Claimed by the Beast (Dark Twisted Love Book 2)

by Logan Fox

  She watched Lars move around the room. He put his pistol on the dresser, dragged the chair out, and positioned it so it faced the motel room’s door. Then he checked all the locks, made sure the window was closed, and went to sit on the chair. He’d slung his jacket over his bare chest, but still didn’t have any shoes on.

  He rocked back the chair and hooked his feet onto the edge of the table, staring at nothing as he slowly ate a candy bar, his pistol in easy reach.

  Guarding them.

  “I thought we were safe?” Cora mumbled. Her body was finally resigning itself to sleep, and her thoughts became slippery. “You said so.”

  “Our version of safe isn’t all that safe,” Lars said, swallowing and biting off more of the candy bar. Then he looked across at her, his eyes flashing to Finn before settling on her again. “Go to sleep, bunny. You’ll be fine long as one of us is awake.”

  So she closed her eyes. Tried to relax. Finn twitched in his sleep, and curled up a little more against her. That made it easier; he was so warm and solid.

  She’d forgotten to wash her mouth out with salt. Her tongue carefully explored her gums, touching the empty space where she’d had three teeth.

  Cora forced herself not to shudder.

  Had it been a premonition, seeing Santa Muerte’s skull with its three missing teeth? Had her fate already been decided?

  If that was the case…who was going to strike her that killing blow to her head, the one that had cracked Santa Muerte’s skull from brow to crown?

  It was an unhappy thought to fall asleep on, but eventually the faint creak of Lars rocking in his chair and Finn’s long, steady breath on the back of her neck forced her into the abyss.

  Finn jerked when a cool hand touched his shoulder. His eyes flew open, and he turned, blinking up groggily at Lars.

  “Sorry, man,” Lars whispered. “But I gotta get some shut eye.”

  He could tell; Lars had shadows under his eyes and a grim set to his mouth.

  “Sure,” Finn grated, and then turned back to Cora. He couldn’t remember her getting into bed beside him, but she lay curled against his chest, her face nuzzled into the crook of his arm. He gently pulled his arm out from under her, drawing a sleepy protest from her, and sat on the edge of the bed. He blinked hard and then squeezed his lids shut with his fingers to force them to focus.

  Too much whiskey. Too much sugar. Too much fucking everything.

  “There coffee in this place?” he asked.

  Lars nodded. “At the gas station.” Then he shrugged off his jacket and handed it to Finn. “Here. Everything’s still damp.”

  “Thanks,” Finn said, taking it from him. But Lars didn’t immediately let go. He tugged hard, making Finn look up at him.

  “We gotta talk,” Lars said.

  “I know. But…just let me wake up.”

  Lars nodded, and waved him up off the bed. Then he hesitated a second, threw Cora a tired glare, and lay down beside her. She let out a sigh, and turned her back to him, still deep in sleep’s grasp. Lars snorted softly and tucked his hands under his head, closing his eyes and wriggling against the mattress as Finn put on his jacket. It was tight, but he managed to zip it up.

  When he glanced back at the bed, Lars already looked fast asleep. Cora and Angel too. He hesitated, but it was two in the morning; if Javier or Zachary had found them, they would have attacked already.

  He closed the door behind him, locked it, and walked across the deserted parking lot to the gas station.

  The attendant at the register gave him a disinterested glance as he came in.

  “Coffee?” Finn asked.

  The guy nodded and went to go make a fresh cup for Finn as he waited. There were pastries in a warmer oven, so he grabbed a few of those and some more water.

  He paid for everything with one of Lars’s cards and went back to the motel, tensing as he heard the sound of a car pulling up. But it stopped at the far end of the motel, and a guy stumbled out of it to the closest doorway, fumbling with the door and managing to get it open on the third try.

  Finn scanned the parking lot and eyed the car again. It might be the perfect getaway vehicle in the morning, especially if the guy who’d just driven in here was alone. He was so drunk, he’d be passed out till noon.

