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But it’s still that house.
The one I grew up in.
The one where I murdered my father.
They should have burned it down.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a figure at the corner of the property, mostly obscured by the bushes. The light catches him just right for a split second and I realize he’s one of Jorge’s guards. They’re probably all around, but what the hell can he be planning to do in the middle of suburbia?
The property around the house is much larger than normal, and tall hedges block it off from most views, but there are five houses in sight—even more within screaming distance.
But why bring me back here if he isn’t looking to cause a scene?
The smell of something hot stings my nose when Miguel opens the front door. A fire is lit in the fireplace near where Jorge sits on a sofa with his feet up on the nearby coffee table.
Then, I notice a hunched figure in the armchair next to him.
“The prodigal returns,” Jorge says, waving me forward to approach him.
“What are we doing here?” I ask.
“I thought you might feel at home here.” He pats the seat next to him. “Why don’t you sit down so we can talk.”
Miguel holds his position near the door. I close my eyes and take a breath, forcing my legs to carry me across the living room, closer to Jorge and the heat of the fire.
“Where is Serge?” he asks. He keeps his eyes straight ahead as if studying the flames.
“I don’t know.”
His eyes widen and his head cocks mechanically to the side with a tick. “Explain.”
“He drugged me.” You drugged me. “I woke up in a concrete room. Tied up. He left a hood over my face for the most part. And the next thing I knew, I was being taken somewhere else. I didn’t see Serge again.”
“And where did they take you?”
I calculate each breath between speaking, walking a fine line between giving too much information, not enough, and the risk of Jorge seeing through my crafted story. “A house, I think, everything was muddy from the drugs for a while. I couldn’t even tell you how many days passed, but they must’ve assumed I was harmless because they didn’t watch me, and I got away. I made it back to the city and called you, but there was a group of men there who attacked me. Aguilar showed up—because I’d stolen his car—and took me back.”
“What did you tell Aguilar?”
“That I couldn’t remember anything.”
“And he believed you?” His tone never moves. It’s as if he’s reading meaningless words from a sheet of paper, but we both know better. There’s something underlying each question, something he wants to know, but he isn’t going to be direct about it.
“I’d been drugged. It was the truth.” I try to keep my answers equally simple.
“And do you remember everything you said while drugged?”
“No,” I admit quietly.
Jorge taps his index finger against his chin, then adjusts in his seat and resumes staring into the fire. “And what did Aguilar do with you after?”
“He gave me food and medicine for my back and promised he’d keep me safe.”
Jorge’s lips curl up. Not so much like a smile, but a snarl. It’s all the same to him. He leans forward, clasping his hands in front of him, and looks toward the woman in the chair nearby. Her hands are bound, a gag shoved in her mouth, and her eyes are closed. If not for the subtle movements of her chest, I might have feared that he killed her.
“How about you wake our friend.”
It was an order, and knowing him as I did, he also didn’t intend for me to be gentle about it.
I stand, swallow, and march toward Elena’s unconscious body, then raise my arm and backhand her across the face. She groans and her eyes flutter briefly, but no response. I look over my shoulder to Jorge, who motions for me to continue.
He’s using me to do his dirty work. Get his revenge. That’s nothing new, but I bite my tongue and take another swing.
Please, for the love of God, wake up.
I’m terrified he’s going to ask me to beat her to death before it’s over with.
Where is Galeno?
We can’t be that far away from his house. He has to be coming.
Again, Elena groans, her head rolls side to side, then she lifts it. Eyes half-hooded, she looks up at me, then past me to Jorge and her eyes widen further. She screams against the gag in her mouth, but I slap my hand over her mouth and shake my head.
Please, I mouth, hoping she gets the message.
Her eyes harden on me, but she doesn’t go to scream again.
“Are you going to send her back?” I ask.
“When I’ve made my message clear.”
“Message?” I can’t resist. “You realize you’re fucking with Los Zetas?”
He jerks his legs in and springs to his feet. “A minute ago, I thought you were comfy cozy with them.”
“You asked me what happened, and I told you. I didn’t even realize Aguilar was Los Zetas until two days ago.”
“And you were friendly until then?”
“I did what you trained me to do.”
His hand twitches as if ready to punch me, but he shoves it in his pocket instead. “I didn’t train you to question me.”
“Fucking with Los Zetas will get us all killed. You know that.”
“Fucking. With. Los. Zetas,” he repeats slowly, and I immediately know where he’s going. “Did you?” His eyebrows raise. “Fuck him?”
“No.” I don’t flinch. The key to a good lie is believing it. For the sake of everyone involved, I didn’t fuck him.
“What does he know?” Jorge growls.
“Obviously that I’m important enough to you that you would kidnap his sister to get me back.” I flip the table on him.
Galeno had better show up soon, because none of this is going to end well.
“You want me to believe he doesn’t know what you are? Why did he take you from Serge?”
“I don’t know.” I want to check the exits. Look for signs of movement beyond the windows. But I don’t dare look away from Jorge. He’ll wonder what I’m looking for. “Why did you give me to Serge?”
