If the Devil Had a Dog

by T. K. Lukas

  Sidney stood transfixed, disturbed at the sight—not at the broken glass—disturbed at the sight of this man’s broken and battered body. Markus bore numerous scars across his muscular back, some deep and telling of what must have been unbearable pain, some superficial and appearing to be the result of systematic torture. A curious pattern of wounds wound around both shoulders, and a zigzag of slash marks still reddened the flesh across his abdomen.

  “Markus…” Sidney moved farther into the room. “Please tell me. What happened?”

  “I knocked my shaving mirror off the wall.” His voice was modulated, but his words were clipped.

  “Don’t be obtuse. I meant…”

  He stood and turned, meeting her gaze. “I know what you meant. You don’t want to go there.”

  “What if I do?” She stepped closer, placing her hand softly against his chest and trailing it lower across the scars crisscrossing his stomach. “What if I do want to go there? What if I want to know everything?”

  His stomach sucked in at the coolness of her touch. Markus grabbed hold of Sidney’s wrist and pulled her to him. With the other hand, he removed the towel from her head and wound his fingers into her damp hair, tilting her face up to his. “What if I can’t tell you?”

  “Can’t, or won’t?”

  “Both.” With his hands now firmly planted on either side of her waist, he lifted Sidney up to eye level. She wound her legs around his middle, her arms around his neck. His mouth on hers decisively ended any further discussion of the matter.

  The towel covering Sidney loosened. She wriggled free of it and allowed it to fall away. The primal noise she heard coming from Markus resonated from his throat—or deeper. His kisses matched the need and desire she no longer could contain. She wanted to touch, to feel, to breathe, to taste. All at once. Now.

  Markus stood rooted in place, holding Sidney, devouring her mouth, filling his senses with her naked body pressed against his bare torso. With caution, he moved gingerly away from the bathroom. A stray shard he didn’t see bore into his heel, causing him to curse and hop on one foot. This sent them toppling onto the bed in a twisted heap.

  “Ouch. Damn it.” Markus caught himself with one arm braced against the fall, while clutching Sidney to him with the other.

  She landed on her back, with Markus splayed halfway on top of her. Attempting to stifle her giggles proved useless, so she gave in to them. The giggles deepened into a wholehearted laugh that began with a snort through her nose.

  “Well, that was suave.” Markus joined in with the laughter. “One of my better moves, I must say.”

  “Not exactly romantic, but now that you’ve got me where you want me, what are you going to do about it?”

  “I’m going to make amends and show you how romantic I can be.”

  She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “All right. Show me.”

  He dropped to the floor on his knees. Pulling her body to the edge of the bed, he spread her knees with his broad shoulders. What he began to do was, in her way of thinking, more carnal than romantic. But then her mind spun away to another realm where words had no purpose. Her body melted into that place where urges and passion and desire were all that mattered.

  *****

  Markus lay on his side with Sidney spooning against him, and he listened to the sound of her deep breathing as she drifted off to sleep. Her buttocks pressed against his crotch and he resisted the urge to wake her up.

  He still wanted to show her that he could be romantic. However, if he were honest with himself, neither of them had any notion that romance was necessary. And it was a good thing, because there had been nothing sweet and tender about what they just did. Theirs was an act of primal, scorching, need-you-now sex, with each as needy as the other.

  At the same time, though, it had been freeing. Or, at least for him, more like an awakening. The last time he’d had sex was in Sarajevo with Sonja. Jesus Christ, had it really been over four years? He shook his head, wanting to put those thoughts of her back into the safe place in his mind where he’d shelved all remembrances of that place and that woman—of what those bastards did to her—of everything about their last day.

  Sidney stirred, her body pressing closer, and heat shot through Markus’s groin. Ignoring his aroused state, he closed his eyes, willing himself to clear his mind, to think neutral thoughts, to ignore the naked woman lying in his arms. Yet, the way her hair smelled and felt when it brushed his face, and the feel of the small curve of her breast in his hand caused him to think many other thoughts that had everything to do with wanting to stay awake.

