Kings and Sinners

by Alta Hensley

He had finally glanced at Natalia and knew that she recognized him despite the use of his alias. It would be up to her if he lived to dance or felt a bullet in his back as he rode away. Sitting straight in the saddle, he put his life in her hands… again.

  Chapter 6

  Natalia could not believe her eyes. This man—Anson Steele—had the balls to return, even after her warning. Was he absolutely insane, or just so arrogant that he believed he was invincible? To not only show his face again, but to do so standing in front of Juan Montez himself was just plain reckless and clearly lacking any regard for his own life. It was an odd feeling having this man’s life in the palm of her hands. She had the power to destroy him at any time. One word, one warning, one indication that she even recognized him, and he would be dead. Yet, something held her back… Why was she saving this man’s life—again?

  Staring down at Anson’s extended hand in disbelief, and then up into his eyes as he asked, “May I have this dance?” Natalia struggled not to laugh at the absurdity of this man and how foolish he was being.

  “You may,” Montez answered for her.

  She didn’t want to dance, but she knew she had two choices. She could refuse and tell Montez why, and then watch Anson Steele be slaughtered right before her eyes. Or she could stand, graciously take his hand, allow him to lead her onto the dance floor, and have this one dance with him. Luckily for Anson, she chose the second option.

  Standing up, but refusing to take his hand, she led the way to the dance floor. A big part of her was grateful for the reprieve from being forced to sit by Montez’s side. The disgusting pig had been drinking tequila all day, and it was just a matter of time until he either beat her or molested her. He either became horny—even though his dick never worked—or he became furious and lashed out on whoever was around. And since he never allowed Natalia to leave his side, she was the one always around for his abuse.

  Anson quickly strode up behind her, placed his hand on her lower back, and gently guided her to an empty spot on the floor amongst the dancing couples. A melodic tango mastered the air as Anson spun her around to face him. Grabbing one of her hands in his and then placing his other on her upper back, he pressed his chest to hers, clearly understanding how to dance the tango. Once again, the gringo fascinated her in his knowledge of how to do such a cultured dance.

  As they began to take slow steps to the right, set to the rhythm of the music, she asked, “Do you have a death wish, Mr. Steele?”

  “I could ask the same of you, Ms. Alvarez,” he countered as he altered their hands and moved in the opposite direction.

  “Why would you say that?” she asked, slightly taken aback. “My life is not in danger, yet all I have to do is reveal who you are and what you did, and your life is over. I warned you, and yet you did not listen. Why?”

  She extended her leg in a long stretch as she lowered down his body, mimicking hot wax dripping down a candle. His strength and strong position made it easy for her to do so. He not only knew how to tango; he knew how to do it well.

  “Because I know that deep down, you know I mean you no harm. I’m here to rescue you.” He pulled her back to standing, making eye contact as they moved toward the left. His eyes held hers, even as their bodies moved.

  Chest to chest, she could feel the beat of his heart.

  Body to body, she could feel his warmth.

  So close, so intimate, yet so very distant. They were strangers connected only by music and the provocative steps of the dance.

  “So you keep saying. You are here to rescue me. Is that what you were doing in Moscow as you bid on me? Rescuing me?” She smirked.

  “Yes.”

  She would have pulled away that very minute had he not dipped her backwards, seductively connecting their lower halves. She could feel the muscles of his biceps as he held her in place as she arched her back, pressing her breasts toward his face. She could feel his breath as he looked down upon her. Such power, such dominance in this exotic and erotic dance move. He towered over her, yet held her securely in place, never once wavering or threatening to let her go. The display of control sent a small shiver through her as he mastered her body to the beguiling notes of the music.

  As he lifted her back to standing, feeling a bit lightheaded, she said, “You are a mad man.”

  “Your words are too kind, Ms. Alvarez. But your form of flattery will not deter me from my mission.”