  Their motel room stank of booze. His nose twitched as he sat down on the chair, drank his coffee and ate one of the pies.

  Cora had puked when she’d seen what he’d done to that Mexican guy.

  The last bite of the pastry turned rancid in his mouth. Finn spat it into its wrapper and tossed it into the trash can. He tried rinsing the taste out with the last of his coffee, but it stayed with him.

  Why was she still here? Still with him? With them? Any normal person would have made a run for the hills.

  Admittedly, she couldn’t exactly call 911. But that didn’t change anything.

  Tomorrow she’d remember. And if not tomorrow, then the day thereafter. She’d remember, and what he’d done would sicken her again, and again, and again.

  He sat forward, resting his forehead on his fingertips, elbows on his knees, and tried to work out what the fuck their next move could possibly be.

  61

  BFF #possibly

  Fingers touched the top of her thigh. Cora shifted, letting out a small sound as she woke. She blinked, but the room she was in was very dark, the only light that which came from a chink in the thin curtain.

  The motel.

  She shifted, pushing up onto one elbow, and scanned the room. A shadow sat in the chair. Too broad to be Lars.

  Those fingers moved, and the body behind her twisted against her.

  She stiffened. Lars? It could only be him; she could make out the slim silhouette of Angel in the other bed.

  Cora reached down, resting her hand on Lars’s. Forcing them to still. He let out a blustery breath against her bare back, and she realized her towel had come loose sometime in the night.

  Shit.

  She tried tugging it back into place, but it had twisted under her and, possibly, Lars.

  The man murmured something, but it had the sound of someone speaking in a dream.

  Was he still asleep? She drew his fingers off her thigh, let out a sigh, and tried to go back to sleep. But his hand returned, still cool, and cupped her hip bone. She tried pushing away his arm, but he didn’t seem to notice. His sleeping mind seemed to like the fact that she was practically naked beside him. He began exploring the length of her thigh, as if searching for underwear, and then felt around the curve of her ass.

  Her body came alive in response. She blushed, trying to ignore the pleasant tingle that formed inside her.

  Seriously, this was so wrong on so many levels—

  “Lars!” she hissed, slapping away his hand.

  The man sat up in a rush. “What?”

  There was a metallic scrape, and she knew Finn had drawn his pistol from the nightstand. “What’s happened?”

  Cora sat up too, and managed to retrieve her towel from under Lars’s hips. “Nothing. Just…you were…”

  Finn’s chair creaked. “Should have warned you,” he said. “He does that.”

  “Does what?” Lars murmured sleepily.

  There was another scrape of Finn’s pistol as he set it back on the nightstand.

  “Jesus.” Lars settled back down again, turning his back to Cora. “Just fell sleep,” he muttered angrily.

  “Hey!” She poked him in the back. “You were…groping me.”

  “You fucking wish,” he said, through a yawn.

  Then he was asleep again, his breathing long and even.

  “Finn!” Cora whispered urgently.

  He let out a soft laugh. “He doesn’t know he does it,” Finn murmured.

  “What?” She gripped her towel harder around her. Her leg had begun to ache now, as if realizing she was waking up.

  “Just elbow him and he’ll turn around and stop bothering you.”

  She lay back, trying
to keep a few inches between her and Lars without falling off the bed.

  He does that?

  How the hell would Finn know?

  And that opened up a plethora of thoughts that shouldn’t be crossing her mind. One of them, how Lars and Finn had seemed to be playing some kind of game with her last night. And not one they’d just made up. It had seemed…rehearsed?

  Her mind ached for sleep, as did her body.

  She couldn’t wait for morning; she had some serious talking to do herself.

  62

  A crack in the abyss

  Angel stirred from sleep as the room began filling with dawn’s ambiance. Finn watched him struggling up from the sheets, groaning softly as he swung one leg over the side of the bed.

  “Morning,” Finn said.

  Angel started, and looked over to him where he sat in the chair. He gave Finn a nod and then tottered onto his good leg.

