Claimed by the Beast (Dark Twisted Love Book 2)

by Logan Fox

  He began tossing salt over the deer’s severed limbs, enough to turn the flesh white with crystals. It almost looked like snow. “Most women consent to me tying them up.”

  “Most?” she snapped, before she could stop herself.

  Lars’s lips stretched into a wide grin. “I never said they complained.”

  Heat worked its way onto her cheeks. She looked away, and shrugged. “I’m sorry, okay?”

  “Say it like you mean it, bunny.” Lars straightened, wiping his hands down with a rag. They were so stained with blood, it was difficult to see if the rag helped.

  “I’m ever so sorry, Lars.” It felt strange saying his name. Was she pronouncing it correctly?

  The man’s quirk of a smile told her she wasn’t. Her cheeks grew even hotter, and she whipped her head to the door, chewing the inside of her lip. “I thought you were—”

  “I know.” Lars came up to her, moving so fluidly she bumped against the door frame trying to get out of his way. “You’re going to have to work on your interrogation skills, bunny.”

  “Stop calling me that!”

  Lars’s pale eyebrows twitched up. They were close now, less than an inch between them. Lars didn’t seem ready to move away, and she was pinned by the door frame unless she slunk past him like a kicked dog. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and gave him her best glare.

  “My name’s Cora.”

  “I like ‘bunny’ better.” He gave her another one of those smarmy smiles, like he knew something she didn’t, and then shrugged.

  “That’s not my name,” she muttered.

  Lars grabbed his chin in a hand, studying her like a puzzle piece that had ended up in the wrong box. “Yet neither is Cora. It’s Eleodora, right?”

  There was blood under his nails. It etched bright red half-moons across his fingertips. For a moment, the hut became insubstantial. She was back in the passenger seat of a car going too fast down a dirt road, her breasts bouncing painfully every time the car went over a bump. Except…there hadn’t been pain back then. She’d been floating on a cloud of apathy, its mists drenching her with some kind of anesthetic.

  Noah beside her. Lifting her hand to kiss her knuckles. Red staining his cuticles. Blood. Whose blood?

  Sangre por sangre.

  It had been staring her in the face the whole time. His intentions with her. And she’d been the fucking fool who’d looked straight at it without seeing. Had he known? Had Noah known that she wouldn’t be able to put two and two together and get even close to four? Had he known it would be that easy to snatch her, drug her, and almost rape her?

  Anger blossomed inside her, lava-thick.

  She was so sick of being dealt with as easily as a little girl play-acting to be a woman. Lars hadn’t even bothered to pretend she’d scared him yesterday when she’d been pointing the Taurus at him.

  Because she’d never actually been the one with the upper hand, had she?

  “Show me,” she said, voice half-strangled with the effort of holding back a scream of frustration.

  “I’m listening.” Lars jutted out his chin, eying her with a steady green gaze.

  “How to interrogate someone. How to make sure they’re tied up properly. How to, how to do that thing you did.”

  “What, a hogtie? Now?” He let out a half-hearted laugh. “Why? In a few hours, you’ll be someone else’s problem.”

  With that, he shouldered past her and a flurry of snow swallowed him. Had it started up again while she was inside this death hut? She took a last look inside. Lars had strung up the deer meat on hooks dangling from the ceiling, and hung a net curtain around it. She wrinkled her nose. Was he planning on eating that meat after it had been hung out to dry in the middle of this dark shed?

  Something caught her eye. She bent down and picked up the small, pale cube and squinted through the gloom to identify it.

  A deer tooth.

  Knocked out while Lars had been skinning it? She rubbed her thumb over the enamel. Strangely, there was no blood on it. It was the color of aged ivory, smooth, and warmed in response to her touch. La Flaca would love it, if she ever had the chance to set up another altar for the saint. She grabbed absently at the pendant around her neck.

  What had happened to her bag, the one she’d left behind at the Rocky Mountain Inn? The one with all of Santa Muerte’s things in it? Her clothes. Her underwear.

