Valentine's Day (Second Skin Book 3)

by Ophelia Bell

  Both bedside tables hold lamps, as well as what look like covered ceramic candy dishes. Curious, I lift the lid of one, then blink at the foil packages inside. I pick one up and glance at Lena.

  “Condoms?”

  “This is an adults-only, clothing-optional resort. We’re well-stocked with everything our more sexually adventurous clientele might require. It’s one of the reasons this villa is so private. While many guests are happy to mingle and meet new people, others might want a private setting to return to out of view of the rest of the guests, but with more room to play. The large cabinet in the bathroom is stocked with toys, all brand-new and in their original packages. They get replaced between guests. You’re under no obligation to use any of it if you don’t want to, though.”

  My face heats, and I drop the condom and cover the dish with the lid again. “Good to know,” I mutter, then clear my throat. “Is that everything?”

  She smiles and turns to head back to the first floor. I follow, forcing myself to avoid imagining the possibilities once Toni gets here. I don’t want to assume she’ll be in the mood for anything but regrouping from her ordeal, and with any luck, we’ll be turning around and leaving as soon as possible.

  “Your luggage is being delivered outside the gate as we speak. I’ll have it brought in before I go. If there is anything else you need, dial nine-nine on the phone to reach me directly.”

  “Thank you,” I say and watch her leave. A moment later two bellboys carry in the bags and leave them inside the front door, then disappear, leaving me alone with all our luggage and my own pounding heart.

  The agitation over being separated from Toni returns and I pull out my phone to check the time. It’s mid-afternoon, which means it’s still around noon in California. Even better, I have a signal here, so I tap the screen and speed-dial Mason.

  “Thank fuck you’re okay,” he says when he answers on the first ring. “Did you make it back to San Diego?”

  “Not exactly,” I say, my voice a hoarse scrape because my throat’s so tight with emotion I can barely talk. Fucking hell, I can’t afford to lose my shit right now, but forming words is suddenly more than I can manage.

  Mason utters a low curse. “Did they take her? Tell me what’s going on, Sam. Tell me everything.”

  31

  Toni

  They leave me locked in the cell again for the rest of the day, but I don’t have the will to do more than sit with my thoughts. In a way I’m grateful not to have wound up locked in that room with those vile images gracing the walls. I only hope that Amador considers me valuable enough not to add my skin to his collection.

  His story runs through my head on repeat. Without the context of being his prisoner, I could almost sympathize. Seeing what I’ve seen, though, I’m positive there’s another side to the story that I’ll only be able to get from Arturo Flores.

  My father.

  Jesus, it’s almost too obvious now that I know. All those times Celeste and I pretended we were sisters, pledging our loyalty to each other as if we were. All the years after Lola Flores was killed that Mom handled the Flores household as if she were the matriarch, slipping into Lola’s shoes in every way but one. I’d have known if she and Arturo were together again, I’m sure of it. They’ve always been nothing but professional around each other, though their shared affection is clear.

  It’s why I’ve never felt like the daughter of the help, but rather a member of the family, despite a clear divide in class between the Flores family and ours. Mom still lives in the staff quarters of the estate, which was where I grew up, but I never felt like I couldn’t go wherever I wanted there. When Celeste and I were kids, we had weekend sleepovers in her room, but the rule was we stayed in our own rooms on school nights. I was even given the opportunity to take dance classes with her, but I had no interest in it the way she did.

  How much does my mother know about all these secrets? How much does Celeste know?

  I raise my head from where I’m resting it on my forearms and stare at both my inner wrists. The fresh tattoo of Manny’s bullet covers one, but the other is far older—a tiny flower bud pushing up through cracked pavement, a twin to the small tattoo I gave Celeste all those years ago when I first announced I wanted to be a professional tattoo artist. I’d taken no lessons, but had managed to score a machine and some practice skin. Her tattoo was my first. The one I gave myself right after was the second.

  My sister.

