by LP Lovell
“Why?” I already know why, but I want to hear her say it. She sits up, and the covers fall away from her chest, exposing the little camisole she’s wearing. She shrugs one slim shoulder. “Tell me why, Anna.” I round the bed until I come to a stop beside her. Her gaze lifts to mine, eyes soft, and her expression vulnerable. Gripping her jaw, I tilt her head back and lean in closer. “Say the words, avecita.”
She opens her mouth to speak, but no words come out. I wait for the blooming flower to close up her petals, to retreat back into herself, but she doesn’t. Something unfurls, crackling between us until my pulse rises steadily.
“I don’t want to be weak anymore,” she whispers.
I swipe my thumb gently over her bottom lip, making her breath catch. “Ah, little warrior, you are far from weak.”
“Please,” she says. And fuck, that tiny, pleading note in her voice goes straight to my dick. I drag the corner of her lip down before forcing myself to release her.
“Tomorrow morning,” I say, my voice gruff. I have shit to do tomorrow morning, but nothing could be more important than this right now. I want to place a gun in her hand and watch her take control of her life. I want to watch the broken little bird become the warrior I know she can be, and she will. If I can do nothing else for her, at least I can do this.
16
Anna
Maria is already cooking breakfast when I walk into the kitchen the next morning, humming to herself under her breath. The routine of this house has become familiar to me, and I find a strange comfort in it. They’re like a family, no matter how dysfunctional it might be.
Rafael is at the breakfast bar, but I’m not ready to look at him. He stayed in my bed to make me feel safe, and I have no idea how to feel about that. I can feel his gaze burning into the side of my face, and my stomach coils tightly in response. Taking a cup of coffee, I sit across the bar from him before finally steeling myself and lifting my gaze.
He clasps a mug in tattooed hands, his elbows braced on the counter. I notice the way his suit jacket strains over his bunched biceps and his shirt buttons pull slightly beneath a wide chest. I force myself to look away, and he huffs a low laugh.
“Ah, avecita, you continue to surprise me.”
I look up at him beneath my lashes and his eyes flash with something dark, something I recognize all too well: desire. I’m not sure if it’s unnerving or reassuring that he finally seems…human. “You said you’d teach me to shoot.”
He places the coffee down, and pulls a gun from a chest holster, placing it on the counter in front of him.
“No guns on the table!” Maria flicks him with a dishcloth, and he rolls his eyes before standing and walking to the door, gun in hand, oozing that casual power with every step. Even if I didn’t know who Rafael was, I’d guess he was important just from the way he moves.
He walks away and I hop off the bar stool, hurrying to follow. Men move out of his way, murmuring greetings as he passes them. No one pays me any attention as we leave the house, walking out into the gardens. Beyond the tall, perfectly cropped hedges, there’s a building. It looks like a barn, with wooden sides, and a corrugated metal roof. Rafael grabs the handle of one of the enormous doors and slides it along its runners. He moves to the side, and I hear the click of several switches, eliciting a low buzz as a row of lights thrum to life above us. Holy shit. It’s like some kind of weapons vault in here. Along the right-hand side are cages filled with racks of rifles and handguns.
“You have enough for an army,” I breathe.
He unlocks a cage and takes out a rifle, snapping something on it into place before offering it to me. “Exactly.”
I carefully take it, wrapping my fingers around the cool metal of the barrel. A knowing smile crosses his face as his fingers brush mine. He points to the far end of the barn, and I look up at a target shaped like a person. He presses a button on a remote and ttarget glides closer until I can see the bull’s eye printed on it.
“Well, go on,” he says with a flourish of his hand. I take a shaky breath and raise the gun. “Stop.” I freeze, and he moves closer, repositioning my hands on the gun. “Place the butt to your shoulder. Focus down the sights.” I do as he says, and he positions himself behind me, around me. I’m reminded of the room of death in his basement, the way his body held mine as I shot a man. I wait for a sense of fear or disgust to rear its head, but it never comes. My heart pitter-patters a curious tune, tentative and anxious, yet wanting.