  Jeez. Stop it. Go to sleep.

  On the verge of drifting off, the sound of Rex whining to be let out brought him back to the present. He pulled on a pair of boxer shorts and a T-shirt and quietly made his way down the stairs, hobbling on his wounded foot. Waiting for the dog to do his business, he tweezed the piece of glass from his heel, and his mind started racing, thinking about the things he needed to accomplish this day. But mostly, thinking about Sidney. He decided to stay up and not go back to bed. Make some coffee. Waffles sounded good. And bacon.

  He carried a tray upstairs, the tray laden with a plate stacked with waffles covered in maple syrup along with strips of crispy peppered bacon, two cups of coffee, and two glasses of mimosas. Walking on the ball of his right foot, he tried not to anger the open wound on his heel, while at the same time, trying not to spill the drinks.

  When he reached the top of the stairs, Sidney, wearing one of his shirts, opened the bedroom door. Sunlight streamed in from the window to her back, creating a soft halo around her. He stopped midstride, capturing the moment in his mind.

  “You look gorgeous.” He moved forward, not taking his eyes off her.

  “I’m sure I look a mess, but thank you. You’ve been busy.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Starved. I thought I smelled coffee. And bacon.”

  “Get back in bed. I’m going to feed you. I haven’t forgotten about showing you my romantic side.”

  She turned around, slid out of his shirt, and slipped back into bed.

  *****

  Sidney sat upright and propped against the headboard. The dark burgundy sheet tucked under her arms provided a modest cover. She patted the corners of her mouth with a linen napkin, a satiated smile easing across her face.

  “That was delicious,” she said, feeling a bit tipsy from the champagne.

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it.” Markus refilled their coffee cups. “But, was it romantic? Did I prove to you I’m not a bumbling, stumbling oaf?”

  She laughed. “Yes, it was romantic. I didn’t realize how much I loved maple syrup.” Markus had dipped his finger into the syrup and she licked it off. Actually, as she corrected her thought, she sucked it off. Then, at one point, she started to wipe a dribble of syrup off his mouth but elected to kiss it away instead, which led to some playful tongue gymnastics.

  “There’s more downstairs in the kitchen,” he said with a lascivious grin. “A whole bottle.”

  She couldn’t tell if he was sincere or joking, but the thought of licking a whole bottle’s worth of maple goodness off his entire body appealed to her. Or, vice versa. “Later, perhaps. Right now, can we be serious for a moment? I want to say something to you that I’ve been thinking about.”

  “Of course, Sid. Is something wrong?” He sat back, giving her his full attention.

  “No, not wrong. I just wanted to clarify something. Romance, or your being romantic, is not what I need or want. Please don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the effort, and I, well, I don’t really know what I’m trying to say. Everything about this morning felt so natural, so easy. So— right. The sex was great. More than great. But, that’s all I want, or expect at this point.”

  Markus lay on his side, his head propped in the palm of his hand. The more he studied her, the more fidgety she became. With sheer determination, she forced her feet to stop swishing under the covers. Had she been
too blunt? She didn’t think so—she honestly spoke what was on her mind.

  I only want your body. It’s all about the sex.

  Not quite—it’s all about my feeling in control. And, the sex.

  Jeez, what’s he going to think about me?

  Her feet began swishing back and forth again under the covers.

  “I’ve been thinking the same thing. And I agree with you. When I said I wanted to show you I could be romantic, it was just a throw away expression and my attempt at humor. I do that a lot. Use humor to—”

  “To diffuse tense situations. Yes, I’ve noticed.”

  “Or embarrassing situations, like my dropping you on the bed and falling on top of you.”

  “And I thought that was just you performing your caveman act.”

  “Hardly. Although, being a caveman has a certain charm.”

  “Well, I’m relieved to hear you’re on board with ‘no romance required.’ Thanks for understanding.” She reached out a hand and stroked his face, running her fingertips against the roughness of his whiskers still needing a shave. “Truly. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. So, we’ll be friends with benefits. Isn’t that the popular slang?”

