by Logan Fox
He scooped her up and squeezed her so tight, tears stung her eyes from the pain that brought her bruises. Then he leaned back, took her chin in a hand and turned her face.
“This is what happens when you don’t listen, Elle,” Javier murmured. He still wore a smile, but it had set in place like concrete. And that smile didn’t touch his eyes, those black voids where slimy things coiled around each other. “Are you going to be a good girl from now on?”
If her mouth hadn’t been dry as desert sand, she’d have spat in his face. “Fuck you,” she said.
Javier slapped her. The pain was twice what it should have been, since one of his large ruby rings landed right where Zachary’s boot had struck her face. She gasped, reeling, and would have fallen if the man behind her didn’t catch her. She caught a whiff of sweat and gun oil before he pushed her upright again.
“Now,” Javier said, dusting his hand against his linen suit like she’d made him dirty. “I’m sure you’ve had quite the ordeal. Let’s go inside where my doctor can take a look at you.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you!” Cora jerked her arm free.
Javier had half-turned to go inside the villa, and twisted back with a mock frown on his face. That wide, suggestive mouth curled up again. “No?”
His accent was thick today but, as if to compensate, he enunciated every word perfectly. “Come on, Elle. You will just tire yourself out, fighting me like this.”
She opened her mouth but, before she could get a word out, Javier clicked his fingers. There was a muffled yell somewhere behind her. She spun, and darted to the side so she could see past the guy standing behind her.
One of the men in the convoy had dragged Lars from the car and thrown him to the ground. His boot was on Lars’s face and, as she watched, he ground Lars’s face into the gravel. Lars’s teeth flashed white in the sun as he gritted them, but then a reluctant cry left him. They’d tied his hands and feet so, struggle as he might, there was no way he could get up to defend himself.
Cora surged forward, but Javier’s sicario caught her effortlessly.
“No! Stop!” Her voice seemed so pitiful, as if the villa’s gaping entrance swallowed it even though she faced away. A merciless wind dragged fingers through her hair and ruffled her clothes. “Por favor, Tío!”
A warm hand touched the back of her neck. “Come inside, Elle. It’s time we spoke.”
She resisted that hand, but only for a second. The man torturing Lars drew back his boot and kicked him in the ribs. Lars curled up silently, but the pain on his face was visible even from where she stood.
Blinking back tears of frustration, Cora took an unsteady step back. Then another. Another.
Letting Javier lead her inside the villa until Lars, the SUVs, and the brutal sun had all been blotted out.
66
The puppet master
Finn came to with a pounding head, and arms and legs too heavy to move. Until he realized his arms were bound behind his back, and his feet to a chair. When he could make out enough from his surroundings, he saw Lars was sitting a few feet away, his head lolling on his chest.
Both their mouths were bound. Finn tried yelling through the duct tape gag, but the whine it produced had no chance of waking Lars.
Boots approached. That must have been what woke him. Finn scanned the gloom, but couldn’t see where they came from. It looked like they were in a warehouse. Crates stood stacked against one wall, massive barrels along the other. Greasy tracks beneath him indicated this might have been a delivery point at some time, or perhaps even recently. Until whatever had been in here had been removed to make way for him and Lars.
Although it still had to be light outside—he couldn’t have been unconscious longer than an hour—the only illumination in this place came from a bare bulb against a wall close to the suggestion of a doorway.
The boots had been coming from outside. Metal screeched against metal as the warehouse doors were hauled open. A pair of men came inside, their rifles more an afterthought, and a now familiar silhouette appeared in the midday glare.
So he’d been out for more than just an hour or two. Fuck.
Javier Martin, in all his white-linened glory. Immaculate as always. Thick, long hair perfectly styled. Designer shades, and designer probably everything else, even down to what was undoubtedly a pair of pristine name-brand briefs.
Which probably encased a dick the size of a peanut. Men with small dicks always felt the need to overcompensate, and if this villa wasn’t fucking overcompensating for something…
“Good afternoon, Mr. Finn,” Javier said.
Finn didn’t try to respond. It would have been useless through the gag, and maybe him remaining silent would piss Javier off so much that he would remove it.
The screech of the doors opening had woken Lars. Finn watched from the corner of his eyes as he lifted his head and stared groggily over at Javier as the man approached.
There was the soft crunch of grit under Javier’s polished shoes as he came closer. Another smell came to Finn then. Some strong chemical that had spilled in this place.
Bleach.
Was this their killing room where all their rivals came to die before being hacked up and disposed of? Those barrels looked big enough to contain a human being, if you chopped off the limbs and stuck them in around the torso.
He had only himself to blame if that happened. He’d known Angel was bad news, just as Lars had known it. But they’d both let Cora fog up their minds. The guy had seemed so important to her that her concern over him had overridden their own logic.
Finn desperately wanted to ask where Cora was. What Javier had done to her. He’d had limited visibility from inside the SUV when Cora had been hauled out in front of her godfather. He’d seen Lars though, how the guard had slammed him into the gravel and then kicked him repeatedly in the kidneys. He wouldn’t be surprised if Lars peed blood for a week. Finn glanced aside at his friend. His right cheek had bad scrapes over it, but otherwise he seemed uninjured.