The light of the fire catches his eyes, making it look almost as if they’re on fire as well. They may as well be. “Why do I give you to anyone, Poco Cierva? Because I needed something.”
Elena shifts in the chair behind me, reminding me she’s there and awake. If he’s discussing this in front of her, he certainly doesn’t expect one of us to get out of here alive.
“Why is she still here?” I’m pushing it. Too many questions. Too many accusations.
“I still have a message to deliver,” he says casually, pacing toward the fireplace.
He kneels there, and I can’t tell what he’s doing, so I angle myself between him and Elena. When he turns, he holds out a knife, the very tip of which is red-hot.
“If you hurt his sister, Los Zetas will hunt you down to the ends of the world.”
“You,” he says, leaving it at that.
I squint. Trying to figure out what the hell he’s talking about, and then it hits me. I said you not us.
“You want me to believe you’re loyal?” he asks.
“I always have—”
“I’m not concerned with always have.” His composure snaps. Wide-eyed, he holds the knife in front of him, pointing it at me. “I’m concerned with now.”
Sweat collects at the small of my back. I swallow, but the lump in my throat grows. I’m furious that after everything I’ve done for him, he can so calmly stand here and accuse me of not being loyal, and yet, he’s right.
My feet twitch under me, warning me to run. Is backup going to fail me again?
Galeno won’t leave his sister. Jorge would. He would leave any one of us. Something ten days ago I would have never thought.
“Come here, Poco Cierva,” he growls.
I listen for possible movement outsi
de, but I hear nothing over the crackle of the fire and the roar in my ears as I cross the living room to Jorge.
“Did you let him ruin you?”
Pretty sure you did that a long time ago. I get the feeling he’s only asking because he wants to know who to sell me to next time. “No,” I say firmly.
Jorge makes a tsking sound and grabs me by the back of the neck. “How could you let him break you like this?”
My body goes rigid without my permission, pulling away from the hot knife in his hand.
“Don’t worry, Rune”—he hasn’t used my name in almost ten years—“I can still fix you up.”
He presses the blunt side of the knife against my outer thigh, burning through the fabric, then he flicks his wrist and swipes the razor-sharp edge across my skin.
A mixture of air and spit sizzles through my teeth.
Then, something at the door catches his attention and he and Miguel exchange glances and then Miguel hurriedly ducks outside.
“You led them here?” He yanks me forward so we’re chest to chest.
“No,” I choke out. “Technically it was Miguel.”
I use my body weight to shove him back, but he swings the knife at me again, slicing through my forearm.
I spin, kicking him in the stomach and knocking him into the brick next to the fireplace, and follow with a punch to his throat before he can regain his footing.
The knife clangs against the floor, and I charge at his middle, throwing my shoulder against his diaphragm, then grabbing his arm and throwing him to the floor.
I’ve never actually fought Jorge, only taken his punches like the obedient puppet I was to him, but no more. I grab the knife from the floor and press it to his throat. “Where is my sister?”
“She doesn’t exist,” Jorge chuckles. “Just like you. You are nothing without me. You’re mine.”
“Pretty sure you forfeited that claim when you sold me.” I plunge the knife into his crotch and twist it. He bucks, roaring in agony, so I slam the butt of the knife against his temple, knocking him unconscious.
I wish I could let him feel every moment of his body bleeding out, but I can’t risk someone hearing him and calling the cops. I toss the knife into the fireplace and turn to see a crowd of spectators standing behind Galeno. Lucero is already working to untie Elena, but the rest stare at me.
“You’re late,” I mumble. Then the room rocks and I stumble backward. Blood drips from my fingertips, half of it Jorge’s and half my own.
Galeno rushes toward me as I fall, but the world goes black before either him or the floor reach me.
18
Galeno steps out of the steamy bathroom with a towel around his waist. “I may have to put the doctor on payroll if I keep you around.”
“That might be a good idea,” I say. The doctor just left for the third time this week, this time removing the stitches in my left arm, and taking another look at my thigh and giving me a new ointment to help the skin heal and cut down on the incessant itching that has been driving me crazy while the combination of burn and lesion heal. This should be the last time I have to see him for a while.
Galeno sits next to me on the bed, hands pressing into the mattress on the outsides of my hips and leans over me until it’s impossible to keep my eyes on the tablet I’d been working on.
“How are you feeling?”
“Stiff, but I’ll live.” I toss the tablet aside, clasp my hands behind his neck, and pull him against me until I can reach his lips.
He nudges me over so he can sit next to me, resting his back against the headboard. “Have you thought any more about what you’d like on your paperwork?”
Paperwork. New paperwork. Galeno had started the process of pulling together some kind of identity for me. Of course, I’m keeping Sera, but he insists that a last name of some kind is necessary too. But choosing your own surname after spending my entire life moving from one meaningless identity to the next is complicated, especially after discovering that in just about every sense I am just a ghost.
When Jorge said my sister didn’t exist, he wasn't fucking with me. There is literally no record to be found anywhere that lists either a Luna or Rune Gelt. Nothing on our parents, Tomas or Nasha. Nothing on the night I remember shooting Father.
