White Rabbit

by London Miller

  “What do you want?”

  “The same thing all men in my position want—to send a message.”

  He stepped back, still remaining close

  Only one remained standing. He was quivering, his gaze darting from one body to the next until there was nowhere else for his gaze to go than back to Uilleam as he carefully approached him, ignoring the way the pooling blood clung to the bottom of his shoes.

  His forehead beaded with sweat the closer he came, dotting his upper lips, and even rivulets of it were dripping down the sides of his neck.

  “You’re new,” Uilleam said conversationally. “I’m quite sure I would have remembered you and that horrific scar on your throat.”

  The man reached up to touch it as if he had forgotten it was even there without Uilleam pointing it out. “Yes, I only worked for him for a few days.”

  “You’ve heard of me?” he asked.

  “I-I don’t know your n-name.”

  Uilleam wasn’t sure he believed that, but it brought a smile to his face anyway. “But you have heard of me.”

  He nodded a little. “Everyone’s heard of you.”

  The little things in life were always worth more. “Then you know I’m a man of my word, and when I offer someone a deal, I always deliver.”

  He nodded swiftly.

  “So here’s my offer. I’m going to let you live, and in exchange, you’re going to tell them exactly what happened here and why.”

  “Who?” he asked, his brow furrowing momentarily.

  He had no doubt his brother would be cross with him, probably more than if he had to guess, but one day, he would understand that some things couldn’t be changed.

  “Everyone,” Uilleam said, clapping the man on his shoulder. “I want you to tell everyone.”

  20

  Reap and Sow

  The stark humidity of the small town in Mexico he was visiting, after the unpleasantries in the jungle nearly three days ago, had Uilleam’s strawberry-blond hair clinging to the back of his neck as he rode inside the open-roofed Jeep toward the house that, despite its surroundings, seemed plucked right out of a suburban neighborhood and planted in the desert.

  In this heat, he almost missed the snow currently falling in New York, but it wasn’t the weather that made him want to finish this trip as quickly as possible. Though more than a week had passed since that unfortunate incident in Kit’s restaurant, Karina was still cross with him.

  He almost wished she would just come right out and say it—at least then he could attempt to fix it. But as it stood, she wasn’t quite ready to broach the subject, and until she was, he was willing to wait her out.

  No matter how he felt on the subject.

  Uilleam liked to think he was honest—he’d more than happily shown her all the dark bits of himself that others didn’t see until he was taking away everything they held dear. She knew him, more so than he had ever thought possible. He wouldn’t consider himself much of a sharer—his siblings could attest to that—but he’d given more of himself to her than to anyone else.

  Even his family, he was sure.

  But whether she knew him or not, that didn’t change the way she had looked at him that night.

  Anger.

  An acute rage that he found as mesmerizing as it was daunting. Sonal hadn’t deserved her sympathies, and he suspected that a part of her knew it as well. But then again, it hadn’t been entirely about the man.

  He was a born strategist and could read even the most complex of people, yet he still couldn’t quite figure her out.

  Something to unpack later.

  For now, he had to focus on the task at hand.

  “Are you sure you know where you’re going?” he asked the man currently slouched behind the wheel of the rented vehicle.

  But then again, this had been his truck of choice back when he lived in Hawaii and spent most of his mornings stretched out on a beach or catching the waves before the tourists came in.

  It was always little moments like these that reminded Uilleam how very different they were, though they worked well together.

  Skorpion slanted his eyes in Uilleam’s direction. “If you want to drive, have at it.”

  Though he liked to have control in most aspects of his life, this was one where he didn’t. He much preferred to be driven—not because he didn’t know how or because he felt entitled to it—but rather because his thoughts had a tendency to slip away from him, and if he didn’t want to wake up in a ditch or worse, simply because he wasn’t paying attention, it was better for everyone that he didn’t sit behind the wheel.

  It didn’t, however, make him a very patient man.

  Or perhaps he was merely looking forward to this meeting if only because it came on the heels of his reinvention.

  That his title had now taken hold and grown roots, and it was the only name he answered to.

  It wasn’t vanity when all the rumors were true.

  As he started to consider they had made a wrong turn somewhere down the line—dirt roads tended to all look alike—the words died in his throat as he looked out ahead and found the house they were looking for.

  Perhaps not to his taste, but it had a sort of rustic appeal with its white and blue paint, and a porch that wrapped around the side. There was even an above ground pool to the left with glimmering water gently rippling inside.

  As Skorpion turned off the truck, Uilleam kept his sunglasses in place as he stepped out, looking around the rather remote property.

  The Santiago family had done rather well for themselves, considering this part of the country was under cartel control, but considering the patriarch of the family had called on him to make a deal, there could also be a reason behind it.

  Skorpion was right at his heels, though his expression was unreadable. He wasn’t one to ask questions unless they were absolutely warranted. Otherwise, he waited to form his own opinions.

