Scarred Queen

by Nikita Slater

  She stared sightlessly, her mind blessedly blank. She simply couldn’t process. Her brain never really functioned properly anyway. Since the car accident, the whirlwind marriage that followed, and the barrage of medications, she was able to drift in a world of her own, especially when she was experiencing a particularly vicious headache. And now that she was in shock she thought she had even more of an excuse to check out.

  Casey wasn’t sure how long she lay there but her shakes gradually subsided and she became aware of the uncomfortable sensation of laying in a giant wet spot on her bed. Finally, she pushed herself up on wobbly arms and sat up of the edge of her bed. She tried to force the gears in her numb brain to work, decide what to do first. It was easier to concentrate since she’d gradually stopped taking her some of her meds, the ones she knew weren’t for pain, over the past few weeks. She was less fuzzy. Maybe forty-five minutes had passed since Diego had left the room, but she wasn’t sure. The concept of time was eluding her right now.

  For one wild moment, she thought seriously about fleeing. Attempting to get to get to one of the cars and driving as far and as fast as she could. She could start a new life. Become a whole new person, uncorrupted by this type of life. One that was untainted by bodies, blood and men that wanted to control her every move. She glanced down at her chest and the blood stains covering her top. Then she sighed heavily and rubbed her forehead. How far would she get? Two steps maybe, if she tried to go out her bedroom door, and probably as far as a broken neck if she tried the window. She already knew that path was useless. Ignacio had ensured that. So, what now?

  What would Elvira Montana do? She was an honest to goodness mafia wife and probably the closest thing to a friend Casey had. What would she do if she’d just survived a takeover bid by hostile forces?

  “She’d probably be nose deep in her own product,” Casey said out loud and then laughed bitterly. “Aren’t I the judgmental bitch.” She looked down at her bloodied clothes. “Okay Elvira, I don’t have any coke, but I do have the next best thing.”

  She stood on aching feet and winced, feeling the bruises and cuts from running barefoot through battle zones and underground tunnels. She lurched toward her makeup table and opened the drawer, pulling out a bottle of rum that had been a gift to her from one of Ignacio’s Cuban business partners. She flinched at the thought of what was happening to him in his office and then quickly forced her brain away from the grisly thought. She unscrewed the cap, lifted the bottle and took a long drink allowing the liquid freedom to slide and burn down her throat until she was coughing and spitting it up.

  “Fuck,” she gasped. “Elvira would probably call this amateur hour.”

  She waited a beat and then tilted the bottle again, downing another shot. She didn’t stop until she felt some heat in her belly and the paralyzing numbness that had dogged her since seeing Reyes standing in Ignacio’s office begin to subside. She swiped at the tears that suddenly appeared on her cheeks, she wasn’t sure where they’d come from. Either the sting from the alcohol had caused them… or maybe they’d never stopped.

  “Now what, Mrs. Montana?” she asked her imaginary friend. She took a look at her haggard, bedraggled appearance in the vanity mirror and answered her own question. “A shower, Mrs. Hernandez. The etiquette guide says you must always look your best when you find yourself viciously widowed and about to be kidnapped all in the same evening.”

  She grabbed the rum bottle by the neck and made her way painfully to the washroom. She stripped off her damp, bloody clothes and crawled into the shower with the bottle clutched against her chest. She hissed in pain when the water spray hit the shallow cut on the back of her arm. She sat on the floor of the shower stall, drinking straight from the bottle and scrubbing blood and dirt from her skin while tears poured faster and faster down her face until finally she couldn’t stand it anymore. She curled up on her side and sobbed for all she was worth. She cried because she’d lost her loyal bodyguard and it left a jagged hole in her heart. He’d been a constant in her life for so many years, taken care of her when her husband should have but didn’t, and though he was messed up in the head, Alonzo had loved her in his own way.