  My sister, whom Amador is going to force me to call to lure into his trap tonight. But if I don’t, he’s threatening to drag our other sister into it. And if there’s anything I’m sure of, it’s that Elle should stay as far away from our family as possible, if it isn’t already too late for her.

  It’s impossible to gauge the passage of time inside this room, so when I hear the jangle of keys outside, I stare at the door in a daze. When it swings open, Mr. Ponytail greets me with a lewd grin.

  “Time for business, mamacita,” he says, stepping into the cell and beckoning toward me. He’s alone this time, which sets off alarm bells. I sit staring at him until he scowls. “Move your ass.”

  Movement behind him catches my eye, and Cal—or Chris, or whatever his name is—slips into view, raising a finger to his lips. He hovers just outside the door, waving me to come.

  I rise to my feet and walk toward the guard, whose eyes automatically drift to my chest, then down, his smile widening and my disgust growing. I really don’t want to get closer than I have to, but Chris mouths impatiently for me to hurry, so I move faster. The second I reach the threshold, Chris raises a hand holding a pistol and brings the butt down on the back of Mr. Ponytail’s head. He crumples to the floor in a heap, and I stare in shock as Cal unbuckles the man’s jeans and unzips them.

  “I need you to drag him back in the cell. It needs to look like it was all you. There are no cameras right here. Just the ones in the cells. When you get in view of it, get his keys. They’re in his right front pocket. Go!”

  I nod and grab the man by his feet, dragging him back into the cell. Then I do as instructed and retrieve the keys from his pocket. I exit again, and Chris slams the cell door shut and locks it. Without a word he turns and jogs down the hallway, around a bend, and pushes through a heavy steel door.

  It’s nighttime now, and a black SUV is parked on the gravel just outside the door. Chris motions to me and I toss him the keys. The door locks click, and he climbs in and I hurry around to the passenger side. I’ve barely fastened my seatbelt when he guns the engine, kicking up gravel behind us as he tears down the driveway at breakneck speed.

  I’m still in shock that I’m free and have the presence of mind to check behind us.

  “We weren’t followed. The boss is locked in a meeting with Delgado, getting ready to haul you up to make that phone call you won’t be making. We set the stage well enough to blame that asshole for letting you out so my cover’s intact.”

  “How are you going to explain leaving?” I ask.

  “As far as they know, I took a night off now that Delgado’s back and has the boss’ attention. I’m at a casino in town, drinking and gambling for the night. If they go asking, there are half a dozen people who will corroborate my story.”

  “Oh. That’s good.” I stare ahead, too overwhelmed by the whole event to even think.

  Chris glances at me. “You can breathe now, Toni. I’ll have you back with Sam within the hour.”

  The mention of Sam is enough to make me take a breath. “He’s okay? Where is he?”

  “Close.”

  I swallow and nod. “Thank you for getting him out. It horrifies me to consider what could’ve become of him in there. Of me . . .” I shiver.

  “You saw his collection, didn’t you?” he asks. “He’s a fucking demented bastard sometimes.”

  “Just sometimes? Seems like that kind of thing is either a part of you or it isn’t. He has human skin hanging on his walls like it’s fucking art.”

  “Well, to be fair
, you consider yourself an artist, don’t you?”

  I stare at him, mouth agape. “That’s not the point!”

  He has the audacity to laugh. “No, I guess it isn’t. I guess I’ve developed a pretty dark sense of humor to survive after being around the guy for so long. I’ve also made sure not to add to my own ink. But just so you know, that collection is something he’s had for a very long time.” He glances at me as if reading my constitution to hear more.

  “How long?” I venture.

  “It goes back to his time with Flores. They started that macabre collection when they were partners. It’s only from people who crossed them the worst, though. Those were all members of the Yakuza at one time, and you don’t go up against those fuckers without a serious display of fearlessness and willingness to go to extreme lengths. Needless to say, the Yakuza haven’t fucked with Amador or Flores in a very long time. Your chances of winding up on his wall are pretty slim.”