  She squeezed the deer tooth in her palm so hard that it bit into her flesh. The pain was good, but it did nothing to eradicate the tiny pinpricks of fear scattering over her skin. How was she supposed to protect herself, when no one wanted to take the time out to show her how? What Bailey had taught her hadn’t been enough. But could anything ever be enough?

  She could run.

  She could run so far that the cartels would forget she ever existed. But then what about Papá? He’d never be free of them.

  Sangre por sangre.

  “Close the door, would you?” Lars called out, snapping her from her reverie.

  She yanked the door closed, dislodging a small heap of snow from one of the eaves.

  In a few hours, you’ll be someone else’s problem.

  No…in a few hours she’d be even deeper in the cartel stewpot. And if she tried to run again, what was to say another Noah wouldn’t spot her—a falcon snatching up a chick that had ventured too far from its mother’s wing?

  Cora trudged back through the snow, arms wrapped tightly around her. Earlier, she’d put on one of Lars’s parkas, a pair of gloves, and a scarf…but the cold ebbing inside her couldn’t be warded off with layers of wool.

  She could run. She could fight. But she’d never be free, would she?

  10

  Sniper eyes

  It took them longer to get down the mountain than it had taken them to drive up it. There was just too much snow. More than once, Finn had to get out of the Jeep and shovel some aside before they could maneuver further down the road.

  Lars led the way on his snowmobile, kept tracking ahead and coming back like a fly buzzing from the window to a piece of rotting meat. More than once, Finn told him to go on ahead, but he seemed to enjoy watching the Jeep laboring through the snow.

  The man had been away for more than five minutes this time while Finn guided the Jeep through a series of low trenches. Here, the snow was pristine except where snowmobile tracks had sliced through it.

  Cora had been silent the entire way down. Brow furrowed in deep thought, those honey-gold eyes flickering to take in the surrounding land. She kept toying with the skeletal pendant dangling around her neck.

  He didn’t try and make conversation with her. What was the point? In a few hours, she’d be at her uncle’s side, and he would be on his way back to Albuquerque. Back to his empty apartment.

  Lars reappeared. Instead of coming up beside the Jeep and yelling at Finn through his window, he swung the snowmobile across their path, blocking them.

  Finn’s jaw clenched as he put the Jeep in gear, yanked up the safety brake, and climbed out. Leaving the vehicle to idle behind him, Finn crunched up to where Lars stood.

  “We’re fucked,” Lars said casually. “Road’s blocked up ahead.”

  Finn closed his eyes, and gave his head a shake. When he opened them again, Lars had taken off his goggles and was watching him. “How far to Route 15?” It was the main road that cut through to Silver City.

  “A mile, give or take,” Lars said. “But even if you reach it, it’ll be miles before you see anything more a goddamn squirrel.”

  “Too far to walk,” he murmured.

  “For her, yeah.”

  Finn gave a half shrug. It was true—both he and Lars had enough training that they could easily survive a mile-long trek through freezing conditions. But Cora wouldn’t make it. And she couldn’t stay in the Jeep, not this close to civilization. Not in case someone happened to find her before they came back.

  “We could take her back to the cabin,” Finn said. “You could…” But h
e trailed off because Lars was still silently watching him. From experience, he knew the man behind those green eyes was calculating something. Lars was a talented sniper—one of the best Finn had seen—and whenever he had a difficult shot to pull off, his eyes would focus just as intently on his target.

  Calculating.

  “I could take her,” Lars said, speaking slowly, almost cautiously. “You could follow at a walk.”

  “I’m taking her. You follow.”

  His friend’s lips quirked in a smile. “Why’d I know you’d say that?” Lars shrugged before taking off his helmet and hanging it from the handlebar beside his goggles. “Anna’s place is a few miles down Route 15. We’ll meet up there. You call for a cab so long.”

  “No cash,” Finn said.

  “Just call me Daddy Starbucks then.” Lars dug in his pocket, and drew out a worn leather wallet. He tugged out a credit card, holding it up by two fingers.

  “Warbucks,” Finn corrected absently as he reached for the card.