Tough as a strip of beef jerky.
But Javier had found their soft spots; each other. Cora, him, Lars. None of them could stand seeing the other get hurt. And Javier had zero issues with using that weakness against them.
“You shouldn’t have taken her from me,” Javier said to Finn. As he came closer, he began rolling up one glaringly-white sleeve of his summer suit. “I am a forgiving man…” Javier frowned. “But taking my family? That is something I cannot forgive.”
Javier began removing his rings. He wore at least five, three on the one hand, two on the other, and they each went into the left breast pocket of his suit. All except one: a large ruby. Then he rolled up his other sleeve, giving Lars a dismissive flicker with his eyes before coming to a stop in front of Finn’s chair.
“I am afraid she may scar,” Javier said quietly. “That beautiful face…”
The man’s handsome features contorted a second before he swung a fist into Finn’s jaw. It was a solid punch. Stars danced at the edge of his vision as Finn shook his head to force clarity back into his sight, his mind.
“I understand I cannot lay the entirety of the blame at your feet,” Javier said, giving his hand an absent shake. “She claims Zachary West was the one that kicked out her back teeth. Still…”
Another blow, this with the other hand, to the other side of Finn’s face. Definitely Javier’s weaker arm, but Finn still had lights across his vision before he could shake them away. The dull ache of earlier returned, fiercer now. But he gritted his teeth and faced Javier, blinking away a bead of sweat when it trickled down his forehead and stung his eye. The warehouse was hot, and seemed to be getting hotter every second.
“I thought you’d feel compelled to protect her. Instead, you handed her to him on a fucking platter.”
Another blow. Javier’s strong hand again. Finn’s teeth were starting to feel loose. There was blood in his mouth, and all he could do was swallow it down.
Across f
rom him, Lars made an angry sound. Javier ignored him, giving his hand a hard shake.
He hoped his jaw broke Javier’s fucking fingers.
“Had he taken her…”
Javier grunted when he hit Finn again.
The world spun a little when he set his head straight. He could hear blood rushing in his ears, and a distant whine that came from nowhere and everywhere. Keeping his eyes open was difficult, and the amount of blood he had to swallow was making him sick.
“If that mamahuevo had gotten away with my Elle…?” Javier ripped away the gag, as if realizing Finn might drown before he could land another few sets of punches on him. “You’d already be dead,” Javier whispered.
Finn pushed blood out of his mouth, shaking his head like a dog. “So kill me.” Finn had to force the words out, and they were so mangled he doubted Javier could understand.
But the man bent low, getting on eye level with him, and then laughed. He spun away from Finn, hands thrown in the air like Finn had just told the one with the priest and the rabbi, and then swung back and landed a fist so hard in his jaw he heard something snap.
For a moment, he thought it was his neck. But then he felt the jagged edges of a tooth in his mouth, swimming in the blood, and almost swallowed it down before he managed to catch it against the roof of his mouth with his tongue.
Javier leaned in again, eyes ablaze with a maniacal light, and said, “Soon, Mr. Finn. But for now, you’re more valuable to me alive than dead.”
He was in the process of standing, half twisting to Lars as if he’d decided it was time to include him on the afternoon’s entertainment, when Finn spat out his tooth. It ejected from his mouth in a spray of blood, most of which painted the side of Javier’s face and his crisp linen suit.
Javier held out his hand like a man who’d just had gutter water splashed on him from a passing car. He turned back to Finn, and slowly wiped his face against his shoulder.
Javier’s next punch was so hard, it knocked him unconscious. But before that always-eager darkness claimed him, he heard Lars make an angry sound in the back of his throat.
67
Some kind of cartel leader
Cora had barely been awake for half an hour before there was a knock at her bedroom door. She sat up in bed, wincing when the movement tugged at her knee, and gathered the sheets around her. She was wearing a loose t-shirt and a pair of summer shorts as pajamas—after having rifled through her walk-in closet for close on ten minutes trying to find something that didn’t make her look like a swim wear model at a boudoir photo shoot.
Javier pushed open her bedroom door and came inside. His dual shadows, rifles tucked behind them as if they weren’t expecting any trouble from her, sidled into the room and took stations on either side of the door.
“Morning, mi reinita,” Javier said, beaming. “Another beautiful day.” He swept a hand toward her balcony, but she didn’t bother turning her head. “I trust you slept well?”
“¡Vete al infierno!” she sneered.
A flash of anger crossed Javier’s face, but it disappeared almost immediately. “I will ask the doctor to prescribe stronger pain—”
“I wasn’t in pain,” she lied. “Where are they?”
“Your…lovers?”
How she loathed the term he used to describe Lars and Finn. She supposed it wasn’t far from the truth, but he made it sound dirty. “Where are they?”
“Elle,” Javier said, coming to sit beside her on the bed. “I am not here to talk about them.”
“Then leave,” she said. “Because until you tell me—”
“There is something I must show you,” he said, as if she hadn’t even spoken. “Do you need crutches? There will be a fair amount of walking involved.”
