Claimed by the Beast (Dark Twisted Love Book 2)

by Logan Fox

  A minute later, the guard returned. He gave a sarcastic, wide wave to Finn, sweeping a hand toward Javier’s still hidden compound. “You go.”

  Finn leapt back in the car as Lars started it forward. The towers came into few a minute later, gates already open. Two guards stood on either side of the gravel drive beyond, but Lars didn’t slow and they didn’t attempt to stop them when they came flying past.

  The road to Martin’s villa went on forever. Finn kept tapping a finger against the envelope, catching whiffs of perfume whenever a swirl of air found its way in through the cracked open window.

  Five guards waited outside the villa for them, forming a rough semi-circle by the driveway. Finn got out, flashed the envelope.

  “Where’s Javier?”

  “Out,” one of the men said. It could have been Ricardo, but he wasn’t sure. “He’ll be back soon.”

  “This can’t wait. If he’s—”

  “He’s not here,” the guard cut in. Then he held out a hand. “I will give it to—”

  “We’re not handing it over,” Lars said as he got out the car.

  Three guards began walking around the car. As soon as the first of them saw Angel in the back of the car, he whistled and aimed his assault rifle into the backseat.

  “Easy!” Lars slid in front of the guard, hands in the air. “We checked him.”

  The guard waved Lars aside with his rifle. “We check again.”

  Lars stepped aside with ill grace, throwing Finn a glare over the hood of the SUV as the guard ripped Angel from the backseat. The young man fell to his hands and knees, and didn’t seem able to get up unaided. Aid which the guard supplied after giving him a rough frisking. He slammed Angel against the car door and pointed his rifle at him.

  Seconds later, while Finn was wondering if he should try and push through the guards and go looking for Javier himself, commotion deeper inside the villa drew two of the guards away.

  “What’s happening?” Finn asked the guard closest to him.

  The man gave him a sneer, and then went over to the guard keeping an eye on Lars and Angel and murmured something to him in Spanish. The man shrugged, and they went back to their positions, both looking uneasy.

  Finn saw a flash of white through the villa’s open front portal. Maids? Then another. There was a cry, and the sound of more feet.

  “What the fuck’s going on?” Finn bellowed.

  He knew it was Cora, just as he knew whatever had happened to her had been Javier’s fault. Both certainties thrummed through him like the knowledge of which shoe went on which foot.

  One of the guards who’d hurried inside a minute ago returned. He rattled off something urgent in Spanish and waved a hand.

  Finn was already moving forward, and his guard seemed happy to let him take lead as the five of them rushed inside the villa.

  Silence now. No one in sight, no running feet. Finn faltered, not knowing which direction to turn, and Ricardo—it had to be Ricardo—took lead as he led the small party at a brisk pace. He didn’t lead them toward the rooms or the entertainment area. They took another route, headed toward the west of the villa. Down a stone pathway bordered with immaculately manicured hedges and screened by tall and slender pines.

  When they rounded a corner, Finn saw the shapes of distant buildings. Barns, sheds. And the few stragglers who were racing over the land, aiming straight for the small crowd that had gathered in front of the stables.

  Finn could see some of those servants turning to speak to each other. Could see their mouths forming words.

  Eleodora.

  He didn’t know he’d been running until he stopped and his chest was burning. He caught a glimpse of Javier’s head before it was obscured by someone leading a tired-looking horse past. The animal’s hide shivered, and its head hung low. But despite that, its kept showing the whites of its eyes with a wild look that promised death and destruction on everyone in sight. Its gait was unsteady too, but that could just have been the uneven ground the groom had to take to avoid the small cluster of people.

  The crowd parted for him when he arrived. Javier turned to him, face creased with anger. When he saw Finn, his eyes sparked, and that concern was gone, replaced with urgency.

  “Come.” Martin waved an impatient hand and began leading them back to the villa.

  “Where is she?” Finn grated. He swung back to where Javier had been standing.

  Someone lay on the floor.