Even the house has been listed under the name of some ghost corp since it was built twenty-five years ago.
There’s not a scrap of evidence, except for the fact that I’m sitting here now, to say that I ever existed. Either someone had been talented enough to make sure every detail was wiped clean, or they somehow managed to ensure that it was never recorded.
“Are you sure I can’t just go with Sera?” I’ve Googled several dozen lists of surnames, but nothing seems right. “It works for celebrities.”
“Sure, if you’d like to stand out. I’m sure there are plenty of people who’d like to find your face on a billboard.”
“And shoot it,” I add under my breath. I’m really tired of this conversation as we’ve been having it on and off for the last few days. “What’s Lucero’s last name?”
Galeno stiffens and I can feel his eyes boring through me. I give him a minute to simmer before rolling against him and revealing my smirk. I’m sure he’s hoping I’ll take his name, but I don’t know that I’m quite ready for that.
At first, I found being non-existent a bit disconcerting, but I’ve come to find it freeing. I get to choose where I belong. Who I belong with—because I certainly don’t belong to anyone anymore. That’s why I want a name of my own.
For the time being at least.
Galeno lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses each knuckle in turn, but his eyes are distant, focusing on something not in this room.
“Are you still brooding over Elena and Lucero?” Elena has been staying here as well, which means Lucero has been here practically every hour of the day.
His quick laugh hisses through his teeth. “No. If it makes them happy, what can I do? It’s not exactly like I was keeping her safe.”
“Then what’s bugging you? You’ve been acting weird all week.”
He hugs me to his side. “I promised to protect you, but I still let Jorge hurt you again.”
I swing my leg over his lap and roll on top of him. Even the satin pajamas he’d bought me feel like sand-paper against my leg, but it’s more tolerable to move than it was a few days ago. “We both did what we had to do. And we knew the plan wasn’t foolproof. Besides, if you hadn’t taken out his men outside… things probably would have been much worse.”
His hand slips up the back of my shirt, and I long for him to strip it off. To touch me. Taste me like he promised. Something still holds him back.
“I also promised I’d help you find your sister,” he whispers. “But, I don’t know where to start, and I don’t like that feeling.”
“It’s not like everything can be solved in three weeks.” I sigh, realizing what a whirlwind it has been. It feels like I’ve been here forever. Like this is my place. A short time here has somehow made the years I spent working as Jorge’s spy seem like an inconsequential amount of time.
Galeno’s phone chimes, and he glances over at it on the bedside table. “Elena says dinner’s done. Do you want me to bring you a plate up?”
“Or,” I put my hands on the headboard on the outer sides of his shoulders and lean my forehead to his. “You could let her and Lucero enjoy a quiet dinner alone.”
The darkness recedes from his eyes as his mouth draws to the side with a crooked grin. He doesn’t bother sending the message. Instead he jerks my shirt up over my head, and flips me onto the mattress.
THE END
ABOUT SKYE CALLAHAN
www.skyecallahan.com
Named a Rising Star in Romance by iBooks in 2015, bestselling author Skye Callahan uses fiction to explore the darker aspects of human nature and the resiliency needed to survive. Prior to pursuing writing full-time, Skye earned M.A. in History and participated in numerous local history
projects including a full-length Civil War documentary for PBS. During grad school, a spark also rekindled her love of reading and writing fiction, and she’s been living in a daydream ever since.
Skye’s first romantic suspense Irrevocable was named a Top Read of 2014 by Shayna Renee’s Spicy Reads, and continues to be a fan favorite.
If you want to know what Skye is working on next, head over to her website, skyecallahan.com, where you can also pick up a free ebook just for signing up to her mailing list. You can also connect with Skye on Facebook /SkyeCallahan, Twitter /Skye_Callahan, or Instagram /authorskyecallahan.
Thanks for reading. I hope you’ve enjoyed SERAFINA. If you could leave an honest review on Amazon and/or Goodreads, I’ll be forever grateful.
Keep turning the pages to read the rest of BLAIRE’S WORLD and the bonus extra: B L A I R E.
BEAUTY
by
KIRSTY DALLAS
International Bestselling Author
BEAUTY
Light bounced off chandeliers, sending beams of luminescent rainbows across the room. The refracted light was beautiful, and I wondered how something so lovely could exist somewhere so evil. This ballroom was stunning, refined, dazzling, everything an exquisite room of this grandeur should be. In another life, I might have been awestruck and perhaps a little overwhelmed to be standing within its superb embrace. The fact was, my life, the one I was trapped within, was anything but beautiful. And this room of debauchery and sin was anything but lovely. The grunts and groans drowned out the classical notes of music in the background. The scent of sweat and sex fell short of the intoxicating aroma that should drift on the air of such finery. The naked flesh was a far cry from the elegant fabrics a place like this should flaunt. The world of sex trafficking was filled with obscene wealth and men with dark obsessions and twisted minds. Perhaps mine was just as twisted. While they lusted for pain, unwilling participants, and underage partners, I lusted for blood, death, and vengeance.