  And even though he didn’t deserve her tears, she cried because her husband of ten years was being horrifically and painfully murdered under the roof that they had lived, but not loved, together and there wasn’t anything she could do about it. He was being tortured by the man she thought she could have feelings for, but now she didn’t think that was possible because Reyes was staining his hands with Ignacio’s blood, ensuring she would forever hate the sight of him. How could she possibly love a man that showed no mercy when she’d begged him so pathetically to spare her husband in a room full of his own people? He said he wanted to make her queen, but threw her out like garbage.

  Fuck him.

  Finally, after her tears ran out and the water became cold she dragged herself out. She took another set of pills for her headache, which thank goodness had subsided to a dull throb. With a short laugh and another nod to Elvira, she washed the pills down with another shot of rum. Then she changed into a white silk robe and began packing a suitcase with the few things she wanted to take with her.

  There weren’t many things Casey loved enough to want to keep. She had a few keepsakes from her family. Some pictures and small items that held memories. She had her parents wedding bands and marriage certificate. It always seemed strange and inexplicable to her that there wasn’t anything more left of her family, but Ignacio had insisted that the estate and everything in it had been sold after their deaths to pay off her parent’s debts. He’d become angry when she’d pressed for more details and, at the time, she hadn’t been in any condition to push the subject.

  Casey added the few gifts Reyes had given her to the suitcase as well. She hastily tossed some clothes and shoes on top, not wanting to examine too closely why she wanted to keep his gifts. She knew she should get dressed and wait for someone to come fetch her but her eyelids were drooping, a combination of the residual sleeping pill and the near constant adrenalin rush of the evening. She settled on the bed with a yawn, away from the wet spot she’d created earlier, and was instantly sleep.

  She wasn’t sure how long she slept for, but she felt his presence before his touch. It was like the heat of his regard woke her. Like the warm rush of a blanket being pulled over her body and tucked around her. She opened her eyes and rolled into her side to look at him. He was gazing down at her, the burning heat that was missing in his eyes before in Ignacio’s office now present in full force. She couldn’t help the slight smile that curved her lips before memory rushed in on her and happiness faded away.

  Her eyes fell to his hand as he caressed her hip. His hand was covered in dried blood. Her husband’s blood. Her heart beat faster and she froze. “Reyes...” she whispered.

  He looked down at her, his dark eyes so filled with triumph and need that she knew there would be no pleading or begging him. Ignacio was dead. She belonged to Reyes now, he’d ensured it through death and destruction. By conquering her master and taking what had belonged to him. He slid his hand down her hip, across her waist and over her breast. His dark, bloodied hand looked so barbaric sliding against the silk of her robe. The fabric parted, revealing the edge of her breast. She held her breath, wondering if he intended to consummate their relationship right there in her bed, in her husband’s home, moments after making her a widow.

  Instead he picked up her scarred hand and drew her up until she was sitting. “Let’s go home, cariña.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  He watched her every move with such sharp impatience, she was surprised he allowed her enough privacy that she was able to dress in the walk-in closet with door closed. Casey slipped on a pair of her favourite skinny jeans with rips in the thighs and topped it with a T-shirt that had a bloody rose and skull on it. She pulled on a short leather jacket with buckles on the side and tugged her hair free. She examined her shoes and briefly conside
red her flats as the more comfortable option for a kidnapping, but decided she preferred the height of four-inch black heeled boots that zipped up the back and fitted perfectly over her jeans. She glanced at her reflection in the standing mirror on the wall in the closet and decided she looked almost perfectly armoured.

  She had a nice selection of makeup in her favourite purse, which was on a shelf with her other purses. She was relieved that she didn’t have to use her vanity table. Casey swiped on a coating of dark smoky eye shadow, smudging it until it was perfect. Then she added a thick coat of black mascara to her blond lashes and thickened and darkened her eyebrows. A coat of lip gloss and she was ready to go.

