by LP Lovell
“What?”
“Kindness.” He blushes hard enough that I can see it under the dim lighting in the room. “You’re kind, Lucas.”
“Thanks,” he mumbles awkwardly, making me smile harder. “I think I have a film for you.”
He presses some buttons, and music starts before the image of clear turquoise waters and white sands comes into view. It makes me long to see a world I’d given up hope of ever gazing upon. I sit quietly and watch the film, my attention firmly fixed on the screen. There are pirates and walking dead men, and I find myself laughing at the main character. In the end, the girl in the film falls in love with one of the other characters, and I intently watch the way their love is depicted. The way he looks at her, as though she is precious and worthy; it pulls at something in my chest. When it ends, I turn my gaze to Lucas, only to find him sleeping.
Rafael has had him working late into the night, ‘guarding’ me. It’s completely unnecessary. Where would I even go? How would I get over that fence? It’s impossible. Lucas looks so peaceful, so I get up and leave as quietly as I can. I head to the kitchen to get a drink, seeing no one as I walk through the usually busy house. Despite the fact that I hate most people, it’s a little unsettling.
I’m pouring out a glass of orange juice when I sense someone watching me. Turning around, I startle when I spot the unknown man standing in the doorway. The counter bumps against my back barring my exit.
“Anna.” He moves slowly towards me. Shoulder length dark hair is pulled into a low ponytail and a metal ring loops through his bottom lip. I definitely don’t recognize him.
“How do you know me?” I edge along the breakfast bar, keeping it between us as he rounds it.
“I’m here to help you.” He holds his hands up, continuing to try and get closer to me. “I work for Rafael.”
“I’ve never seen you.”
He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You’ve met all the people who work for him?”
“I’m just going to go back to my room.” I haven’t survived this long by being a poor judge. My gut is telling me not to trust this man.
“Rafael sent me to pick you up. I’m going to take you to him.” Rafael has made it very clear that it’s not safe outside his walls, so why would he want me brought to him?
“Oh, that’s okay. I’ll wait here for him.” I make a dash toward the door and make it halfway down the hall before I’m dragged back by my hair. A shocked cry slips from my lips as an arm wraps around my throat.
“This will be easier if you’re quiet,” he breathes over my neck. I fight the urge to just shut down and block it all out. Instead, I find a flicker of fight that I thought long extinguished, and stamp on his foot. He shouts a curse before squeezing my neck harder. I struggle desperately for air. Blackness licks at the edges of my vision, and I fight it like a rabid animal, the voice in my head screaming at me that I’m about to die. My head spins, and then everything goes dark.
I’m jolted awake by a loud bang, followed by the sound of crunching metal as my body goes completely weightless. A strange silence reigns for a moment before everything comes rushing back in at once. I’m flung against something hard, and pain radiates across my forehead as my chest is squeezed tight. And then it all stops. I open my eyes and blink as liquid drips onto my eyelashes. The scent of gasoline invades my senses, and when I glance around, I realize I’m in a car, except I’m half sprawled against the window, hanging by my seat belt in the over-turned vehicle. Fumbling around, I unplug the seat belt and fall fully onto the window. Bits of broken glass cut into my skin, and I cough at the dust swirling around me. The pop, pop, pop of gunfire sounds somewhere nearby and through blurred vision, I see heavy red droplets fall onto the cracked glass beneath my hands. The other people in the car are all hanging limply in their seats, either unconscious or dead. There’s another round of gunfire and I know I need to move, but I can’t get my vision to stop doubling.
The scent of gas… The gunfire. All it will take is one bullet and this car could explode. I don’t want to die.
11
Rafael
“Motherfuckers. Need. To. Die,” Carlos growls, pushing to his feet and firing off a round of shots with a semi-auto.
I listen for the return fire, but it never comes. “Think that might have done it. Find Anna.”
