says, voice cold and sharp. Solemnly, he latches the stall door shut, locking my chance at freedom up, and turns to me. “You sure as hell know better than to try something this stupid.”

  “I’m not going to just sit back and let you ruin my life,” I tell him, forcing my shoulders back defiantly. “You got me this time, but I won’t stop trying. I’ll get away from you eventually, you’ll see, and I’ll make you pay for what you’ve done to me.”

  Vega closes the distance between us in a heartbeat, caging me against the worn wood of the stable wall. I hold his gaze, meeting fire with fire, although I’ll never be able to match the barely contained violence that seems to be permanently etched onto his face.

  “I’ve done nothing to you,” he growls, his breath hot on my face. “I’ve taken nothing you can’t live without.”

  “You took my freedom. You took my future. You’re taking my soul.” My hand flies up to strike my tormentor, an animal instinct in me driven by pure rage. He catches my wrist easily, his calloused fingers clenching around my thin arm like a vise. He doesn’t raise a hand to me, doesn’t even flinch, but I feel the danger rolling off him like waves. He’s going to hurt me. He’s going to punish me. He wants it, wants it bad. He needs it. And for a moment, I feel like I might need it, too.

  Instead, Vega just tightens his grip on my wrist and takes a step closer to me, close enough to touch. Our chests heave in unison, something intense and violent between us. He terrifies me, this man that seems determined to ruin me, yet somehow I feel drawn into his dark vortex. Like a moth to a flame. Like a broken woman to a dangerous man.

  A worse thought crosses my mind. He’s not going to hurt me. He’s going to kiss me.

  But he doesn’t do either, in the end.

  “I told you before,” Vega says, digging his fingers into my flesh one more time before letting go, jerking away from me. I sag back against the stall door, heart pounding fast. “If you fight me, you only hurt yourself.”

  “You don’t know me,” I say to his retreating back, clutching my sore wrist close to my chest. That’ll probably leave a bruise, but the physical pain isn’t what’s making my eyes sting with hot tears. “I’m not scared of you, Javier Vega. You can hurt me, but you won’t ever break me.”

  “If you truly believe that, then you don’t know me,” he echoes my words, but they carry truer weight on his tongue. He still doesn’t turn back to me, his wide figure a menacing silhouette at the barn door. “It’s time for you to learn, Selina. I’m not a man you can run from.”

  It infuriates me, the fact that she thought she could betray me and get away with it. It means she still doesn’t fear me like she should, still hasn’t fully learned her place in my household. God, the ways I want to punish her are countless. If I could have it my way, I’d be bending her over her father’s desk right now, spanking her perky ass raw until she screamed for relief. But why wait until we get home? I could take her here, binding her thin wrists to the stable wall and taking one of those riding crops…

  I shake the dirty thoughts from my mind, because that’s not the game I’m playing. She’ll stay within the confines of the house because she wants to, because she knows it’s the only way to survive. And when she comes to my bed, well, that will be because she wants to.

  “What are you going to do to me?” Selina says behind me in a tremulous voice.

  I keep my back to her for just a moment longer, inhaling deeply. I can’t control her if I can’t control myself. “The question is, what are you going to do to them?”

  I don’t have to tell her who I mean. Her eyes go wide in understanding, and it’s delicious, the way I can see her insides crumble as she realizes the full weight of the mistake she’s made. She ran because she wasn’t truly afraid of me, because she thought I was soft, and now I must prove her wrong.

  I pull out my phone, dangerous as a loaded gun in this moment. “Someone has to pay for your betrayal, Selina. Who will it be? The nanny, or the guards?”

  “Both of them?” she breathes, and I nod. I can see the dilemma play out on her face, but this isn’t a thought experiment in ethics. She knew what her answer was going to be before I even posed the question.

  “Why can’t it just be me?” Selina begs, letting herself meet my eyes for a moment. I wonder if she means it. I wonder if under the veneer of self-sacrifice and philanthropy, she’s just like everyone else. Just like me. Willing to do anything to survive.

  “You know that’s not how this works, princess,” I murmur, reaching out to cradle her chin, running my thumb over her quivering bottom lip. It’s a gesture of control as much as it is one of comfort. If I wanted her dead, I wouldn’t bother playing these games with her.
I expect her to pull away from my touch, but she leans into it nearly imperceptibly, letting herself fall quietly into my grasp. She craves my possession almost as much as I do, even though she may not know it yet. She needed to run so that she could live with herself, and she needs to be punished so that she has an excuse not to try again. And now, with my hand around her throat, she can be at peace with her choice by knowing that she has none.

