“Will she ever forgive me?”
“For contacting Señor Santiago?”
A hush descends over the room at the mention of his name.
I nod, feeling self-conscious. “Will you?”
“I do not blame Señor Santiago for their deaths, unlike Viviana.” There’s a pause. “You made the right decision in calling him. You would have died otherwise. Fernandez is not known for his forgiveness.”
I glance at the women again. A couple are poring over a western fashion magazine splayed out in front of them, laughing and comparing like any other twenty-year-old would do. It’s hard to imagine the hell they must have faced. What I’ve faced…
“Oh shit, we brought their abusers to your door,” I say, rising up in horror. “There are close to a hundred sicarios outside!”
Gabriela stays seated. “We do not fear Carlos Gomez or his men. They fall under the direct order of another, who has sworn to protect this place.”
But my heart is beating too loudly to hear her reassurance.
“This isn’t just regular over-dinner conversation, is it?”
“You are so strong and bright and clever, Anna,” she says gently. “Don’t let those dark clouds block out your sunshine forever.”
“How did you know?” A sudden rush of tears is blurring my vision. “Is it that obvious?”
“Only to me. Maybe because I see so much of myself in you, and because this is the place where the once-broken will seek to help the broken parts of others.” My head jerks up in shock. “I was twenty when I started working for a bad man who beat and raped me. I stayed because I had nowhere else to go. I stayed for twelve long, terrible years. I stayed because, even after all he did to me, I loved his wife and I couldn’t bear to leave her behind, even after I bore her husband’s child.”
“How did you get away?” I whisper.
“Good fortune, faith…” She squeezes my hand again. “His wife eventually killed herself, which was her way of escape. After that, I stayed because I couldn't remember how to leave. The human soul can only take so much before it starts to forget the joy of light and laughter.” Her words ring so true that I forget to breathe. “Then one day his son came to me. He handed me five thousand dollars and the keys to his car, and told me to leave.”
“Just like that?” I frown. “Why would he do that?”
“He had a baby daughter. He knew that if his father found out about her, he would do unspeakable things to her innocence. He begged me to take her and run.” Grief darkens every soft, salient inch of her face. “I kept my promise until the day his father hunted us down and stole her from my arms.”
“What did he do to her?”
There’s a pause. “He killed her.”
My hand flies to my mouth in horror. “Who is this monster?”
“Was,” she says swiftly. “He resides in hell now, sent there by the same man whose daughter he killed.”
We sit in silence for a moment as I ponder her words.
“We all have our stories, Anna,” she muses. “Some are more raw than others, but those who endure and conquer are the strongest, most beautiful of all. Whatever happened to you, never doubt your courage. Never doubt your sense of self. You are a princess, no matter how damaged your crown.”
My hand flies to my face again, this time to catch my pain. I can't stop crying today. I’m like a cracked faucet.
Gabriela crouches down next to me and pulls me into her soft embrace. She lets me grieve without expectation, the same as Vi. She doesn't need to know the reasons why I’m hurting, but she’ll comfort me all the same.
“Is the man upstairs your lover?” she murmurs into my hair.
“He’s my shadow,” I sob.
“All the beauty in life is made up of light and shadow,” she quotes softly. “Leo Tolstoy. A man of great wisdom and folly, as so many of them are.” I sit up and wipe my face, but it’s a futile effort when the tears keep streaming. “Tell your shadow your story. Maybe he’s the one who can bring you back your light.”
An older man appears in the doorway and beckons to Gabriela.
“News,” she states, and we both rise to our feet.
I try to translate their conversation as we hurry upstairs, but they’re talking too fast. In the end, I can't stand it any longer.
“Gabriela, tell me!” We’re standing outside Joseph’s door. “Is he…?” I can’t even bring myself to say the word. It’s too hazardous. It’s like taking a zipwire through Jurassic Park.
“He’s going to be okay, Anna. But there’s something—”
“He is?” Without waiting to hear more, I barge into the room, and then I come to a crashing stop in the doorway.
Joseph’s lying on the bed, unconscious, but he’s not alone.
The devil himself is standing with his back to the window, dressed in his usual black and casting his sin and darkness over everything; destroying any relief I may have been feeling with a flash of those cruel, dead eyes.
“Shut the door,” orders Dante, dispensing with the formalities. Not that he uses them anyway. “You have exactly sixty seconds to convince me not to kill you. Starting now.”
“Fuck you!” I fire back, slamming the door with as much force as I can muster. “How about you have exactly sixty seconds, you soul-burning bastard, to convince me not to call the CIA!”
25
Anna
Ignoring the imminent explosion tick-tocking over by the window, I cross the room to reach Joseph’s side. His huge frame is dwarfing the small single bed. He’s shirtless—his skin as carved and golden as any god’s—but it’s tarnished today with a white bandage tied tight around the top left of his chest and shoulder. There’s a darkening red stain marring the center of it.
I trail my gaze slowly, feasting on it all because I don't want to miss a thing, from the massive biceps swathed in black tattoos to the numerous old scars, and then to the silver chain around his neck with the two gold wedding bands that tug at places inside I’ve yet to visit. Before I can stop myself, I’m leaning over and pressing my lips to his, rejoicing in his warmth; willing him to open his eyes and shoot me with those chilly gray-blues I’ve grown to love because the secrets behind them are ours to share now.