Carlos moves away from our position behind the SUV and starts ordering men around. I glance around the back of the SUV and find no one left standing. I jog over to the upturned SUV sprawled on its side. It was in the middle of the three cars that were coming up the road from my house. If Lucas hadn’t rung me, we would have missed them, and Anna would be halfway to fuck knows where by now. My blown up warehouse was just a distraction. I was pissed that the kid let them take her, but judging by how many armed men we just took down, he only would have gotten himself killed, and then we definitely would have lost her.
A figure emerges from the back of the car, crawling through the smashed back window on hands and knees. I instinctively lift my gun before I see the mass of blonde hair, streaked with red.
“Anna,” I call her name as she falls to her back on the hard ground. I drop to my knees beside her. She’s bleeding. Cuts litter her arms and the exposed skin of her chest, as well as a deep gash in her forehead.
“Rafael?” Her dazed eyes focus on me, fingers brushing over my jaw as though she’s not sure I’m real.
“I’ve got you.” I scoop her into my arms and stand.
“Where am I?”
She’s probably concussed and confused. They might even have drugged her, although judging by the deep purple mark around her throat I’d say she was choked out. I dig my fingers into her thigh in an attempt to bite back the blind rage coursing through me. They took her. From my fucking house. Who would be stupid enough to take her from under my nose like that? I can think of only one person who so very desperately wants her back.
I hold her tighter. “You’re with me,” I say. ‘In the desert’ isn’t exactly a great explanation either. There’s a reason my home is built far outside the city. It’s easily defended, with a vast, wide open space leading up to it so that no one can sneak up to the front gate. It’s impossible.
Carlos opens the back door of the SUV for me, and I climb in, holding Anna on my lap. The car starts moving, bumping over the rough desert ground before pulling back onto the smooth road. Someone hands me a cloth, and I press it to the cut on her head that’s still bleeding.
“Anna.” I stroke my fingertips gently down her cheek and her eyes flash open, disorientated but aware. “What happened?”
“He wanted me to go with him,” she says, lifting her hand to her bruised neck.
Inhaling a deep breath, I try to calm myself. I’m pissed that they made me look weak, but I’m fucking savage that they touched her. My rage is palpable—burning so hot it leaves an acidic taste in my mouth. She watches me for a minute and then reaches up, placing her hand over mine on her face.
“You saved me.” The little bird has never looked at me with anything other than fear and loathing before. Definitely concussed. The blood from her forehead is still soaking into the cloth; the golden strands of her hair now a morbid crimson.
She closes her eyes and turns her face into my shirt, inhaling. “Did you just smell me?”
“I have a head injury,” she says without opening her eyes.
I try not to laugh, but I can’t help it. “Did you just make a joke?”
“Maybe.”
“Of course, the wounded little bird would crack a joke when she’s in the most danger.”
“I’m not in danger. I’m with you,” she says, her words slurring slightly. Her words have an unexpected effect as something akin to possession tears through me. Fuck. Not good. Not good at all.
“Anna.” I shake her. “Don’t fall asleep. Not yet. Stay awake.” She tilts her head back, and I shift my arm, resting her back against the car door. “Keep talking.”
“Abo
ut what?”
“Tell me what your life was like before all this.”
“I don’t know.” Her brows pull together. ‘I lived in an orphanage with my sister.”
“Was she with you when you were sold?”
“No, she was sold three years before me. I don’t know if she’s alive or not.” She’s quiet for a moment. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Why do you do it?” she whispers, her voice strained and hoarse. “Surely there are other ways to make money.”
It takes me a minute to realize what she’s talking about. “You think I deal in slaves.”
She nods.