  “Eddie and Alan,” she whispers, eyes closed. “The guards.”

  I tap Hernando’s name on my phone and wait for the line to connect. She opens her eyes at the sound, brows furrowed with confusion. She thought she was done.

  “Tell him,” I say, nodding at the phone as H picks up. “Tell him what has to be done.”

  “The guards,” Selina repeats hoarsely, the words strained. “Kill the guards.”

  A sick thrill runs through my chest as I click the phone off. I never told her that someone had to die for her betrayal, only that someone had to pay. She made this decision, even if she doesn’t realize it. She decided I was capable of killing two men, and that made her capable of the same sin. Her fear is erotic, and I expect her to break down into tears, but she doesn’t. She just sentenced two men to death, yet she holds her body stoically solid, still leaning subtly into me even though I’m no longer holding her. It’s a new shade of ruthlessness that I’d never expected to see in my little captive. I knew there was fight in her, but this is something darker, something grittier and more carnivorous. It’s just a shadow of it, and perhaps something I shouldn’t be rewarding in my prisoner, but right now it makes me lose all control. I take her by the waist and pull her into me, pressing my mouth against hers. She doesn’t hesitate, parting her lips easily for me. I don’t know if she wants me or if she simply understands at last that I own her, but in this moment she is soft and pliable against me. I bite her bottom lip too roughly, still furious at my princess for attempting to flee her cage, and she moans as the bitter taste of hot blood seeps into the kiss. It’s a sound that could easily be pain or pleasure, and I’m not sure which one I crave more.

  I want more, so much more, but I pull away before she gets a chance to. This doesn’t get to end on her terms.

  “Did you learn, princesita?” I ask, watching her blink her dazed eyes slowly up at me. “Do you see what happens if you fight me?”

  She doesn’t answer me, but she doesn’t need to. I can see everything that I need to know in her eyes, in the subtle partition of her swollen lips. She’ll keep fighting me, it’s in her nature, but in her core she knows that she’s mine.

  We settle into a twisted sort of routine over the next few weeks, me and my captors. I wake up early and do my morning meditations as the sun rises over the estate. Then I lay out breakfast, a spread of pastries from local bakeries, fresh fruit, and coffee. This part always feels like a scene from a movie, with everyone running into the kitchen in various states of dress, grabbing a quick bite and ribbing each other like siblings. This is when I almost feel like I’m part of the family, not a prisoner in my own home, tending to my wardens. Almost.

  Sooner or later, though, everyone scatters to whatever it is that they do during the day. They must have finally gotten Vega’s business up and running, because there’s no more time for video games in the den or sunbathing by the pool. Sometimes they go out in groups of three, or pairs, or every man for himself. They never all go out together though. Someone has to stay and babysit me, make sure I don’t get any ideas, even with the cameras following me everywhere I go and the threat of further deaths hanging heavy over my head. I like it best when Miel stays behind. She chats with me as if we’re friends, as long as I don’t dip into any of the dozen taboo topics between us. That includes Vega, their business, their past, what they spend their days doing, what my money is being used for, why I have to be involved in this at all. At least we still get to make small talk about the weather, TV shows we used to watch, and what’s going on in the outside world I can no longer access. I don’t mind when Hernando or Brock stay behind to watch me, either. They tend to be quieter, more hesitant to chat, but they’re still friendly. The longest days are when Vega is here. Even when he’s holed up in Dad’s old study I can feel his eyes on me everywhere, those damn cameras sticking to me like glue. I don’t know what his obsession with me is. I probably shouldn’t have made my escape attempt so early on, I suppose. I could have kept a low profile for a bit longer, proven my trustworthiness, then made a play at freedom. I could have saved Alan and Eddie’s lives. Making my intentions so clear was foolish, a snap reaction to the genuine terror I felt in his presence that day at the garden party. It was almost as foolish as letting him kiss me, especially after the horrible things he made me do. But maybe that was a reaction to the terror, too. His presence twists me up inside even when he’s just laughing with Miel or focused on his laptop. There’s a dark edge to him that always seems just under the surface, ready to explode at the slightest provocation. It frightens me, yes, but the longer I’m around him, the more I feel its pull. That scares me even more than he does: the idea that I’m capable of being drawn into the darkness myself. The decision I made in the stables that day only further proves that, although I do everything I can to make myself forget the sins I committed to protect myself and Kate. Alan and Eddie were loyal employees, but they weren’t family yet. Now they’ll never have that chance.