  Backing up, Casey surveyed her appearance. Excellent, she looked perfectly untouchable in expensive biker chic. Exactly what she was hoping for. Exactly opposite of her bloody Bolivian captor. She was dressing how she felt, he could deal with it.

  “Casey,” he called to her, banging impatiently on the door with a fist. “Open the door now or I’m coming in.”

  She pulled the door open and gave him the coldest look she was capable of, tossing her hair back over her shoulder and standing as tall as she could, which was a touch taller than him. The heated look he gave her told her he didn’t give a fuck what she was trying to pull. He swept her from head to foot, his eyes turning darker by the second with a lust so intense that she stumbled back into the closet out of self-preservation. Stupid plan because there was no place for her to run.

  He chuckled darkly, stalking her into the closet. “You dressed this way for a reason, Casey? Why? To put me off? To put me in my place? You seem to think the height and maybe the leather might put me off, nena.”

  She whimpered as she stumbled back into a shoe rack. He didn’t stop until he was standing right in from of her. He slammed his fist down next to her head, crashing it through the shelf. Shoes and splinters of wood flew everywhere. She cried out and flung herself sideways, but his other arm stopped her. When she dared look back at him she thought she’d see anger, thought she’d face his wrath, but she saw only hunger and raging lust.

  “I fucking love being able to look into your eyes, Casey,” he growled at her, leaning in until his hips were pressed against hers and his lips were inches from hers. “You keep standing up, you keep going toe-to-toe and maybe you’ll survive me.”

  Her mouth opened in surprise and he slanted his lips over hers in a quick, hot kiss that stole the breath from her lungs. She was too shocked to even close her eyes. It didn’t matter. The kiss was over before she had time to either protest or participate. Before she could form any kind of thought he reached for her hand and tugged her from the closet and out her bedroom door for the last time. She glanced over her shoulder, but the room that had been her sanctuary for such a long time was a blur as he pulled her down the hallway.

  They walked swiftly to the mansion’s foyer, which was still littered with debris and the body of one of Ignacio’s guards. She forced herself not to cringe into Reyes’ side. Instead she stood tall and cool next to him when he stopped to survey his men and Diego who were all standing around clearly awaiting some kind of instruction from Reyes.

  He maintained his hold on her arm, though he manoeuvered her so she was standing next to him when he spoke to Diego. His voice was clipped and impatient, as though he were eager to be done with his business. “Alejandro and a few of my men will stay behind for the next few weeks to help you establish contacts and set things up here. I trust you will make sure they are comfortable?”

  Diego nodded shortly, though Casey knew him well enough to know he was anything but pleased with the idea of Reyes leaving behind babysitters. So, it would seem Ignacio’s second had betrayed him in order to secure himself a prime position. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. Diego’s gaze flicked to her for a split second, just long enough for her to see the gleam of sadistic longing within. She shuddered and inched closer to Reyes. God help her if she ever found herself alone with that man again. She didn’t think it would matter if they were in a mansion filled with Reyes’ men, she didn’t think Diego would be able to stop himself from playing out his worst fantasies.

  “You have a problem, eh?” Reyes demanded, stepping in front of Casey and getting in Diego’s face.

  Just shoot him, she silently begged.

  Damn, the years really had changed her if that was how she was solving problems now. Unfortunately, Reyes did not shoot Diego. The new Miami underboss assured his Bolivian contact that he was in perfect control and would be happy to host Alejandro and his men. Then he walked them out to the waiting vehicles, a jovial bounce in his step. He attempted to help Casey into the back of the black Escalade, but Reyes intervened.

  “Never,” he snarled, getting in Diego’s face again, “touch my woman.”

  Diego held his hands up and backed away. “I get it, man. Different boss, same orders.” Then he turned and strode rapidly away.

  Casey breathed easier without his oppressive, sleazy presence near her. Reyes helped her into the back of the SUV, but as soon as she was clear of the doorframe she jerked her arm away. He climbed in behind her. Once they were settled into the back he studied her serious face. “What did he mean?”