Moon.
I break away, frowning.
He made me a promise.
How am I only remembering this now?
“You look like shit,” I hear Dante say, his black boot stomping all over another precious moment.
“You can’t help yourself, can you?” The dried blood has been wiped away from Joseph’s skin, or maybe it’s because I’m wearing most of it. “Did the doctor get the bullet?”
“Yes.”
“There was so much blood…” I sound lost suddenly. “Does he need a donor or—?”
“Taken care of.”
I turn to find him rolling up the sleeve of his shirt to show me an angry red puncture wound in the crease of his elbow. “We’re a match… Found out in the military. We’ve been sharing blood for a long time, Miss Williams.”
I hear the warning, and I choose to ignore it anyway.
“Is that how you first infected him with your evil?”
There’s a pause. “I offered it freely. He didn't turn me down.” I watch him roll up the other sleeve. “I’m not here to fucking justify myself to you, woman. I don’t even do that for my wife.”
“Who’s Cash?”
He pauses again. “Where did you hear that name?”
“Caleb?”
Without warning, he removes his gun from his holster and holds it loosely by his side. This man isn’t capable of having a simple conversation without threats involved.
Is Gabriela listening outside the door? She knows he’s here. That’s what she was trying to warn me about before I barged in. Is she waiting for her moment to interrupt, or if she as deferential to this bastard as—?”
“Oh my God,” I whisper, as the pieces slam together in my mind. “It was you… You’re
the one who helped Gabriela escape all those years ago. The monster was your father. That’s why Gomez’s men don’t dare touch this place, for fear of your reprisal.”
“Gomez does whatever the fuck I tell him to do,” he says coolly. “There will never be a reprisal from him because he’s already had a taste of the consequences.”
“You lost your eldest daughter.”
He smiles at me, but his face is completely devoid of emotion. “Keep talking that way and you’ll lose the back of your fucking skull.” He cocks his gun, but I don’t even flinch. He can threaten me all he wants to, but I know the truth: There are weaknesses in even the hardest of stone.
“You’re not going to shoot me, Dante,” I tell him calmly. “You are a bad man right down to your stinking rotten core, but there’s a sliver of light in there too, and you’ll do anything to protect it. You kill me and you kill that light. You kill me and you hurt Eve and Joseph, and I don’t think you’re capable of doing that.”
He glowers at me until my face starts burning up, and then he’s lowering his weapon. “Welcome back,” he says dryly. “I was wondering when you’d be making an appearance again.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“The night in Rick Sanders’ bar last year,” he goads, holstering his weapon. “The night you nearly took out my jaw with your fist. I think we’ve all missed that woman.”
I’ve had enough of his bullshit.
“Your world killed that woman,” I say angrily, rising to my feet. “What you see here today is nothing but her ghost.”
“What I see before me today is so much more than the woman I freed from a cage in Amsterdam six months ago.”
The bastard almost sounds impressed.
“You didn’t free me,” I argue. “Joseph did.”
“Who do you think provided the resources and the firepower?” His cocks his head at me, his eyebrows dipping in amusement.
“You were there out of duty to Eve. He was there because he actually gave a damn!”
“That’s one way of putting it.” I watch his expression harden as he catches sight of my arm. “What happened to you?”
“Car crash.” I cradle the wound to my chest and scowl at him. I’ve exposed his emotional weakness, and now he’s coming for my physical one. This man never plays fair.
“Let me take a look at it.”
“I’d rather die from sepsis, thank you.”
“Which is exactly what will happen if we don’t clean it up.” I watch him walk over to the medical tray and drag it toward a couple of wooden chairs in the corner.
“Gabriela said she’ll do it,” I say mutinously.
“Gabriela’s not here. Come and sit down.” He kicks one of the chairs in my direction.
“Are you a doctor now as well as a murdering bastard?” I say, refusing to budge. “How can you even show yourself in a place like this when you and your cartel buddies are responsible for most of the pain downstairs.”
“Because I fucking pay for it,” he says, shutting me up. “Now sit the fuck down, before I glue your ass to the seat.”
Shooting evil glances at him, I do as he says.
Sitting down opposite, he swings the medical tray in between us like a mediator and grabs my arm, holding it out to inspect the wound. His touch is like ice and I shrink away from it, which earns me another glare.
“You and Eve are too similar with this defiant shit.”
“I hate you for what you did to her. You kidnapped her, raped her…” My voice starts escalating again as his grip on my arm tightens.
“I have never forced a woman. It may come as a surprise to you, but I am not my fucking father.”
For one wild and crazy moment I find myself believing him.
“Do you love her?”
He stops inspecting my arm and slams his dark eyes into mine. He doesn't say the words out loud, he’ll never admit to it, but I see it. I see it. The devil has a heart after all.
I drop my gaze to hide my shock, watching as he unscrews a brown glass bottle of iodine and pours it all over my arm like water.
“Holy shit!”
He tuts as I writhe and hiss in pain, making me even more mad at him. “Hold still.”