  “Yes, I believe that’s what it’s called. And, I’m okay with that. More than okay.”

  “Please hold that thought.” Markus picked up the tray and empty glasses. “I’ll be right back.”

  She held that thought, along with dozens of others vying for attention. She wanted to encourage him to open up and tell her what had caused such horrific scaring on his body. Or, to share with her what tormented his mind. She wanted to ask him about the significance of the red dragon hanging over his entry gate and painted on the tapestry concealing his safe-room. That same image of the menacing serpent he also had tattooed on his right hip.

  On the one hand, she felt cautious about opening herself up to the intimacies involved when one knows too much about the other. She didn’t want to get too close. Yet, how was she going to help him with his PTSD if she shut him off?

  It would take a delicate balancing act, protecting her emotions while gaining his trust, enough so that he’d answer her questions. However, she knew better than to broach those subjects now. In time, he might allow her a glimpse into his past. But, she understood today was not going to be that day.

  When he returned, he took Sidney by the hand, giving it a playful come-with-me tug. With a complicit grin, she slid out of bed and allowed him to lead her to the bathroom and into the luxurious shower, spacious enough to rival any five-star spa. She figured this was an ideal way to whittle away the hours until tomorrow when Trevor would arrive. All the while, she pretended not to notice the bottle of maple syrup clutched in Markus’s other hand.

  CHAPTER 19

  Fort Worth

  Winston sat at his desk, the office lights dimmed to a faint glow. Leaning back in his chair, he propped his booted feet cross-ankled on his desk. He stared at the cigar stub he’d just ground out in the Texas-shaped turquoise and silver ashtray. His attempt to only chew the cigars, and not smoke them, had been short-lived. He drummed his fingers against the chair’s armrests and glared out the window at contrails crisscrossing the clear blue sky.

  Where the hell are you, Sidney? He picked up the stubby cigar and considered relighting it before crushing it completely in the ashtray. Wherever Trevor has flown, that’s where I’ll find you.

  His cellphone’s jarring ringtone, the repetitive sound of a trumpet blaring, jolted him from his reverie. “Yes? What’d you find?”

  Anton replied, “After departing Meacham, the plane cancelled its IFR flight plan to Taos. It never landed there.”

  “It didn’t just disappear, Anton. It landed somewhere, goddammit.”

  “I was getting to that. Our pal Bruno with the DEA tracked the tail number for us. He located the plane. It landed in Alpine.”

  “Alpine? In west Texas?”

  “That’s the place.”

  “Take Fredo and Juan with you and get out there ASAP. I’ll call the hangar and have the Citation jet ready. I want you there before the sun goes down.”

  “And then what, Boss?”

  “Find my goddamned wife and bring her home. And I want that file she took from my briefcase. It contains—sensitive information. You know what to do about that bastard, Trevor.”

  “I know what to do. We’ll take care of it, Boss.”

  Winston disconnected the call. Even this Boss answers to a bigger Boss.

  His thumb hovered over the speed dial. He vacillated, drawing in deep breaths in an effort to alleviate rattled nerves that had soured his stomach and loosened his bowels. Dropping the phone onto his desk, he grabbed a magazine and hurried to his private restroom. That call would have to wait.

  Thirty minutes later, Winston emerged, knowing he couldn’t put off the phone call any longer. Feeling pale and unsteady, he decided a cigar and a scotch would ease those symptoms. Before he could cross the room, his phone vibrating against the surface of his desk and the incessant trumpeting demanded his attention. Glancing down, he saw that the caller ID was blocked, but in his roiling gut, he knew who was calling.

  Answering was the last thing he wanted to do.

  But what he wanted or didn’t want was of no concern to the person calling, and he knew it. He snatched up the phone and barked into the mouthpiece, “Yes?”

  The voice on the other end also ignored any greeting or pleasantry but got straight to the point. He spoke with a cultured European accent. The man known as El Cuchillo, The Knife, calmly informed Winston of a change in plans.