“Well, you’re wrong. I don’t.” She keeps staring at me. I need to keep her talking, and I figure she won’t remember this anyway. “My mother was a whore for the Juarez cartel.” I catch Carlos’ gaze in the rearview mirror, a frown pinching his features. “She was a single mother, living in poverty in the worst part of Juarez. She had very little choice. And when my sister was old enough, she also became a whore, working the streets for money. Only my sister didn’t handle it very well.” I swallow hard at the memory of what Violet used to be. “She wanted to go to America and study to become a nurse, but you know better than me how cruel this life can be. She had no means of saving money. So, when one of my mother’s clients offered her a lot of money for her virginity, she took it. Of course, it wasn’t enough, so she kept working. Eventually, the reality of what her life had become was too much for Violet. So, she found an escape.”
“She became a junkie?” Her voice is so quiet I barely hear it.
“Yeah. I started running drugs for the cartel, hoping I could make enough money to get her out, but…it was too late. She overdosed when I was eighteen.”
“I’m sorry. I thought…”
“You thought that I was one of those sick fucks who buys girls like you and whore them out.” I shake my head. “What was done to you and what my sister chose are two different things, Anna. My sister was a whore. You are a victim and a survivor.” I stroke her bloodied hair away from her face, still fighting the rage that’s threatening to overtake me.
As if she can sense it, she reaches up and grabs my wrist, wrapping delicate fingers around my tattooed skin. The contrast is like night and day.
“What is Nero going to do to me?” she asks, her speech slurring again. That can’t be good.
I stroke absentminded circles over her neck. “I don’t know what he wants you for, avecita. But I promised you will never be a slave again. I will keep that promise. Don’t ask any more of me than that, please.” She nods solemnly and focuses her gaze straight ahead, shutting down the conversation. I cannot just break an agreement for her. It’s not how the world works. It’s not how this world works. To deny Nero the girl he spent ten million dollars on? Well, that would start a war I’m not prepared to take part in. Not for her. I may feel sorry for the girl, but I’m not about to fuck around with Nero for her.
He and I will definitely be having words though. I need to know that he won’t abuse her or hand her off to anyone who will. This is one of those situations where emotions are nothing but a hindrance.
When the car pulls up to the gate, I stare at the scene in front of me. One of the solid iron gates is hanging off its hinge, and both guards lay dead, their blood soaking into the desert sand. Jesus fucking Christ. Some of my men scramble from the SUV behind us and manage to get the other gate open wide enough for us to pass through. As soon as we pull up, Lucas rushes from the front door with the doctor trailing behind him.
I pass Anna off to Lucas, and her head lolls against his shoulder as she drifts on the edge of sleep. “Stay with her while the doctor sees to her.” I look at the gash on her head. “She doesn’t like needles. You might have to hold her down.”
His face pales, but he nods and walks away with the doctor. Carlos leans against the side of the SUV, a cigarette propped between his lips. “I managed to patch the bullet hole. He’s alive if you want to start torturing him.” I glance past him to where two of my men are dragging a guy from the back of the SUV. The sole survivor of this little attack. How unfortunate for him. “Put him in the basement,” Carlos calls out. “And chain him up.” His eyes dance with something dark and sinister.
They drag the man past us, his legs hanging uselessly beneath him. “You sure he doesn’t need the doctor first? Wouldn’t want him dying on us now, would we?” I smirk at Carlos, though I’m feeling anything but amused.
“Eh, hundred bucks says you can get it out of him before he carks it.”
I snort. “Why would I bet against myself?” And why would I want to make this fast?
“Hey, it’s a fair bet. Not like you haven’t accidentally killed someone we wanted information from before.”
“One time.” I roll my eyes and walk towards the house. “When the doctor is done with Anna, have him fix the guy up just enough to survive an hour and a lot of fucking blood loss.”
Carlos laughs. “Sure, boss.”
An hour later, and I stand in front of the man Carlos brought back. His wrists are bound in chains and pulled above his head. He’s shirtless with a wide bandage around his torso, covering the bullet wound. A piece of tape holds a needle in his arm, attached to a blood bag. I’m told he will bleed out internally before the night is out regardless, but I won’t tell him that. A lack of hope tends to make people so very unwilling to talk.