  “Your mission? You being here in Buenos Aires, risking your life so you can dance with me, is this all part of your mission?” She smiled and raised an eyebrow as she once again melted her way down the length of his body, stretching out her leg in a firm and alluring pose. Noticing a twitch in the fabric of his crotch area, her smile grew even more when she realized he was aroused by both their verbal and physical tango.

  “You have been my mission for a very long time, Natalia. Ever since I saw your eyes on the stage at that auction, I have thought of nothing else other than saving you.”

  “Explain how buying me to be your slave is rescuing me.”

  “You would have been mine.”

  “To do what? To fuck me like most of the other men did on stage that night?” The memory of seeing cocks shoved inside the bodies of helpless women, or swallowed by their quivering lips made her stumble as they strode across the dance floor. Anson only held her tighter, not allowing her to misstep. “Except you lost and Montez won. And this ridiculous attempt at trying to steal me away to claim what isn’t yours is not only a dangerous game, it’s fucking disgusting. You are a sick man.”

  “I know you think I am like those men. I’m not.”

  “Really?” she asked, glancing over toward Montez who was preoccupied in a heated discussion with his men. He wasn’t paying attention to even a moment of the dance. “So, had you won me that night instead of Montez, what then?”

  “I would have rescued you that very moment, instead of now. I would have taken you back to Texas with me and my brother, as well as Zoya.”

  She stopped cold in her tracks at the mention of her friend’s name. Zoya had been another woman back in Moscow who had been auctioned away to be a sex slave, and not a day passed that Natalia hadn’t worried about her. Was she alive?

  “Keep dancing,” he ordered softly to which she obeyed. “Give Montez no reason to grow suspicious.”

  “Zoya? You have Zoya?” Saying the words became a struggle as her throat threatened to close shut.

  “She’s safe back in Texas. My brother, Stryder, and I brought her back to the family ranch to help us shut down the ring leader in that sex trade operation. We are the good guys here, as hard as that is for you to believe.”

  “Poplov,” she whispered, no longer noticing that she did the steps of the tango like a robot. Vasily Poplov was the man who sold them all off—a name she would never forget. Her head spun with all the awful memories of her past, as well as the confusion of her present. Who was this man? Who was Anson Steele?

  “Yes, Poplov is dead now. And Zoya is safe, happy, in love, and pregnant. And if you trust me for one second, I can get you out of here to join her. I am here to rescue you as I have always intended.”

  “Dead?” she parroted, looking into Anson’s eyes to try to read if he were indeed telling her the truth.

  He nodded as he once again dipped her, all to keep up the pretense that nothing was going on between them other than a harmless tango.

  “Who are you? Who are you and your brother? What’s in Texas?” Her heart beat rapidly, and with how close she and Anson were, he no doubt could feel it.

  He squeezed her closer, as if trying to calm her without others knowing his intention. Their dance concealed so much already. “I don’t have time to explain everything now, but I will as soon as we are out of here. But for now, you have to believe me, Natalia. I am here in Argentina for one reason. To rescue you and take you back to the ranch where you will be safe. I want to get you out of the grips of that monster Montez, out of the country, and away from thi
s nightmare as fast as we can. But I can’t do that if you fight me every single step of the way.”

  “Tell me now,” she demanded. “Or I swear to God I will fucking scream bloody murder this very instant.” She needed answers and she needed them now. Who in the hell was this man, and how did he know so much? He just said the names Poplov and Zoya, two names she had never thought she’d hear again.

  He sighed but never once faltered in their dance steps, spinning her away, only to pull her close again. “My two brothers, my father and I have a ranch in Texas called The Black Stallion Ranch. My brother Maddox is married to a lovely lady who was victimized by Poplov, and my other brother Stryder is Zoya’s husband. We have a lovely woman named Jennie who cares for the home as well as all of us.”

  “Why the fuck would horse ranchers be involved with Poplov?”