“I can’t! I know you and Joseph are used to bleeding for a living, but some of us aren’t, okay?”
“Then let that be a lesson to you. Stop killing sicarios and stay out of trouble.”
“Trouble’s a hell of a lot more fun than rehab. I get to balance up the world a little… Kill some rapist assholes while I’m at it.” I glance across at Joseph, silently begging him to wake up and save me from this interrogation.
“Next, you’ll be asking me for a job.”
“Why? Are you offering?”
He grunts in amusement. “I suggest you increase your pain threshold first. Plus, I doubt your shadow will agree to it.”
“Our shadow,” I grit out.
He picks up a swab and starts cleaning the wound. “I lost those exclusive rights when you strolled on the scene.”
This shuts me up for a beat or two. “How’s Ella?”
“Give your so-called best friend a call and ask her. She hasn't spoken to you since the birth.”
“You can’t help yourself, can you?” I say, wincing as his words hurt me more than the iodine. “In addition to being a heartless dickhead, you’re also a complete asshole.”
“So they tell me,” he says wryly. “I believe ‘murdering motherfucker’ is somewhere in the mix as well.”
A gasp of surprised laughter escapes my lips. “My God, the devil has a sense of humor, too.”
“He also knows how to dismember a corpse and bury it.”
I swear he dumps more iodine on my wound then just to spite me.
“Your other daughter—?”
“Isabella.”
“Isabella…What happened to her?”
“My father sold her into a sexual trafficking ring.” He says it brusquely to conceal his emotion, but I can hear the distant echo of it anyway. “It’s the same ring we were tracking last year.”
“The same ring that stole and a-abused me,” I say, stumbling over the word, and hating myself for showing him weakness.
“Yes.”
“Are they all dead?”
“What do you think?” He flicks me that cold, killer gaze again.
“Did they suffer?”
“Not enough.” He plunges a needle into my arm near the wound. “Local anesthetic. This thing needs stitches.”
“Thank you for killing them,” I say quietly.
“Joseph did most of the dirty work. Maybe thank him with something other than words... I’m sure he’d appreciate it.” He dark gaze is mocking me now.
“I don’t think I’ll ever be fixed enough for that,” I say blushing.
“Then I’ll share with you what I told him yesterday. Everything can be fixed if you’re willing to pay the price.”
“Maybe I’m too emotionally broke to pay it… How do you know how to do all this?” I watch him chuck the empty hypodermic onto the metal tray.
“I’ve been on the frontline of a few battles in my time.”
“You mean in the military? With Joseph?” I glance toward the bed again.
“Yes.”
“Did you meet his wife?”
“Once.”
“Caleb—?”
“Was his son.”
“Was?” I gasp out, pouncing on the word.
“Some accident. Years ago.” He’s predictably sparse on the details. The man has the sensitivity range of a robot.
“I didn’t know… No wonder he keeps the rings on a chain around his neck.”
“Those aren’t his wedding rings. He buried those with Rebecca.”
Rebecca. “Then whose —?”
“This isn’t fucking twenty questions, either,” he snarls. “Want a sob story? Switch on the news. We’re done here.”
“Back to being an ‘murdering motherf
ucker’ so soon?” I say sweetly.
The next thing I know, he’s leaning forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees and dropping his head between his shoulders. It’s such an uncharacteristic stance for him. It’s like the last few moments before a bomb drops.
“I’ve only given two fucking apologies in my life,” he begins slowly. “One to the man in that bed and the other to the woman who is now my wife. Yet, here I am, standing, or rather sitting, on the precipice of another.” He locks his dark eyes onto me for the third and final time. “We fucked up,” he states bluntly, rocking me to my core. “We knew they were coming for you six months ago, but we didn't act quickly enough. By the time we got our asses in gear, the Russians had already made their move.”
“Did you hang me out as bait?” I whisper, feeling the color drain from my face.
“We had a couple of men outside your apartment, but you should have had more,” he admits. “You should have been in a safe house. We read the play wrong, and you suffered the consequences.”
“Are you saying Joseph’s only been protecting me out of guilt?” My stomach drops as I scramble to analyze his confession; daring myself to believe that our connection was forged on a lie. “Because that’s the difference between you and him, Santiago... Beneath the cold mask of ice, he actually feels this shit. He holds onto it. He doesn’t try to fuck or drink his way out of it.”
He scowls at me. “Don’t—”
I cut him off by slapping him so hard across the face his head snaps sideways and his chair rocks and skids beneath him. My hand explodes in pain, but it’s a hurt I’m willing to embrace for the amount of satisfaction I’m feeling right now.
He snarls something in Spanish and clutches at his jaw, his eyes glinting with death and retribution. One thing’s for sure. I’ve got a hell of a lot better at hitting him since the last time I tried.
“Walk away, Dante. I won't tell you twice.”
A rough voice causes us both to start from our chairs.
Joseph’s awake. He’s propped up on one elbow facing us, his gray-blues flashing harder than Santiago’s black ones ever could.
“I’m not playing around. You hurt her. I kill you. Simple as that.”
There’s a long pause.
Shadow Man: Grayson Duet: Book One Page 15