  Winston’s jaw tightened as he listened. “Now, hold on a minute. That’s not what we agreed on. I instructed Anton to take care of Trevor but to bring Sidney home,” he argued emphatically.

  “Anton doesn’t answer to you anymore. I’ve removed you from the equation. From here on out, Anton will answer directly to me. He called me as he was departing Meacham Field for Alpine. Apparently, he’s lost confidence in you and your decisions. As have I.”

  Winston reached into his desk, and grabbing a bottle of antacid tablets, popped several into his mouth. “Ordering Anton and his crew to torch that house was a good decision. It sent a clear message.”

  “Ordering a daytime arson hit was imprudent. It should have been carried out at night. You took too big a risk and the crew almost came face-to-face with curious neighbors. Anton reported that if not for a high privacy fence they were able to scale and hide behind in the alleyway, they would have been caught red-handed.”

  “If they had been caught, it would have been because of their own stupid carelessness.”

  “Similar to your own carelessness? You allowed your wife to walk away with—how did you say it?—sensitive information. The DEA, the FBI, and the ATF all would piss themselves to get their hands on your sensitive documents. If it weren’t for Anton’s sharp eye and his turning that file over to me after he removed it from that attorney’s office, I’d have never known exactly how damning all of that information was. You kept meticulous notes.”

  “Anton is a disloyal back-stabber.” Winston’s voice shook with anger at the thought of his protégé turning against him. “If it weren’t for me, he’d still be a falcon, an information gatherer. I plucked him off the streets, and it was I who promoted him to hitman.”

  “His loyalty now belongs to me. He will make sure both Trevor and Sidney keep quiet. Permanently.” His voice sounded impatient.

  “Trevor must be taken out. I agree. But once I have Sidney back home, I know I can persuade her to keep her mouth shut.” Winston’s stomach churned. Painful and violent spasms knotted his gut. He wondered if he’d have to make another dash to the toilet.

  “She’s a liability. She won’t be coming home. This matter no longer concerns you.”

  “Everything about my wife concerns me.” Winston gripped the phone tightly. Despite cool air blowing from the vent, perspiration soaked the back of his tailored Frenc
h shirt.

  “Then concerning your wife, I’ll allow you to give one final order as a quasi-lieutenant, a lieutenant who failed his probation period miserably. I have many customers worldwide who’d pay a handsome price for—how should I say this—use your wife for their pleasure. Or, she can be dead. You choose.”

  “You son of a bitch,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

  “Careful. You’re on shaky ground.”

  Winston froze, the moment dragging out for what seemed like an eternity.

  “Well?” El Cuchillo asked, his voice devoid of emotion. “What is your decision, ex-lieutenant?”

  Winston’s chest heaved out and in with each deep, ragged breath. He held the phone in a vice-like grip, pressing it hard against his ear and grinding his teeth until his jaws ached. Dropping his chin to his chest, he said in a resigned voice, “Sidney won’t be anyone’s fucking sex slave.”

  El Cuchillo abruptly ended the call.

  Winston threw his cellphone against the wall, the impact gouging a dent in the plaster. Pacing the room, he stomped to the liquor cabinet. His hands shook as he lit a fresh cigar and poured a double scotch, downing half in one gulp. “Goddammit,” he shouted to no one. “Only Trevor was supposed to die.”

  Fuck you, Rafael.

  From the moment he had first met Rafael Cordoba, known as El Cuchillo throughout the organization, Winston was given a rare glimpse into the world of the Río Negro cartel. After all, it was a family business. When he and Sidney married, he was immediately considered family, and family loyalty was not only implied within the ranks of the organization, it was expected.

  Winston knew an opportunity when he saw one, and he’d seized it with both fists. He was certain his star would rise and he’d gain promotion to more than simply the attorney, business adviser, and money launderer. Being invited to act as a lieutenant in the Texas arm of the organization meant more power, more money, and more freedom. As a lieutenant, he would have the clearance to order any of the cartel’s jets based at Meacham Field to fly wherever the hell he wanted. And, it cleared the way for him to make himself indispensable to a man he considered his cousin, not by blood, but by marriage.