  “It’s a long story, but we have been operating a business behind the guise of our ranch to help those in need. Sort of like a witness protection program for the underground. We help those whom the government wouldn’t help by association. My family has been doing this for a long time. Our mission was to bring Poplov down, and that is when my brother Stryder and I went to Moscow. Our intent was to rescue Zoya, which we did. But then I saw you… I knew that very moment, that the mission did not end with just Poplov. You deserved to be rescued, too.”

  “Why me?” she asked, feeling like her knees would buckle even as Anson continued to lead her gracefully in the dance.

  “Why not?”

  Straightening her shoulders and strengthening her spine, Natalia swallowed back all the feelings of hope that she could indeed leave this awful mess behind and be whisked off into the sunset by her knight in shining armor. She could be safe. She could be free. But that was not her story. Her story was one of a cartel princess on the quest for revenge. She needed to remember all the bloody bodies of her family and the dying words of her grandmother. She had no choice but to remain focused. Being rescued by this American stranger would not end Montez once and for all. If she left, Montez would still be alive and the last six months would all have been for nothing. Her own safety was not worth that.

  “Mr. Steele, I have no intention of being rescued.”

  Anson tightened his grip on her hand, and his jaw clenched. “You can’t be serious.” His eyes darkened as he practically growled, “I am getting tired of your stubborn games that could get us both killed. You listen to me. You will leave with me, and we will get the fuck out of here, whether you like it or not.”

  She chuckled lightly as a way to taunt the man. “That is where you are wrong. You do not have the upper hand here. I do. So, like I said before, leave me alone or you will soon regret it.” She could tell the song was coming to an end, therefore, so would their dance. “I thank you, Anson, for thinking of me. For wanting to save me. But that is not what I want. I have my own mission, just as you do.”

  Breaking their physical connection, she spun on her heels and walked away before she could change her mind. Walking away from her salvation was harder than anything she had ever done besides walking onto that auction block to be sold off. She’d had her chance. Hell, she’d had her chance twice. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t allow Montez to get away with all he had done. He would pay, and Natalia would make damn sure of it.

  “How was your dance, my pet?” Montez asked, only glancing at her for a moment. He was busy with his men as usual, and she knew he really didn’t care what her answer was.

  Rather than answering, she smiled warmly and stood at his side, clutching her shaking hands in front of her while she tried not to look back toward the dance floor. She wouldn’t be able to stomach seeing Anson standing there. He wasn’t a monster after all. He was a light in her very dark world, and she’d just extinguished it. Her heart broke in a million pieces as she stared down at the ground, resigning herself to the fact that she would indeed be Montez’s captive for however long it took.

  “Sir,” one of the guards came up to them, slightly out of breath, “we need to leave. There is word that the Hernandez and Ortez cartels are joining forces and using their manpower tonight to ambush you here. We need to get you to safety immediately.”

  Montez looked around as if expecting to see his enemies with blazing guns, already attacking. “Bastards! Let them come and see my wrath.” Montez was slurring his words as the tequila had clearly taken hold. The fat fuck never looked more pathetic to Natalia than with this sorry attempt at appearing strong.

  “Sir, I must respectfully insist. We aren’t strong enough to hold them off,” one of his men said, agreeing with the first guard. “We don’t have enough manpower of our own if they indeed plan to throw everything they have at us.”

  “Let’s save this battle for when we can show them how mighty the Montez cartel truly is,” another Montez goon piped in.

  Part of Natalia wanted to stay. She wanted to see each and every one of them get wiped out by a sea of gunfire, but she also knew there were hundreds of innocent people around who would get hurt in the crossfire. There were women and children. Families were there to celebrate and had no idea a drug turf war was about to occur. She didn’t want to see any more innocents die.

  “Please, Montez, can we go?” Natalia began, trying to sound like a weak woman. “I’m frightened.”

  Without warning, Montez backhanded her across the face, causing her to see nothing but a mixture of blackness and tiny silver lights. “I didn’t ask you, bitch. Shut your fucking mouth!”