  He should probably have offered his help to get the guy to the bathroom. But he didn’t. It gave him a small, wicked pleasure to watch him struggling to the bathroom to take a piss.

  Angel came out of the bathroom, walking a little better than he had going in. He still only had a towel around his waist, but this didn’t seem to worry him as much as the state of his hair. He kept running his fingers through it, trying to straighten what had turned to an impressive ‘just out of bed’ style.

  “Your clothes are over there,” Finn said, pointing to the radiator. He’d been able to put his clean-ish shirt on a little while ago. Cora’s jeans were still damp—he’d found them at the foot of the bed instead of on the radiator a few hours ago—and Angel’s jeans could have gone for another hour.

  Angel tugged his pants off, inspected them, and leaned against the wall so he could pull them on. He seemed to become aware of Lars and Cora on the bed, and stared at the pair for a while with a frown on his face.

  Lars had obviously been pulling more moves after waking Cora up last night, but she’d seemed too tired to fight him off. Now they lay spooning, Lars’s hand on her hip but, luckily, above the sheets. She’d made sounds last night. Quiet but erotic. Lars too. But they’d both been asleep.

  Made for each other, they were.

  Angel slid into his shirt and began buttoning it up. Even in the dimness of breaking dawn, the bruises over his body shone as dark splotches over his skin.

  “Who did that?” Finn asked.

  Angel hesitated on the second last button. “Why it matter?”

  “Just curious.”

  “The man with red hair. The one Cora kill yesterday,” Angel said finally, and with a heavy voice.

  “He beat you often?”

  Angel let out a bemused chuckle, but didn’t reply. He turned to Finn as he was doing up the last of his buttons, and then straightened his collar with a jaunty tip of his chin. “No, not him,” Angel said, his lips twisting in a strange half-smile, half-sneer. And then he shrugged. “But why it matter?”

  Then he was heading for the door. Finn got to his feet, but didn’t try to stop him. “You leaving?”

  Angel fidgeted with the door’s locks. It swung open, letting in a square of pale light. “Maybe,” he said. Then he glanced back at Finn, and across at Cora and Lars.

  Finn turned too. Cora was blinking at the light that had been thrown across her face. She shifted, moaning as she rolled onto her back and got tangled in Lars’s limbs.

  When he turned back to Angel, the man’s eyes were dead. “Maybe not,” Angel said, and was gone.

  63

  One heavy debt

  The parts of America he’d seen so far didn’t match up with anything in his head. All the movies and television series he’d seen…where were they? There were no neon lights. No skyscrapers. No streets buzzing with a constant stream of traffic.

  So far, America looked a whole lot like Michoacán.

  Angel limped across the parking lot, heading for the gas station. He had a few crumpled dollar bills in his pocket. Don Zachary had never searched him, and he’d managed to keep those bills from the coyote every time the man decided to search him and Marco. Frequently, those searches had turned into something more. Strong hands grasping roughly at his genitals.

  He’d never fought back. The coyote had made it clear what would happen to Marco if he did.

  Marco had tried to help him of course. But he couldn’t handle pain, that kid. One backhanded slap was all it had taken for him to cower in the corner of whatever shack or barn they’d taken refuge in for the night.

  His brother’s whimpers had made the coyote’s attentions seem that much worse. That much crueler. That much more explicit.

  At least he’d gotten his due. Having your throat ripped out by a dog couldn’t be a pleasant way to die.

  He’d had thoughts of violent revenge in his mind all the way from Camargo to the Rio Grande. He’d planned on drowning the coyote as soon as they’d made it across.

  Now, his thoughts had turned to Don Zachary.

  They both deserved what was coming to them. That was the difference between those evil men and the man in the barn. Eleodora’s father.

  Heat stained his cheeks, and for a moment he stopped walking.

  What he’d done could never be forgiven. Not by himself, not by her. He’d signed a deal with the Devil himself that day. His soul was forever stained with that man’s pain and humiliation.