  It was what Uilleam liked most about him.

  And, of course, the way he could cut through men with far too much ease.

  They had hardly stepped foot onto the front porch when locks turned audibly and a man with prematurely graying hair opened the door, his gaze surprised but expectant.

  Perhaps even a touch … relieved?

  “I didn’t know if you were coming,” he said conversationally as he brushed sweaty palms along the front of the khaki trousers her wore.

  Uilleam frowned at the very sight of him.

  He abhorred weakness in any way.

  Especially from a man who came to him for his services. Oh, he had every reason to be afraid—and with good reason—but one should never roll over and show their belly until that was the only option left.

  Now, it was even more clear that Uilleam held all the power.

  “Please,” he said with a gesture of his hand. “Come in. My wife is inside.”

  Uilleam didn’t offer a response to that before he followed the man inside. He breathed in the smell of lemon, following it down the narrow hallway with family pictures hanging on the wall.

  On the surface, they appeared as any other family did. Two loving parents, two daughters only a few years apart, a house that was clean and well kept, and there was even a dog with white and gold fur.

  Yet he knew the unsavory truth that hid behind the clean-cut image. One that had prompted this visit from him.

  They were nearly inside the living room when a young girl, no more than an early teenager, darted past him without the family dog at her heels.

  She tossed an apology over her shoulder but not once did she ever actually look at him.

  “Luna!” Juan called, his lips turned down at the corners. “No running in the house, yes?”

  Not even a second later, the girl yelled out an apology, still lost in a world of her own making, but she did slow to a walk.

  With a sigh and a shake of his head, Juan showed them through the house until they reached what he assumed was the formal living room.

  T
he couch and matching loveseat were a bit ostentatious for his liking, but he wasn’t forced to see the grotesque nature of it daily, so he kept his opinions to himself.

  Uilleam had only just sank down into his chair when a woman appeared wearing a skirt set that, while clearly designer, had gone through a sufficient amount of wear. But that was just the tip of the iceberg.

  One glance at her had told him everything he needed to know. That she cared about appearances, which was very transparent, considering what she was wearing and the way she carried herself. She seemed almost a little too eager to make his acquaintance, eager to offer him a seat and something to drink.

  This meeting wasn’t for Juan at all, not with the way he seemed to sink into the chair the moment he sat down. He had the rather quiet disposition that said he didn’t court trouble if he didn’t have to, and had it not been for the woman perched at the very edge of the velvet loveseat, Uilleam wouldn’t have been there at all.

  Interesting.

  Though there was still much to learn about the two currently sitting with him, at the very least, he could finally say he was interested in whatever came next.

  They certainly had his attention.

  “You’ve called me here,” he said before the silence could stretch on another second, “and you asked for my help, so what can I do for you?”

  The husband’s eyes cut to the woman, his fear palpable, but she merely folded her hands on top of each other and narrowed her eyes. “How do we know you can actually do what they say?”

  His smile was cutting. “You don’t.”

  From the expression on her face, she was expecting him to reassure her—to tell her whatever fear was racing through her head was unfounded.

  He didn’t particularly care.

  After all, that wasn’t what he was being paid for.

  “If you want to waste your thirty-minute proposal on useless questions, then by all means,” he said with a wave of his hand, “continue.”

  Carmen Santiago, unlike so many others who had come before her, didn’t react to the provocation with anger. If anything, it straightened her spine, her interest piqued.

  Making a decision, she leaned forward in his direction, displaying the ample cleavage through the low neck of her blouse. “I want power.”

  As they all did, but he could tell with only a glance that she would never reach beyond wherever he placed her. If she didn’t have the fortitude to see to accomplishing her dreams herself instead of taking the easy route, she would never amount to very much.

  How tragically boring.

  “I can give you your heart’s desire,” Uilleam said with a shrug, already thinking of the possibilities, “but there is a price.”

  Her smile was telling—one that usually appeared on a person’s face who was willing to sacrifice their dignity to get what they wanted. She wouldn’t think twice if he told her to get on her knees at that moment.

  Not if she got something in return.

  What would her husband think? he thought before looking over in Juan’s direction. He expected to find anger reflected on the man’s face—or at least a bitterness of some sort that said he was upset by the possibility.

  Surely, he knew his wife well enough to know what she was truly willing to give?

  Did he not care?

  Did the idea not bother him at all?

  The very idea of Karina with anyone made him feel like his skin was too tight across his knuckles. He couldn’t imagine actually being in the same room as the offer was made. Had the situations been reversed, whether there was a mercenary in the room or not, there would have been nothing that stopped him from shooting the man in the face.

  But it also made him wonder … how much further were they willing to go?

  What all would they sacrifice to reach a dream they thought impossible?

  “Those in power don’t always get there because of family lines and privately funded campaigns. Sometimes, it’s enough to just have the public on your side.”