  Regardless of whose keep I’m in, my days drag on about the same. I dust, sweep, vacuum, mop. I load and unload the dishwasher, the washing machine, the dryer. I scrub, fold, tidy, wipe, wax. I don’t know how Kate used to do this all herself, especially as she got older. Some days I can feel the time slipping away from me, running fast, leaving me far behind. Even so, it’s the monotony of it all that really gets to me. The repetitive actions are boring, sure, but their true crime is the blank canvas they leave in my mind. These days I have way too many dark thoughts to fill that empty space. I try to practice mindfulness, clearing my cluttered head of all these things I can do nothing about, but something always draws me out. Usually it’s the red wink from a camera, reminding me of the chokehold Vega has on my life, or Vega himself, always watching me from a doorway, a balcony, across the room. He’s unabashed, those dark eyes steady on me, unwavering even when I dare to meet them. I can’t read him. Is this another mind game, another way to put me in my place, to remind me that my situation is hopeless? Does he want something more from me?

  Does he want me? The answer should be clear after that kiss, that unforgettable kiss that keeps me up at night, hot and panting, but now my situation is more confusing than ever. Did that kiss mean something or was it all part of the game? If his intention was to fuck with my mind, it certainly worked.

  In the evenings I help Brock make dinner, following his gentle instructions to the best of my abilities. In just a few weeks I can make a handful of basic meals nearly on my own, although they never turn out quite as good as his do. The one thing I can’t seem to master is baking. My cakes come out soggy, burnt, or both. My muffins are flat, and my cookies merge into one giant mess. It’s not like we need dessert that badly. The team doesn’t seem to have much of a sweet tooth, other than Miel, and we order breakfast pastries in from local bakeries. At one point Vega even specifically instructs me to stop wasting so many expensive ingredients on endeavors that are clearly never going to pay off. For reasons even I don’t understand, I refuse to give up that easily. I know that making an edible strawberry shortcake or peanut butter cookie won’t change anything, won’t erase the crimes I’ve committed at the hand of my captors. Still, the thought of not being able to nail this one easy task drives me crazy. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t be able to do this, when I’ve learned to cook, clean, and even how to fold a fitted sheet. I don’t know why, but I need to do this. I need to prove it to myself, even if no one else cares at all.

  The only upside to such a grueling routine is that sleep comes quickly when I finally tumble into bed late at night. No more breathwo
rk and half-bottles of wine to lull myself into a drowsiness that seems perpetually out of reach. Even the nightmares come less frequently, perhaps overshadowed by the living nightmare my days have become. And some nights I even manage to drift off without wondering what Vega is doing, thinking, feeling, in his bed just down the hall.

  Everything is finally in motion. With Selina’s money and our extensive knowledge of Atlanta’s underbelly, we’re perfectly poised to make our first move.

  “You think too much,” Miel says to me, as she glances through my perfectly curated spreadsheets. “You know most loan sharks just kind of go out there and do their thing, right? Break a few kneecaps?”

  “That’s not what we’re doing,” I remind her, taking my laptop back in annoyance.

  “Right, right,” she says, rolling her eyes at me. “We’re ‘investing’. Of course, those so-called investments just happen to be poor saps who need money fast and are in no position to complain about ridiculous interest rates, huh?”

  “High risk, high reward,” I tell her.

  “I know all about the risk,” she says, tightening her ponytail. “I hope you’re right about the reward.”

  “I am,” I say, hoping I sound as certain as I want to be. “We’ve been over this, Miel. You were on board from the jump. We’re never going to have as many men or as many weapons as he does. So what we need is to have more money, and more powerful people in our pockets. That’s how we get the upper hand. That’s how we get out.”

  Miel just shakes her head, pressing her fingertips against her temples. “We have the money, sure, but we don’t have anyone useful yet. You think…” Here she scans the spreadsheets again and points jubilantly at the name in cell A14. “Donald McCoy and his gambling addiction are going to be what saves our lives, when it comes down to it?”