“Who do you work for?” I ask, forcing the burning rage down so that I can focus. Interrogation must always be rational. He grits his teeth and glares at me, making me laugh. “You broke into my house, so you must know who I am. You must have known this couldn’t end well for you.”
“I have no fight with you,” he growls. “We just came for the girl.”
I crack my neck to the side before grabbing him by the throat. He chokes, his eyes going wide. “She is under my protection. You take her from me, and we have a fucking fight,” I snap. Carlos’ questioning gaze meets mine from his position against the wall. I ignore him and focus on the man hanging in chains again. “Who do you work for?”
He says nothing and a slow grin works over my lips.
“Oh, you just made your life very hard, mi amigo.” Carlos shakes his head. “I’ll get the pliers.”
12
Anna
I wake up to a pounding in my head. Rolling over, I slowly twist my neck from side to side in an attempt to alleviate the ache. I stretch and freeze when my fingers meet a warm body. Cracking my eyes open, I find Lucas on the other side of the bed. His eyes are closed, his mouth hanging open as he sleeps. There’s a pillow wedged between our fully clothed bodies. I wait for a sense of discomfort to come, but it doesn’t. It’s as though my mind can’t even comprehend Lucas as any kind of threat. He’s just too innocent, too…kind. Kindness is a quality I can’t recall ever seeing in another person, but he has it.
He jerks awake, letting out a cute little snuffle as he does.
“Ah, Anna. I can explain…” he trails off, a blush staining his cheekbones. “The doc said someone had to watch you because you might have a concussion, and uh, I fell asleep. I’m sorry.”
“So, I could have died, and you wouldn’t even have known?”
His eyes pop wide. “No! Yes. Maybe.”
I smile. “It’s fine, Lucas.”
He blows out a breath. “So, how are you feeling today?”
“Like I was in a car crash and a gun fight.”
“I’ll go and get you some more painkillers.” He hops up and practically runs to the door.
Lifting my hand to my cut forehead, I feel a neat row of butterfly stitches. Blood is crusted into the strands of my hair, and I know I must look a mess.
Lucas doesn’t come back for a while, so I drag myself into the shower. When the dust and blood has washed down the drain. I get out, startling when I go back to my room and find Rafael sitting on the bed.
“Rafael.”
Heavy shadows
linger beneath his eyes. His suit pants and shirt are rumpled, the buttons loose to the middle of his chest. His usual put-together self is nowhere to be seen.
“Have you slept?” I ask.
His lips pull up on one side. “I’ve had a busy night.”
I move closer until my knees are only inches from his. Those dark eyes drift up my towel-covered body before studying my face. This strange feeling settles in my chest, and the air between us shifts. For a moment, Rafael seems almost vulnerable, until I spot the smear of blood on the collar of his shirt, and the open splits in his knuckles.
He follows my gaze and clenches his fists. I don’t know why I do it, but I find myself reaching for him, taking his much larger hand in mine. His tattooed, scarred skin contrasts against mine. These hands have committed so much violence and done horrible things.
“He deserved everything he got,” he says quietly.
“Who?”
“The man who took you from my house.” I swallow and sweep my finger over an open graze on his knuckle.
“Does this scare you, avecita?” He brushes a strand of hair from my cheek, his touch so gentle and at odds with his brutal appearance. “Do I scare you?”
“No,” I breathe, and it’s not a lie. Everything about him should terrify me, but it doesn’t. Rafael D’Cruze is the last person who should make me feel safe but if I’m really honest with myself, I’ve felt safe with Rafael ever since that night on his office floor. It’s a gut feeling I can’t explain, something beyond the rational workings of my mind.
He turns his hand over and strokes his fingers over the underside of my wrist. “I have something I think you should do.” He stands, forcing me to take a step back from his imposing frame. “Get dressed and meet me downstairs.” Then he’s striding out the door. What could he possibly want me to do?