  And he’d been just as surprised as Don Zachary when he discovered he didn’t like it. Hurting people. Defiling them.

  Maybe it wasn’t in his nature.

  Maybe he never would have drowned that coyote.

  Maybe he’d never have brought himself to kill Zachary.

  Because, while something inside him craved revenge of the most brutal kind, his mind seemed unable to bring about the physical act.

  He was close to the gas station now.

  Although whoever had washed his jeans had managed to get most of the blood out, there was still a ragged bullet hole through the leg. He kept his bandaged hand dangling casually in front of it as he stepped inside the gas station.

  The clerk behind the register gave him a lazy wave, and didn’t stand. Angel gave him a curt nod and moved down the aisles.

  He didn’t actually want to buy something, but he had to get up the nerve to go and speak to the attendant. He stopped at the sweet aisle and stared at the rows of brightly colored candies. A red packet drew his eyes, so he grabbed it and took it to the register.

  The man turned in his chair, scanned the packet of sweets, and held out his hand.

  “How much?” Angel asked, taking out the three bills in his pocket.

  The guy rolled his eyes. “Dollar fifty.”

  Angel handed him all three the notes. The man glanced down at them, lifted an eyebrow, and handed one of the notes back to Angel. Then he slammed the rest closed in the drawer and handed Angel a coin.

  “This—” Angel pointed through the window at the pay phone standing a few feet away, close to the side of the road “—will work in there?”

  The guy frowned at him. “That thing? Hasn’t worked in years.”

  Angel’s shoulders slumped. “Gracias,” he murmured.

  A bell jangled merrily when he let himself out. The sun had just peeked out from the horizon as he hobbled back to the motel. He saw movement in what must have been the motel’s reception room—a shadow thrown against the window blinds.

  Was someone inside? He changed direction, wincing at a jarring pain from his leg. As he drew near, someone opened the window from inside, and he heard a muttered, “Fucking stoner. Swear I’m going to fire his ass.”

  When he knocked on the door, no one answered.

  “Hello?” he called. “Hello?”

  Fingers wedged open one of the strips of the blind. A weary face peered out at him, frowned, and disappeared.

  The door opened a crack, catching on a chain. “What?”

  “I use phone?” he asked, and pressed his last remaining note against the doo
r jamb.

  Red-veined eyes darted to the note, then it was tugged away and the door closed in his face.

  “Hello?” Something approaching anger bubbled up inside him. He raised his fist, about to slam it into the door when the door opened again.

  “You be quick,” the man said as he pointed to the phone on the elbow-high counter. He slunk around it, sat in a creaking chair, and began chewing on a long piece of candy as he watched Angel limp across the room. “What happened to your leg?”

  It smelled of stale marijuana and unwashed skin inside the room. Angel glanced at the man behind the counter and gave an uneasy shrug. “Dog bite.”

  “Yeah?” The man didn’t seem that interested anymore. There was a small television set somewhere behind the counter. Muted voices and canned laughter drifted to Angel as he turned the phone to face him.

  “Uh…operator?” Angel asked the guy.

  He looked up with another deep frown. “The what?”

  “I need number.”

  “You wanna phone someone and you ain’t got their number?” The man laughed, stuck a hand in his armpit and went back to watching the small television set.

  “Please. It important.”

  “Man, use the phone book then.” The guy got off his seat and slapped down a massive book beside the phone. His chair squeaked as he thumped back in it. Then he leaned forward and turned up the television’s volume. A new stick of candy went into his mouth.

  Angel opened the book on a random page. Alphabetical. He went all the way to the ‘W’. He checked through each name until it went to ‘X’.

  “I don’t see it,” Angel said.

  The man ignored him.

  “Por—” Angel cut off. “Please. There is no Zachary West in this book.”

  The man’s eyes flashed to him. “Whaddya say?” He turned the television off, giving Angel a slow once-over. “Who you trying to call?”

  “Mr. Zachary West.” Angel watched the guy watching him. Then he tapped the book with his bandaged hand. “But he not in here.”