“I can’t walk,” she snapped. “And I won’t eat, and I won’t—”
“I can make you eat,” Javier said. “It requires more effort than if you were just to eat by yourself, but never think I will let you starve, my dear Elle.”
This all would have been so much simpler if he ever broke that mask-like composure. But he could have been a guy having an inane conversation with someone at a bus stand for all the emotion on his face.
Just that same, studious smile.
For the man that had everything…
“Just tell me if they’re alive,” she said quietly, and wished she hadn’t. But maybe, if a show of strength wouldn’t work, a show of weakness would. That kind of twisted logic was all she had left now. She’d never had to play mind games with someone. Never had to out-think someone who’d been doing this for years, if not decades.
“Elle,” Javier crooned, reaching out and touching her hair.
She almost drew back, but controlled her spine just in time. He’d touched her yesterday too, and when she’d pulled away from him he’d slapped her.
The second slap had hurt more than the first. On first appearance, he didn’t look to be a violent man. But after feeling the apathy in that hand, she knew slapping her was the least creative thing he could do to get her attention.
To have her obey.
“You know I care deeply for you, don’t you?”
He wanted her to nod, perhaps even tear up, but she couldn’t. Her body had frozen at his touch, and it was like trying to move concrete. If she tried any harder, she might just crack.
“Likewise, I would never kill someone you cared for.” The lie bled into his eyes and made the smile on his face turn brittle.
Maybe not now. Not yet. So they were still alive, but for how long? Until he couldn’t use them to force her to do his bidding anymore?
“What do you want to show me?” she asked.
She hoped he thought it was curiosity. But if she could get out of her room, maybe she could get information. Even a snatch of conversation could prove helpful. About Finn, about Lars. She hadn’t expected that flash of ethereal pain in her heart when Lars had been pressed against the gravel yesterday.
You used his heart as a punching bag.
Maybe she had, but so had they. They were on their way out of her, leaving her behind, until a strange, twisted fate had brought them back to her. And she knew, without knowing how, that Lars felt as deeply for her as Finn. It was like the loyalty she felt pouring off Finn, especially when they’d been on the run. Just the them two against the world. That fierce possessiveness, almost a jealousy, that had turned him into such a terse, unforgiving protector.
“With your father…” Javier glanced away, and for a moment she could almost imagine that there was a tenderness—a sadness—in those dark eyes. But then the moment passed. “It’s time you start taking your position more seriously, Elle.”
Her position in the cartel, of course, now that she truly was capo.
Javier got to his feet and clicked his fingers. One of his sicario bodyguards slipped out of the room and returned a second later with a pair of crutches.
“Can I dress first?” she asked coldly, watching as the man brought the crutches and set them against the back of the settee.
“Of course.” Javier touched her shoulder before sliding his fingertips down her arm. “I’ll be just outside.”
Before he left her room, he added, “But do hurry.”
Javier stood waiting in the corridor for Cora when she emerged a few minutes later dressed in jeans and a light sweater. If he disapproved of the frumpy outfit, he didn’t say. He seemed in a rush to get where he was going; she could barely keep up on the crutches. It was her first time in a pair—she’d been surprisingly adept at not breaking bones as a kid—and her movements were clumsy at best. It probably didn’t help that she kept glancing around, trying to seek out a maid or anyone else besides Javier and his bodyguards. Even Silvia would have been a welcome sight.
But the villa was deserted. She didn’t see a living soul all the way from her bedroom to the doors that led to the stables. When she saw their direction, she stopped walking.
“I can’t ride,” she said.
&
nbsp; It wasn’t just because of her leg. She doubted she could ever get on a horse again; not until she somehow forgot the intense trauma of being thrown.
Javier clicked his tongue, not slowing. “I underestimated your riding abilities. It’s obvious I should never have allowed you onto one of my steeds.”
Somehow, she was more pissed off that he called his horses steeds—like he was a damn knight—than at the fact he thought she couldn’t ride.
But she wouldn’t get any closer to seeing Finn and Lars if she didn’t keep up appearances. And right now, she had to appear to be a dutiful goddaughter. Fascinated with whatever it was Javier would show her. Bright eyed with admiration at what an amazing man he was.
She’d even lick his shiny shoes if it meant she could see her men again.
The thought was acidic, but she couldn’t stop it any more than she could ignore it. Maybe it was just some kind of post-traumatic stress that made her crave the sight of those two men so badly. Whatever it was, it would either fade or it wouldn’t. And while it was this strong, it would take energy she didn’t possess to fight it. She had to save her strength. What for, she didn’t know.
Her body, her entire being, felt like a coiled spring.
68
Trapped in the castle
Light played across Lars’s eyelids until they flickered open to slits. It was bright as heaven in here, wherever ‘here’ was. He forced his gaze to focus and found the edge of a window. The illumination came from there; the entire windowpane shone with white light. A tree’s shadows moved across the slats of the metal blinds.
He glanced to the side and tried turning his head a little. Even that small movement made pain shoot through his temples like someone was hammering a nail through his skull.