  “Arturo did that?” My entire body chills as the image of all of Arturo’s art collections flash through my mind. Does he still have his own collection of inked skin tucked away somewhere in one of his galleries in LA? I shake off that thought, because I have no idea how to process it. “Maybe you’re right, but I’m not sure that eases my mind, especially considering I just fucked him over pretty hard by leaving.”

  “You did at that.”

  I chew on my lip, the magnitude of what I’m doing hitting me. “What’s he going to do when he finds out I’m gone?”

  “He’ll find another way to get what he wants. It might take him a little while, but the important thing is that you’ll be safe.”

  I absently start rubbing at my wrists, then force myself to stop, but Chris sees the fidgeting and reaches out, nudging his fist against my knee.

  “You were an easy target because you happened to be in his territory. He has less pull in Los Angeles than he does anywhere else, thanks to Flores. You’ll be safe once you get back there. Celeste is safe too.”

  But it isn’t Celeste I’m worried about. “What about San Diego? How safe is it there? I don’t live in LA, Chris.” Neither do Sam or his sister.

  He grimaces, and the look he gives me is less than comforting. “Not exactly safe that close to the border. But if you’re on your guard, maybe you’ll be fine. Get a dog when you get home.”

  I grit my teeth at his response and slump down in silence for the rest of the ride.

  He eventually pulls down a dirt road and then makes a turn in a clearing. As he cuts the wheels, his headlights illuminate another vehicle, this one a Volkswagen Beetle that’s seen better days.

  “This is your ride for the rest of the trip. Take this.” He reaches into the side pocket of his cargo pants and hands me a phone, the screen just powering on. “GPS is programmed to your destination. Sam’s there waiting for you, so when you get there, just ask for him and they’ll take you to him. You’ll be safe. The woman who owns the place knows who you are and what to do.”

  “Who is she?” I ask, preferring to know the identity of anyone I’m expected to put my trust in.

  “Her name’s Selena Prieto. She may be the only person in Mexico immune to Amador’s influence. I need to dump this asshole’s car somewhere to throw them off your trail.”

  He dangles a car key in front of me, and I take it.

  “You’re going to be okay,” he says when I just stare mutely at the key, too overwhelmed to think.

  “Yes, I think I am,” I reply, forcing a smile. “Thank you for everything, Chris. Take care of yourself, okay?”

  I lean over and give him a peck on the cheek, then slip out of the car. He waits until I start the Bug and manage to find the switch for the headlights, then his taillights disappear back down the dark road.

  My heart rate picks up now that I’m alone in the dark with nothing but the musty smell of the Volkswagen and my own fear. I tap the screen for the GPS.

  There’s barely any dashboard to speak of in this tiny car, but there’s just enough for me to prop the phone in one of the vents in front of me and still see the screen. The tinny canned voice directs me to turn left onto a road number I don’t recognize, but looking at the map shows me the way back out to the main road.

  The gears grind when I grab the small, spherical knob at the end of the stick shift and put the car into first. I haven’t driven a manual transmission that didn’t belong to a motorcycle in ages, but the rhythm of clutch and gas comes back to me and I make it onto the road without issue.

  The rest of my trip is blessedly devoid of other cars, and by the time I reach the entrance to a fancy, secluded resort, my freedom hits me and the tears start.

  A valet sweeps around the front of the car and opens the door. I hurriedly swipe at my eyes and give him a shaky, “Thanks. I’m sorry I can’t tip you.”

  He just smiles and says, “Ta bien, señorita.”

  The resort’s lobby is warmly lit and inviting. Spanish guitar music plays at a subdued volume over the speakers. Find Sam, I remind myself as I walk to the counter, forcing a smile when the young, pretty clerk greets me in Spanish.

  “Necesito encontrar a Sam Santos. ¿Me puedes ayudar?” I ask. I need to find Sam Santos. Can you help me?