Calloused fingers slide over my own. “Flick the safety off.” His voice is a low rumble that sends warm air rushing over my neck, and I involuntarily tilt my head to the side. His thumb moves the small switch beneath mine. “Take a deep breath.” The words send goosebumps racing down my arms. His lips brush the point just below my ear. “Focus on the target. Then exhale and pull the trigger.” He pulls away, and I feel suddenly cold without his touch. I never thought I would think that about any man. Pulling myself together, I focus, staring down the sight at the target in front of me. I exhale a long breath and pull the trigger. The gun explodes, sending a jolt into my shoulder and making my ears ring. I lower it and look at the target. There’s a neat hole to the left-hand side on the outer ring of the bull’s eye.
“Good.” He takes his gun from the holster at his chest and hands it to me, taking the rifle. “Now this one.” I stare at him for a second. “Rifles are easier but harder to carry,” he explains. “Stand like this.” He grabs my hips and maneuvers me until my back is pressed to his chest again. A fissure of unease attempts to rise but his thumb strokes soothing circles over my hip almost absentmindedly as he speaks. “Now, this is harder because the gun has more kickback. Don’t fight it.” He pulls both my arms up in front of me. “Both hands, like this. Take the safety off, and then do the same as before. Breath in, out, then pull the trigger.”
I do as he says and the loud bang echoes around the barn deafeningly. This time the bullet careens off, hitting the wall somewhere behind with a spark of metal. “What…”
“You fought it,” he says. “Some things, Anna, are too forceful. You can’t fight it. You can only accept it and adjust accordingly.” I’m not sure we’re talking about shooting anymore.
I swallow hard, glancing over my shoulder at him. “How do I adjust?”
He sweeps a strand of my hair away from my face. “You predict the outcome.”
My skin tingles under his touch, and my cheeks grow hot.
“I know nothing about dangerous weapons. How can I possibly predict them?”
His fingers grasp my hips as his lips brush over my neck, his warm breath making me shiver. “Practice, little warrior.”
We stay in the barn for hours until I manage to consistently hit within the first three rings of the bull’s eye. I’m pretty sure it’s mostly fluke, but I’ll take it.
“Good,” Rafael finally says. I slide the clip out the bottom of his gun and reload it before handing it back to him with the safety on.
“Wouldn’t want you getting caught with no bullets.” I smile as I look up at him, but quickly drop my gaze from those intense eyes. One minute he makes me feel respected and protected, and the next, it’s as though I remember exactly who and what he is, and it makes me nervous.
His finger lands under my chin, and he forces me to look at him. Dark brows slant into a frown and his lips press together. He’s so cold but so beautiful. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Look away from me like you’re scared of me.”
“I’m not scared of you.”
“Lies.” His lips quirk, gaze falling to my lips. His thumb strokes the length of my jaw. “You don’t need to fear me, little warrior. Not many can say that.”
“You do scare me,” I admit, my mouth going dry. He steps closer, so close that my chest brushes his stomach. He cups my face in both hands and touches his forehead to mine as though he needs to touch me but wishes he didn’t. “But not for the reasons you think,” I whisper.
It’s because of this right here. This pull he has over me, the inherent want to be near him because he feels like the only safe haven in an apocalyptic world. Because when I’m with him, I don’t need to be quite so strong.
He pulls back slightly and stares at me. I get lost in his gaze until I feel like I’m drowning in those dark waters, consumed, protected and possessed under the black depths. And then his lips are on mine. The softest of brushes. My body tenses for a second and my mind grapples with itself, but he strokes my face so gently, it soothes my panicked heart. He holds me and kisses me like I’m something precious and breakable, something treasured.