  “Cora!” His knees thudded onto the ground. She lay sprawled on her back, eyes squeezed shut in pain as someone roughly bandaged her leg. Her clothes were dirty and torn, and her face and arms were scraped raw. When she heard his voice, her eyes flew open. But just as soon, they turned upward to the sky. So intense was her gaze, Finn’s own eyes were drawn upward. He twisted his head, squinting at the sun, and then down at her again.

  Relief softened Cora’s face. “They’re gone,” she whispered. She fumbled for his hand, found it, squeezed it. “Muchos gracias, Santa Muerte,” she murmured.

  Her eyes fluttered as if they wanted to close, but he squeezed her hand hard enough that they flew open again. “What happened?”

  “Fell,” she murmured through dry lips. “Going too fast.”

  “Your leg?”

  She gave him a shrug, and he realized someone—perhaps the studious man at her side busy bandaging her leg—had given her something. A sedative or a pain killer. He looked up, caught the man’s wrist.

  “How bad is it?” he asked.

  The man gave him a contemptuous glance, tugged away his hand, and murmured, “No Inglés.”

  Then he rose, dusted off his clothes, and clicked his fingers almost like Javier had a habit of doing. Four men hurried forward and hoisted Cora up by her shoulders and hips, carrying her toward the villa.

  Ahead, Javier called, “Come!” with a hard swipe of his arm as if his patience had long since evaporated.

  When Finn rose, Lars was at his side. If the man had said anything, like, ‘she’ll be fine,’ or ‘it was an accident,’ he would have punched him in the gut.

  But Lars just let out a sigh and strode forward with a mumbled, “He’ll pay for this, Milo.”

  Lars made a habit of reading his mind.

  42

  No negotiating

  Javier’s distant figure led Lars and Milo to the villa and through a different set of hallways until they arrived at a study. Lars gave a low whistle, which Finn didn’t seem to appreciate. The study was filled with modern furniture and a state-of-the-art Apple computer. The capo sat on the office chair that looked as unused as the computer and the sleek desk it occupied.

  For the first time, Lars could take a good look at the man. He had dust in his hair and on his clothes. Some blood on his shirt. But otherwise, he looked uninjured.

  Javier flicked a hand and said, “Let me see it.”

  Lars sank down in one of the chairs arranged in front of the desk and looked over at Finn. The man wore a scowl as he handed over that perfumed envelope, like he was loathe to close the distance to hand it to Javier.

  Milo was about ten seconds away from ending El Guapo. That fierce protectiveness he’d sensed the first time Finn and Cora had been in the same room together—the one Milo had given him when he’d been standing over Cora’s hogtied body in the cabin—that possessiveness had transformed into something animal.

  Mine.

  There was silence in the room while Martin read. Perhaps he read it a few times, because there wasn’t really that much on that folded note.

  “¡Traidor!” Javier spat, crumbling the note in his hand and tossing it across the room. “Me cago en la madre que te parió!” he uttered with feeling, and then looked disgusted at himself for speaking out loud.

  His furious eyes settled first on Lars, and then Finn. People had a habit of addressing Milo when the two of them were together. Perhaps it was the fucking alpha wolf vibes the guy gave off. Something he was fine with, because you could figure out a lot
about a person when they weren’t focusing on you.

  Like Javier’s fear. He certainly didn’t have the usual tells; shaking hands or a stiff, defensive posture. But his mouth quivered and he moved too fast, as if barely containing the urgency bursting through him. He also began twisting a ring—one with a large ruby—around his finger with his thumb.

  He wanted this issue resolved. And Lars already knew he would be willing to sacrifice Cora to keep his haven safe. Because, as much as he wanted her to be his right hand for whatever nefarious purposes he’d schemed up in his megalomaniac brain, she was expendable at the same time. A pawn in this chess game of life he played. And while pawns were valuable, they were also easy to sacrifice.

  Javier looked past them to the pair of men that trailed Javier everywhere he went. “Search her room.”

  One of the men disappeared, the other shifted his stance and adjusted his grip on his AK47.