  Carmen’s brow knit together as she tried and failed to make sense of what he was saying. “But how will this help me? I don’t understand.”

  “That’s for me to know, and for you to reap the rewards.” He didn’t share his process with anyone—and the less questions a person asked of him, the better. How far was she willing to go? “What are you willing to give up?”

  Juan, who’d been quiet for most of this conversation, cleared his throat, his panic barely concealed behind his confusion. “I don’t ... what are you saying? You want to have our daughter—” He couldn’t finish, his Adam’s apple bobbing thickly as he swallowed.

  “I don’t want to do anything,” Uilleam reminded him.

  Truthfully, he couldn’t care less about a single individual residing in this house. This was about them and their choices.

  What they wanted.

  He was merely the deliverer.

  21

  Lifted Veil

  Standing in the kitchen with her hands resting on her hips as she watched the simmering sauce on the stove, Karina felt like her mother for the first time in her life.

  It didn’t help that she was wearing an apron with tiny dandelions along the front, making dinner for a man for the first time in her life.

  Time with Uilleam had slipped by so quickly, she hadn’t realized that the majority of their meals together came from whatever expensive restaurant he picked out or one of the dozen takeout menus in her drawer.

  Tonight, though, she wanted it to be special.

  Nothing to do with deals to be made or stories to be written—just the two of them together like when they’d been in the cabin, tucked away from the rest of the world. When nothing had been able to penetrate the bubble they’d found themselves in. More and more, she had started to miss that time.

  Which was funny now, considering how excited she had been to get back to work once they’d returned. But then again, she hadn’t realized just how complicated this particular story with Hugh and Claire McDonall would become …

  There she went again, forgetting that tonight wasn’t supposed to be about work or anything of the sort. Maybe she needed to implement a rule, one where they didn’t discuss work when they were inside these four walls. This place could be their sanctuary—untouched by everything outside it.

  Shoving all thoughts that didn’t involve the dinner she was making away, Karina turned away from the stove and plucked a pair of plates from the cabinet, bringing them over to the new, gray ash wood table she’d bought for the dining room.

  This part was easy. It had been, when she was younger, one of her favorite things to watch her mother do despite how weird that sounded, even to her. Her fondest memory had come when she was seven years old, sitting on the floor of the living room where Isla had been braiding her hair to match what she had done to her doll.

  Across the room, Katherine had eased through the room, her skirt shifting around her calves as she walked, not a single step out of place as she set out the tableware, then the multitude of forks and spoons and knives. She’d made something that had always seemed rather daunting to Karina’s young mind effortless.

  There had always been a small, soft sort of smile on Katherine’s face as she worked, and by the time she finished, stepping back with a sigh, she’d always looked so pleased with herself.

  It was one of the only times, Karina suspected, that she truly saw her mother’s happiness—a radiant sort of joy that felt innocent rather than corrupted.

  She too found a sort of calm as she completed the steps one by one until the table was set for two, and the only thing left to do now was place the food in serving dishes to set out on the table.

  Maybe she was a bit too infatuated, she thought with a small shake of her head as she turned back to the stove, but if she were, she couldn’t bring herself to care. Not if it meant she felt like this.

  Karina wasn’t sure how much time had passed before she saw a flash of headlights reflecting off the living
room wall, and before she even heard the door open, a smile crept its way onto her face.

  “Uilleam?” she called, already turning in that direction. “Is that you?”

  She heard his steps, then his chuckle before he appeared in the doorway, carrying a bouquet of blue roses, wrapped in a bundle of white and blue tissue paper and tied at the stems in a silver ribbon.

  “I would hope so,” he said as he neared, his gaze turning soft as he looked past her to the pans on the stove. “Or else you would be dead in no time.”

  Always the precautious one—worried an enemy of some sort was out to hurt him at every opportunity—but she could understand why. Even if she still didn’t know the extent of what Gaspard had done to him in Paris that had made him send her back home and out of harm’s way, she knew it had also changed him.

  There was an edge to his arrogance now.

  He was still king in his own mind, but he was a cautious one now.

  She couldn’t say that didn’t make him the smarter one as well.

  But all the same, she still found herself saying, “Or it might not have ended well for them. Had you thought of that?”

  She wouldn’t say she was capable of Skorpion’s level of skill, but she had taken more than a few self-defense classes, and should there ever be a need, she could take care of herself well enough.

  He smiled as if charmed by her even as he closed the distance between them and kissed the corner of her mouth. “They wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

  Uilleam held the flowers out between them, making her smile and whisper a thanks as she took them, already thinking of the best place to put them. As she moved away to grab a vase, she couldn’t help glancing back at him.

  It was only ever when he thought he wasn’t being watched did Uilleam let his guard down and reveal the truth behind the mask he always wore.

  And now, she watched as it came down, if only for a moment, showing the wariness he was very good at hiding. Something was wrong—something clearly weighing on him—but she hadn’t the slightest idea what it was.