  “Treat you and your girl to a fancy latte.” Lar’s voice was light, but the set of his mouth was too tight for frivolity.

  “It’s a long walk,” Finn said quietly. He had no doubt in Lars’s ability to track several miles in the snow, but it would be a harsh, cold few hours.

  “Nothing like a hike in the mountains to get the blood pumping,” Lars said with a grin. “Plus, I am eternally in your debt, Milo.”

  This again?

  “Lars—” he began in a low growl.

  Lars’s eyes flickered to the right, his smile inching up.

  Finn turned. Cora stood a few yards behind him, hands in her armpits and breath obscuring her face in a misty cloud. He gestured, and she came closer, eyes shifting between him and Lars. “What’s going on?”

  “Road’s blocked,” Lars said as he walked past Finn and handed him the credit card. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Key’s in the ignition.”

  Lars opened the Jeep and rooted around for a bit before hauling out a pair of snow shoes. He perched on the running board, glancing up at them as he began tying the shoes to his feet. “Jesus. At this rate, I’ll reach the highway before you do.”

  Finn climbed onto the snowmobile. Cora hesitated a second before getting on behind him but she sat back, as if she didn’t want to touch him. He reached behind him and grabbed hold of her thighs, yanking her closer.

  She let out a surprised, “Hey!” and then cut off with a laugh she immediately damped down by tightening her lips.

  “Hold tight,” he said and her arms slid around his stomach.

  There was only the one helmet and goggles.

  “Huddle,” he said over his shoulder.

  This close, Cora’s eyes filled his world, so filled with innocent obedience that it made his heart ache and his stomach tighten. She gave a small nod, her gaze moving over his face until she ducked her head and wriggled close against him, her cheek on his shoulder blade.

  “Ready?”

  “Ready,” came her murmured response.

  He started up the snowmobile, casting a quick look at Lars as he straightened the vehicle. The man was already trudging closer, legs lifting high in his snow shoes.

  Still while studying him with the eyes of a sniper.

  11

  Lovestruck ice-queen

  Cora had to keep her eyes squeezed shut so they wouldn’t stream in the cold air whipping past her. Finn felt as hard as rock, as unyielding as steel. He tensed and relaxed under her hands as he guided the snowmobile down the mountain road. Beneath her, the machine vibrated unrelentingly against her thighs.

  Pressed as she was against Finn, that sensation brought back a slurry of memories. Jumbled, vivid, intoxicating.

  She tried to will them from her mind, but they were as relentless as the snowmobile droning under her.

  Finn grabbing a fistful of her hair to yank back her head.

  Cora tightened her grip around Finn, and he shifted slightly.

  His fingers digging into her thighs, forcing them apart.

  Her eyes flashed open, narrowing immediately as icy air tried to burrow through her retinas. Por favor, La Flaca. Don’t do this to me now.

  The last thing she needed was to remember that feeling. It made her want to feel it again, and again, and again. To feel him on her. Inside her. Holding her down and taking what he needed from her.

  What the hell was wrong with her?

  She drew a deep breath, forcing that arctic air into her lungs until they ached. A second later, the wind snatched the ghost of her breath from her lips.

  When they arrived at Route 15, Finn paused. The snowmobile grumbled under her as he sat back, forcing her upright from her slouch. He turned his helmeted head, anonymous behind black goggles. His lips were dry from the cold air, his skin blotched red.

  “You okay?” His rumble of a voice sent an involuntary shiver through her.

  Not by a long shot. “Just…cold.”

  “Almost there.”

  She could feel his eyes on her, even through those impenetrable goggles. He grabbed her leg, giving her a reassuring squeeze.

  His fingers made her skin writhe. She jerked her leg away and huddled against his back again. For a moment, neither of them moved; Finn’s hand an inch above her leg, fingers tensed. As if he was also wondering what the hell was wrong with her.

  Then he leaned forward again, and the snowmobile surged forward. She dug her fingers into his chest, probably harder than necessary. If he made a sound, she couldn’t hear it above the whistling wind.