  “You won’t send her,” Milo said, sitting forward. “I won’t allow it.”

  Javier laughed, but it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “You won’t allow it? You have no say as to how I operate my cartel.”

  Lars was sure he wasn’t the only one that heard ‘my’ instead of ‘our’. The letter was proof Cora’s father was alive.

  But what Javier had said earlier came back to him. Knowing where El Guapo lived didn’t matter. If Javier was killed, the cartel would split and form new, smaller, possibly even more violent cartels in its place. In effect, creating even more competition for rival cartels.

  “What’s this archive he’s talking about?” Lars asked.

  Milo glanced over at him, a brief crease between his brows as if wondering why he hadn’t thought to ask the question.

  Because he was too close to this. Too close to Cora. And whenever she came up, Milo’s brain went soft. Sure, he’d protect her like a bear with a cub, but he wouldn’t be winning any fucking spelling bees at the same time.

  Good thing he was here. He could still keep a cool head. Try and figure out what seemed like a very convoluted time bomb ticking above all their heads.

  Javier didn’t seem keen to answer the question. He put his fist against his mouth, and studied Lars for a few seconds with a vague smile on his face. Then his hand twitched, and he laid his fingertips on the desk, sliding them around as he spoke. His rings scraped over that wood and made Lars’s hackles stand up.

  “Financier. This was Antonio’s role in the cartel.”

  “So he handles the money,” Milo said, sounding irritated.

  “No.” Javier tutted him with a finger. “He never came in contact with the money. This is important. But he oversaw the laundering operations. The false fronts. The…” Javier’s fingers flicked and his eyes wandered around the room for a second as if he was searching for something. Then they settled back on Lars. “In-betweeners.”

  “The what?” Lars asked with a frown. “In-betwee—” he cut himself off with a laugh. “That sounds like a fucking kid’s movie.”

  If Javier was offended by the comparison, he didn’t show it. He seemed to have gotten hold of his emotions now that the dust—literally—had settled. “They are the people who connect everything.” Javier paused, touching his lip with a thumb, and then added, “like grease.” He interlocked his fingers, jerking them hard enough to make his rings clang together. “Without them, nothing turns.”

  Lars supposed people like that could exist. Their sole purpose to convey information or instructions from point A to point B so that never the twain would meet.

  “And this is what ‘Z’ wants?”

  “Zachary West,” Javier supplied, but with a mouth twisted with condescension. “Fucking ‘El Lobo.’” And then he seemed utterly please with himself at the analogy, going so far as to smooth his fingers down either side of his face.

  Lars didn’t look away from Martin’s face. Something toxic and unpredictable swirled in his eyes. He might have had a short fuse, but it wasn’t just a stick of dynamite it would set off. No, it would detonate something nuclear that would leave the surrounding area dead with radioactive fallout.

  “What happened to Cora?” Milo asked.

  A brief flash of confusion, then irritation, immediately smoothed over with a glib smile. “Her horse threw her.”

  “She said she fell.”

  “I wasn’t there,” Javier said calmly. “I was racing back to see about this—” he waved a hand “—message of yours.”

  “You left her—” Milo began, his voice at that rasping edge where Lars could already hear bones breaking in the future.

  “How badly injured is she?” Lars cut in.

  “Pah. Scrapes and bruises,” Javier said with a wave. “She may need a few stitches in her knee, but she’s far from death’s door yet.”

  That, ‘yet’, seemed to make Milo’s hackles rise even more. “Does she know about any of this?” he rasped.

  “What?” Javier laughed.

  “Her father. That he’s still alive?”

  “There was no time,” Javier said simply.

  Lars looked down at his wristwatch. It was almost noon. “So, we have a little over five hours, depending how far out those co-ords are.” His eyes scanned the study, hunting for the note Javier had tossed away. “We should put together a team, someone to negotiate and handle—”

  “There is no negotiation,” Javier said calmly. “He will not get his hands on the archives.”

  “Cora’s father will die,” Finn said.