  She shrugged one shoulder and sighed. “Ignacio had standing orders that no one was allowed to touch me.”

  He frowned. “Ever?”

  She shook her head. “Not ever. Not without his permission or his presence. Touching would result in either severe punishment or death. The last guy that touched me in front of Ignacio lost his hand and all he did was touch my arm to help me down some stairs. Ignacio is…” she stumbled over her words and closed her eyes for a second before continuing, “was a control freak.”

  He nodded, still frowning, absorbing her words thoughtfully. Then he said, “And this is the man you were loyal to right up to the moment of his death?” He shook his head at her, frowning fiercely in the darkness of the back seat, the occasional flash from passing streetlights, lighting up his rugged features. “I don’t know whether to be disgusted by you or in utter awe of your stubborn tenacity.”

  She stared back at him mutinously and then hissed in a low voice, “Stop using past tense, Reyes, because I’m still loyal to my husband, dead or not. I told you if you murdered Ignacio I wouldn’t touch you, and I won’t! You destroyed anything we could’ve had with the blood on your hands.” He reached for her, but she immediately recoiled back against the door. “Don’t touch me, don’t you ever touch me! You still have blood on your hands; his blood!”

  He grabbed her, unbuckled her seatbelt and wrenched her across the back seat of the car, holding her struggling body firmly on his lap. He pinned her arms against her side using a brutal strength he hadn’t used with her yet. She cried out in pain and gave up when the pressure on her arms became unbearable. After a moment, he eased his grip and pulled her chest to his.

  “You listen good, nena, because I will only say this once. I will touch you whenever and however I want,” he growled into her face, eyes flashing. “Not long now, Casey. The moment we arrive at my home, you will be mine. Get used to the idea.”

  As if her heart wasn’t beating fast enough from being manhandled, his words added a few skipped beats until she thought she was going to have a heart attack at the tender age of twenty-eight. He held her that way, eyes locked with hers, hands hard on her arms until her breathing began to slow. He moved her into the seat directly next to his and buckled the seatbelt around her waist then placed an arm around her shoulders anchoring her against his side.

  She desperately wished for the creeping numbness to help her cope, help her manage her emotions, but she seemed to be hyperaware of everything around her. She frowned. It was weird. She didn’t usually feel things so keenly. Maybe it was surviving a gun battle and then nearly getting shot in the head by her own bodyguard. But… no, that wasn’t right. If she were being totally honest with herself, she’d been waking up from her stupor for weeks now. Ever since Reyes had stepped int
o her life and forcibly started making her notice things.

  Plus, the lack of prescription drugs in her system. She hadn’t wanted to believe that Ignacio had been deliberately drugging her to keep her compliant for years, but the reality seemed more and more likely. Another thing she could contribute to Reyes; she’d hated the idea that he might think of her as a user. So she’d been flushing her pills, shame as her motivation.

  She glanced out the window and a small laugh shook her, catching his attention. “What is it, nena?” he asked.

  “It stopped raining,” she pointed out. “I hadn’t noticed.” Apparently, she wasn’t ready to start noticing everything yet.

  “So it has,” he agreed. “The weather is cooperating with my plans to fly out immediately.”

  The breath caught in her throat and she looked at him sharply. She knew he planned on taking her back to his home, but somehow, she hadn’t though it would be this soon. If she were being honest a part of her believed she might somehow get out of being taken to Bolivia, either by talking Reyes out of it, or possibly by escaping. But now, glancing out the window, she saw that they were indeed on their way to the airport.

  After 20 minutes, they arrived at the airport and parked the vehicles near a private hangar. Reyes escorted Casey from the vehicle and led her to the side of a building where she stood watching in shivering fascination while he and his men talked to a pilot that clearly worked for Reyes about take-off preparations. One of the men used a water bottle to soak a towel and handed it to Reyes. Reyes rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, took the towel and absently washed the blood from his skin without once breaking conversation with the pilot.