  As Natalia regained her vision, she swiped at the blood trickling in the corner of her mouth, noticing that not one of Montez’s cowardly men said or did a thing. Apparently seeing a woman getting struck was an everyday norm in their fucked up lives.

  “Sir, our men,” a guard cleared his throat before continuing, “have been celebrating tonight. The brown liquid in their veins makes them not the best soldiers for war tonight. I suggest we wait until morning. Then we can teach those assholes all a lesson they won’t soon forget. All of Argentina will learn what happens to the enemies of Juan Montez.”

  “Very well,” Montez said, allowing the guards to lead the way toward his black Chevy Tahoe. “But those bastards will pay for this. I will make damn sure of it.”

  Natalia followed close behind. Not being able to resist the urge any longer, she looked over her shoulder back toward the dance floor to see if she could spot Anson. Scanning the people, she quickly came to the conclusion he was gone. Like a punch to the gut, she realized that her opportunity of rescue was truly over. Had she just made the worst mistake of her life?

  Climbing into the back seat of the vehicle with Montez, the driver, and one of the guards getting into the front seat, she could see that all the men had pulled out their weapons in preparation of being attacked before they could leave. There were four other cars that drove behind them, full of armed men.

  “Sir,” the driver called over his shoulder, “where to?”

  “Home.”

  “Are you sure, sir?” the driver asked. “Maybe we should go to one of your other hideouts just in case they are planning something.”

  “I said home! I’m not going to let some fucking weasels chase me from my home. Now let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  The engine started, and the caravan of black vehicles began their journey through the streets of Buenos Aires like on any other night. But as Natalia stared out the window of the car, she had a sickening premonition that this night was far from ordinary. She could sense something. There appeared to be less vehicles on the street. People seemed to be locked behind closed doors, and the few she saw appeared to be watching and even waiting. The roads seemed… quiet. That was until she heard the first gun shot.

  It took everyone in the car a moment to realize what happened when they stopped behind a car that had suddenly slammed on its brakes. A rain of bullets fell upon their car as blood from the driver splattered the leather interior.

  Pop

  Pop

 
Pop

  The lullaby of her life.

  The shattering of glass, the shouts of men, the warning of death screaming through the air. As she ducked onto the floor, protecting herself from the spraying of bullets and flying shards of glass, she looked between the seats and could see the driver slumped over the steering wheel as bullets continued to puncture his lifeless body. The guard in the front seat was firing his gun at rapid speed, bleeding from his own bullet wounds. Montez was also firing out his window at an enemy she could not see.

  Facing death as it marched toward them, she knew now that she had made a horrid mistake. She should have gone with Anson Steele. God, she should have gone. And now because of her foolish pride, she was going to die. Her only remaining hope was that at least Montez would die before she did so she could meet her maker knowing the bastard was finally dead.

  Chapter 7

  Anson whipped the steering wheel hard to the left, careening around the corner. He’d been following the caravan on a parallel street, but when the sound of full-out war exploded in the evening air, he knew the threat of attack he’d overheard one of Montez’s men discussing had become reality. He’d had two chances to save Natalia, and now it could be too late.

  “Fuck!” he yelled, twisting the wheel yet again in order to avoid colliding with a car that had pulled perpendicular to the road, effectively blocking the path of Montez’s vehicles. Bullets whizzed everywhere, puncturing metal and splintering glass, ricocheting off the pavement and bricks of buildings lining the street.

  Jumping from his Jeep, he ran towards the battle. Cars lined the street, bodies fallen where men had piled out of vehicles only to find a bullet with their name on it. The first SUV, Montez’s car, was riddled with jagged holes; bullets had punctured the metal in too many places to count. Passing what had to be one of either Ortez’s or Hernandez’s men’s vehicles, he ducked low, snagging the gun from the lifeless hand of one of the warring cartel members. Every training course he’d ever run, every mission he’d ever been involved in not only played through his head, but had him acting without hesitation. Frankly, he didn’t give a damn who won the turf war, he only cared about one person, and she was in the car that was obviously the primary target.