  “That wealth of his comes with a price,” Javier said, but quietly as if his mind was on something else entirely.

  “Jesus, don’t sound so broken up about it,” Lars said under his breath.

  Javier slammed a fist into the table and rushed to his feet. On instinct, Lars and Finn both drew their pistols from their holsters. In all the confusion when they’d arrived, no one had disarmed them.

  Finn became acutely aware of the sound of assault rifles being cocked behind him. He froze, as did Lars.

  Javier took a step up to Lars, putting their faces an inch away from each other. “You will not insinuate I have anything but deep concern for Antonio Rivera again. Do I make myself clear?”

  If Javier had grabbed at Lars, or shaken a fist, the threat would have been nullified. Instead, it looked as if he was holding himself back from violence. A show for the pair by the door, or was Javier truly concerned for Cora’s father?

  And here he’d thought Martin would have welcomed Antonio out of the way so his daughter could take his place. A puppet for the puppet master to play with.

  It was the only conclusion he’d been able to draw so far.

  “Now,” Javier went on, “You have my thanks.” He glanced down at himself as if noticing for the first time how dirty he was and began dusting himself off. “But this is cartel business. Your services,” and he sneered as if he hadn’t just offered them a job less than an hour ago, “are no longer required.” Then he waved an indolent hand toward his guards. They left the room, but not without giving Javier a frown.

  Milo was up in an instant. “If you think for one fucking second I’m leaving—”

  Lars grabbed Milo’s bicep. It writhed under his grip as if the man was holding back a punch with every ounce of willpower he possessed. Just because Javier’s guards weren’t in sight, didn’t mean they wouldn’t dash right back if they thought Javier was being overpowered.

  “She won’t tell you where it is,” Milo said.

  “Excuse me?” Javier put his head to the side, eyes wide as if he couldn’t believe Milo had the nerve to challenge him.

  “Cora.” Milo stepped forward so that they were now nose and nose. “Even if she has the archives, or knows where they are, she won’t give them to you.”

  Lars took a step back—not only to get out of the way of the two, but so that he could snag the envelope Javier had left on the table. He slid his phone from his pocket and took a discrete shot of the ransom note as it lay open on his palm.

 
; Javier let out a laugh. “She’s my goddaughter. She will do whatever the—”

  “Think about it,” Milo said, leaning closer still. Javier stiffened, but didn’t shrink back, which was pretty fucking impressive. “If her father had given her something so valuable, so important…why wouldn’t she have told you about it? Why wouldn’t she have handed over cartel documents the moment she set her pretty brown eyes on you?”

  “Antonio would not lie.”

  “And Zachary?” Milo murmured. “Do you think he’s an honest man?”

  Javier remained silent, but his dark eyes darted over Milo’s face as if he was trying to find the lie in his words.

  But there weren’t any. What Milo said made a shit load of sense. Either Cora didn’t trust Javier as much as she’d claimed…or her father hadn’t given her anything…or Zachary was lying. But whether Javier had come to the same conclusion or not, it didn’t look like he was budging. He met Milo’s glare with one of his own. Silent, both as unmoving as a pair of very dissimilar statues.

  “Milo,” Lars murmured.

  The man subsided, but with trembling reluctance. They both took a step toward the study door, Milo moving as if he was trapped in maple syrup.

  Javier watched them for a moment, a crease between his eyebrows, and then his face lit up like a goddamn Christmas tree.

  “Let’s ask Elle, shall we? If she doesn’t have the archives, then you will find them for me.”

  “What the fuck makes you think we’ll suddenly become your bloodhounds?” Milo asked.

  Javier smiled at them, and then headed for the study door. “Because, once I have them, Eleodora will then be free to leave.”

  Lars’s chest grew tight. Free to leave? Which meant—

  He put out his hand as Milo surged after Javier. Beating the man to a pulp wouldn’t help. It would likely just make him more unreasonable. Milo must have realized that, because he took a step back and slammed his fist onto the table hard enough to make the computer’s keyboard rattle.