  They came to a stop a few minutes later. She clambered off the snowmobile and glanced around, spotting the dark square of a cabin a few yards away. She started immediately for it, ignoring Finn’s barked “Hey!”

  Her chest was too tight for breath, her jaw aching how she clenched it. Not from the cold, but from the tsunami of emotions flooding her.

  The wooden door felt good under her fingertips—rough and solid—and the smell of wood smoke and freshly baked bread gusted over her when she pushed inside.

  The animated chatter filling the room cut off. Half a dozen faces turned to her, some wary, some intrigued, some dispassionate. One of them—an old man wearing a grubby hat and a neon-orange hunter’s vest—crinkled his forehead in sudden thought.

  Finn’s hand folded over her shoulder, dragging her to the side. He stepped in front of her, eclipsing the room.

  Hiding her from sight.

  She was such an idiot. Of course she couldn’t just walk into a place bold as day. She’d been on the news. People might—would—recognize her.

  Fire-hot shame flashed over her cheeks.

  “There a phone I can use?” Finn asked. He spoke carefully, slowly; like he always did when he wanted people to understand him despite his ruined voice.

  He never spoke to her like that.

  “Sure, hon,” a woman called out. “Right next to the cigarette machine.”

  Finn moved to the side. She followed, trying to stay in his shadow, her hearth beating too hard in her chest.

  “You two look frozen to death,” the woman said. “Want a hot toddy?”

  “Sure. Thanks,” Finn called back. He glanced at Cora over his shoulder—there was a pale ring around his eyes where the goggles had protected his skin from the cold. “And some of that bread, if you’d be so kind.”

  “’Course, hon,” the woman said, the direction of her voice changing as she moved around the room.

  Cora didn’t dare look back at her or anyone else in the room. As it was, she could feel more than one pair of eyes tracking her across whatever the hell this place was. A restaurant in the middle of nowhere? But she’d heard Lars say something about cabins. So maybe this was a motel of some kind. This, their dining room or pub.

  Now that the room was quiet, she could hear the murmur of a television set. A crackling fire. The creak of a chair as someone shifted their weight.

  Then, as Finn lifted the handset of the payphone, conve
rsation sprang up again.

  “—guess it won’t clear up anytime soon, then. Dick said—”

  “—was saying, that old—”

  “—don’t go giving me none of that horseshit. I tole ya—”

  Finn’s rumble drowned out those lowered voices. “Can you connect me with a local cab company?” He looked at her again, calm consideration in those blue eyes of his. Then his gaze slid past her, and he cocked his head.

  Cora peeked behind her, straightening hurriedly. The woman Finn had been speaking to stood behind her, two steaming mugs in her hands. “You two wanna sit over here?” she asked.

  Finn turned away, using his body to block the phone so all Cora could hear was the bass murmur of his voice. She nodded reluctantly. “Uh, sure.”

  The woman—a brassy redhead wearing a thick jumper, purple jeggings, and a pair of Uggs—gave her a friendly smile before setting down the two mugs. “Bring you some grub in a minute, hon. You two gonna rent a cabin?”

  “What? Oh, no. We…our car broke down.” Cora hurriedly shut her mouth. She didn’t know how much she could tell the woman. Had she already said too much?

  “Did it?” The woman tsked and put her arms on her hips. “Well, lucky for you, Paul over there’s a qualified mechanic.” The woman twisted and hollered, “Ain’t you, Paulie?”

  The old man with the grubby hat jerked like the woman had slapped him, and turned watery brown eyes on them. He gave Cora that same penetrating stare as before until she ducked her head and sat hurriedly at the small table.

  “Ain’t I what?”

  “A mechanic. You can help these folks out with their car, can’t you?”

  The old man grumbled something under his breath, and the woman stormed closer to give him a slap on the shoulder. “Now don’t you go being all sulky. I know it’s cold out, but these folks need help.”

  Cora’s face grew hot as she watched the pair from under her lashes. Finn was still on the phone, his back to the room. Now everyone was staring at the old man, some glancing back in her direction.