When he pulls away, I can barely breathe. “Never fear me, Anna.” He presses his lips to my forehead once, and then he’s turning away. I watch him stalk from the barn with his scent still clinging to me, and my lips tingling from his kiss. No, I’m not scared of him. I’m scared that he of all people might ruin me because he makes my heart hope in spite of my head and hope will break me. Hope is all I have left, the last piece I have to give.
Rafael D’Cruze might destroy me where hundreds before him have failed.
17
Anna
I leave the barn and decide to keep going, away from the house, farther onto Rafael’s property. The grass is so long that it kisses my fingers as I make my way through it. The sun beats down on me, and I can almost feel it heating my soul, reaching inside and caressing the coldest parts of me. There’s not a person in sight and the farther I go, the freer I feel. But you’re not free. I grit my teeth and try to focus on something other than the cruel voices twisting my mind. He kissed you. He wants you. Just like all the others. Only the others never kissed me. Not like that.
I stomp through the grass as though I can outrun my past, outrun all the ugly truths and doubts that constantly linger on the edge of my mind. I fear hope, and yet I want it, I want to embrace it with open arms. I want to allow myself to hope that Rafael may be the man who will actually help me. I know it’s stupid and unrealistic. He may seem nice, but he’s a cartel boss, and I am business. He hasn’t got to where he is by growing attached to whores. But the thing about hope is the outcome is irrelevant; it’s the thrill of the possibility that brings a simple joy. I just want to experience something good, no matter how short a time that might be for.
The long grass comes to an abrupt end, and timber post and rail fencing divides the long grass from shorter grass beyond. The fence stretches far to my left, hooking over a hill. To my right, it runs until it meets with the high metal wall that surrounds the entire property. Holy shit. I assumed there was just more gardens back here, but the place is enormous.
I hear a low rumble—the pounding of feet, before two horses charge over the hill and trot over to me. They slow, and I smile as the white one approaches, pressing its chest to the fence and sniffing at me. Its friend isn’t as brave. I stroke my fingers over the silky fur of the horse’s face. Whose horses are these? Surely not Rafael’s? I’ve never seen a horse in real life, never touched one. There’s something about the way it seeks out my attention, careful and yet courageous. The horse is strong yet flighty. Powerful and vulnerable at the same time. I smooth its mane away from its neck and stroke over the sleek muscles. The horse remains on the other side of the fence, watching me as though I were the most interesting thing in the world. The sun is reaching high into the sky before I finally reluctantly turn away and make my way back to the house.
Most of the cars are missing from the driveway, and I know enough by now to know that means Rafael is out, handling business. A creeping sense of disappointment creeps over me, and instead of going inside, I round the house, heading for the gardens.
A couple of weeks ago, I didn’t like leaving my room. Now I feel safe out here. I love being outside; the sound of birds singing and crickets chirping, the sun on my skin, grass beneath my feet. I love the smell of the flowers in the gardens, even the feel of the desert dust sweeping on the wind and brushing my exposed flesh. All of it is so foreign to me that each tiny act feels like its own miracle.
The grass is wet from the sprinklers that arch around, catching the sunlight and transforming into rainbows, stretching across the flowerbeds full of roses.
I go farther into the gardens, moving around the pond and through the hedge on the other side. Eventually, I come to a circular clearing with a sundial in the middle. I lie down on the grass and close my eyes, smiling to myself. This is a small slice of peace right here.
I jolt awake at the sound of my name being called. Darkness. I’m surrounded by darkness, and cool grass caresses the skin beneath my bare legs. I’m in the garden. I must have fallen asleep.
“Anna!” I frown. Rafael? I push to my feet just as a figure passes the hedge line and walks into the clearing. “Are you fucking deaf?” He storms over to me and instinct has me wanting to flinch back, but instead, I stand my ground, feeling the icy drain of my emotions as they flee my consciousness. In the darkness, Rafael looks ominous, but with the anger pouring off him, he’s downright deadly.