  Her smile widens and she answers, “Sí. Sígame, por favor.” She waves me toward the glass doors that lead out to a beautifully landscaped courtyard overlooking the starlit Gulf of Mexico. I can hear the sounds of a nearby restaurant, but I can’t see it from the path the woman leads me down. The noises of other people gradually fade as we walk until all I hear is the peaceful trickling of small waterfalls and the waves crashing on the shore.

  She stops outside a gate and presses a button on an intercom. It only takes half a ring before Sam answers.

  “Hello?”

  “Señor Santos, tu invitada esta aqui,” the clerk says.

  “Sam? It’s me. I’m here,” I blurt, barely able to keep my voice from cracking.

  “Toni, thank fuck. Um, how do I unlock this thing from here?”

  I stare at the gate while muffled curses float from the speaker, then a lock disengages and the gate swings in a fraction.

  “Gracias,” I say to the woman, who waves me on before turning to retreat back down the path.

  I push through the gate. It clicks shut behind me, but I’m already running when I see a silhouette fill the doorway of the building ahead.

  Sam steps out, and in a few quick strides, he lifts me in his arms. “You made it. Thank you God. And Chris. Mostly Chris.” He lowers me and stares into my eyes, then cups my face in both his large palms. “Are you okay?”

  I’m near tears, unable to stop smiling because I’m so fucking happy to see him. I reach up and brush my fingers down his rough stubble. “I’m much better now,” I say, then lean up to kiss him.

  He responds instantly, hauling me up again with a groan and holding me so tight I can barely breathe. But it’s the best feeling in the world.

  I never want him to let me go.

  32

  Toni

  “Come in,” Sam says, urging me up the steps into the cheerily lit interior of a small, two-story bungalow. The inside is cozy, quiet, and immaculate, but it isn’t the house that makes me feel so safe.

  I cling to Sam’s side until he practically peels me off to settle me on a comfortable sofa in the middle of the room. When I shiver, Sam glances at the arched fireplace before us, then steps over to tap at a digital control panel. Gas flames come to life and warm air cascades over me.

  “What is this place?” I ask, meeting Sam’s gaze when he squats in front of me and looks up into my eyes.

  “Someone Chris knows owns it. I guess she has history with Amador and is on board with seeing him go down.”

  “Selena Prieto,” I say, remembering the name Chris gave me. “I know who she is. I mean, I don’t know her, but Amador mentioned her when we talked.” I laugh and shake my head. “She’s Celeste’s aunt. Would you believe it? God that family . . . I lo
ve them, but part of me wishes I never knew them.”

  “I know the feeling,” Sam says. “But you more than know them. You’re bound to them by blood. You can’t exactly walk away now.”

  I close my eyes and nod. “We have to warn them, Sam. He’ll go after your sister if he doesn’t have me.”

  “They’re prepared for that. I called Mason when I got here and told him everything. Elle’s being kept safe.”

  “Good. What about us? When can we leave?”

  “That I don’t know. Lena said to leave everything up to her, and I’m inclined to trust her. Mason’s in contact with both Lena and Flores about helping us leave the country without Amador catching wind of where we are. He thinks it might take a couple days, though. We’ll be safe here in the meantime. Have you seen the security on this place? It’s pretty tight.”

  “No. I mean, that gate I came through was something else, but they didn’t even check my ID.”

  “They were expecting you, and I gave them a description so they’d know to let you in.”

  For the first time since arriving, I really look at him, taking in his sharp gray eyes and dark features that I’ve come to associate with measured competence and unflappable calm. He looks nothing like the teenage boy I met three years ago, desperate to make a good impression. Weariness paints his eyes with dark circles and lines etch his scruffy face.

  “You look like hell,” I say, touching the deep creases in his forehead to try to wipe them away, then sliding my palm over his stubble again. It’s a day’s growth from becoming a full beard. The cut in his lower lip is only a faint line, but the flesh is still swollen and a little purple. I want to see him smile, to know that the part of him that knows how to be happy hasn’t been lost in all this.