He groans, and I lift my eyes, watching him turn his back and drag both of hands through his hair. He storms over to me and stops so close that I can feel the heat of his body. Fisting his hand in my hair, he wrenches my head back. My body goes limp, pliant, retreating. I used to get angry with myself after they fucked me. I used to hate my submission, but then I realized, it’s not submission, it’s preservation. The mind is powerful but once broken it cannot be healed, whereas the body can break over and over again. This isn’t submission—it’s retreat. After all, I could never save my body, but my mind saved itself.
Rafael stares at me, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “No one’s seen you since this morning. Where were you?”
“Here.”
He squeezes his eyes shut and the grip on my hair tightens as he pulls me closer, plastering my body against him. “I thought…”
“You thought what?” I ask coldly. “How would I escape? Where would I go?”
His eyes flash open, and he glares at me. “I thought he’d taken you,” he growls. His words force some awareness to creep back to the surface, and I frown as a sinking feeling of guilt settles in my stomach. Silence reigns between us, and I can hear each heavy breath that leaves his lips, feel the pounding of his heart against my chest, or maybe that’s just my own heartbeat.
His eyes harden, and I see the exact moment that he’s done with this conversation. Releasing me, he takes a slow step back, his gaze flicking to my exposed legs. “Wear more clothes. This isn’t a whore house,” he snaps.
Our eyes meet for a moment, and then he turns his back on me and walks back the way he came. I hate him, and I need him. When did he start to feel like the hero and the villain?
A rustling in the bushes has my head lurching to the side. Lucas stumbles onto the lawn, holding his hands up. “Just me,” he says.
“Hey.”
“He doesn’t mean it,” he says sheepishly. I love that he’s trying to make me feel better, but honestly, there’s nothing Rafael could say that would bother me. Maybe a normal person would be hurt, but I’m not a normal girl. Nowhere near.
“I’ll walk you back to the house.”
I wake up to the brush of rough fingers over my arm. Goosebumps erupt over my skin, and I blink my eyes open. I can’t see anything in the darkness, but I instinctively sense Rafael simply by the fact that I don’t feel threatened. Rolling over, I seek out his warmth, like a homing beacon calling me to him.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper, groggily.
His large hand slides over my waist. “I told you, keeping the monsters away.” That’s what he said last night.
“You don’t have to—“
“Shh, go to sleep, avecita.” He pulls me closer, and I press my face into his throat, inhaling the distinct smell of him. Citrus, cigars, and warmth like the smell of the desert sand under a red-hot sun.
“I’m sorry I worried you,” I say into the darkness.
His chest rises on a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry I said you were dressed like a whore.”
“I am a whore, Rafael.”
His body tenses beneath me. “What have I told you about saying that?” When I don’t respond, he strokes a hand over my hair. “Sleep, Avecita.”
After a few minutes in the silence of night, his breaths fall even. The slow beat of his heart is a soothing rhythm that lulls me to sleep. And when I close my eyes and drift away, the nightmares don’t come, as though he can physically protect me from my own demons.
When I wake up in the morning, he’s gone, but left on the pillow is a huge blood-red rose, freshly cut from the garden. A gift. I pick it up, and the thorns slice open my skin. Some may take it for a romantic notion, but it’s more than that. I love the roses, but I also love how deceptively pretty they are while donning such sharp thorns. A contradiction. Beautifully strong.
He left it for me, and it makes me smile. It’s the nicest thing anyone has ever given me.
18
Rafael
I swipe my hand down my face as I make my way up my front steps of the house. The sun is already dropping below the horizon. My warehouse is a fucking shambles because, of course, when Dominges’ mercenaries went for Anna, they blew up the warehouse to distract me. This is the cartel. It happens, and we’re ready for it. I’m moving everything to a more secure location, but it takes work, planning. I’d usually just leave Samuel to deal with it all, but when I woke up next to Anna this morning, her soft breaths on my skin and my dick plastered against the front of my boxers, I needed to get out of the house. On top of that shit in the garden last night…she’s making me unhinged, and I can’t fucking afford to be.