Blood Enchantment
Page 62
Gia's soft crying is because of what could have happened. Again.
But it didn't.
I don't have to be a genius psychologist to understand that she blames herself. It's in every line of her body shaking with her sobs of regret.
My gaze takes in the room. Still in Norway.
But a hospital is a hospital. The smells are the same worldwide—medicinal, sterile, and final in some indefinable way that makes me sad.
I must have made a small noise because Gia's hands fall from her tear-stained face, and she stares at me for an entire second before she launches at me.
“Greta!” she cries.
I open my arms, and she lands on top of me, her chest still heaving with sobs. “I'm so sorry! This is all on me…”
I'm weak from exhaustion and really cool meds, but I manage to pull away, looking into her face.
I softly shake my head. “No. I wanted to do Club Alpha.”
Gia's face screws up in a crooked look of bewilderment. “What?” She sinks slowly into the modern chair beside my bed. More like a perch, it fits the room's décor but looks unbearably uncomfortable.
“Some of this wasn't Club Alpha, Greta.”
It's my turn to pause. I hike myself up. My head swims, and I breathe through the sudden vertigo.
Her hand touches my forearm. “You okay?”
I nod, taking measured breaths. “What part?” I grip the armrests of the hospital bed.
“I spoke with Zaire, and he said the game is over—officially.”
I roll my eyes, taking stock of my beat-up body. “Good goddamn thing.” A single tear rolls out without my permission. Gia's sad gaze tracks it as a shaky exhale plows out, running over the top of my escaped emotions.
“The entire thing was a setup.” A small smile hovers over her full lips.
“Which part?” I spy water with a bendy straw and carefully lift the cup, sipping delicious liquid down my parched throat.
“The narco—everything.”
Instantly, I remember the Hispanic men in the stairwell and recount the incident to Gia.
“Zaire,” she says with a knowing smile.
My mouth hangs agape. “So, he engineered the Mexican drug cartel to falsify everything?”
Gia lifts a shoulder. “Actually, he did more than that. Zaire hired some of their people to travel to Norway to oversee things, without knowing Tor and Lisbeth's roles.”
“But they knew?” I ask.
Gia nods. “Tor and Lisbeth somehow knew of Club Alpha. Their plan was intertwined with Zaire's—without his knowledge. It's been determined the pair used Club Alpha as a way to see their sick plan through.”
My mind is spinning. “The doctor?”
Gia's lips flatten. “Dead.”
I suck in my next breath. “He was supposed to falsify that Lisbeth had been killed for the narco—by Paco.”
Gia nods sadly.
“Lisbeth killed him.”
“Yes.”
My mind is reeling. “The men in the stairwell?”
“They found Tallinn. They were watching you, not stalking you.”
I shake my head, leaning back against the pillows. The web is too tangled for me to unwind. “What about the almost rape?” I ask in a voice barely above a whisper. My eyes are trained on the ceiling, but tears like fire sear a path down my face. I'm helpless to stop them.
I can't get the memory of their touch out of my head.
Gia's voice shakes slightly. “Obviously, Zaire wasn't part of anything to do with perpetuating violence against you. The plan for Club Alpha was going to be much less violent… the narco angle was a plot device to throw you and Paco together.”
Paco.
The last scene plays in my head like a bad horror movie as I see my naked self stepping up behind Lisbeth and bashing her in the head with a discarded piece of stool. Then I use it on Tor. His tooth lands on Paco. I’ll never forget the way Tor looked at me with murder in his pale eyes.
I shiver, and Gia opens her mouth. But I speak instead, banishing the memories for the moment, “So my own sister wanted me dead, and Tor was what? Along for the ride?”
The betrayal is the worst. Tor had already raped me. For her.
I shudder.
And he planned to again, with Lisbeth watching the entire time. My death and her inheritance by default wasn't enough for an explanation.
Gia explains the rest: her plan to claim my identity, her marriage to Tor, and how that nicely secured their mutual fortunes.
So Tor was telling the truth.
Lisbeth needed to exact revenge because our father had randomly chosen me as the public heir. Lisbeth would have needed to wait for the same acknowledgment.
It wasn't in her nature to wait.
The room is silent when the last word of explanation drops from Gia's mouth. When she asks quietly if I've heard from Paco, I shake my head.
After all this Club Alpha stuff, nothing has come of it.
Poof.
Fifty million dollars for a fantasy that doesn't come true.
Gia takes my hand. “He saved you.”
I nod.
I have my life. Even though it's empty.
Then I say the thing that's most important. “And I saved myself.”
We smile at each other just as the door opens.
Speak of the devil.
Paco walks in, and my heart comes alive.
*
Paco
“That bastard Zaire,” Tallinn says then coughs, grimacing at the movement.
I lean forward to adjust his pillows, and he says, “Fuck off, Paco—I'm not a pussy.”
I grin, doing it anyway.
“I know you are not a pussy,” I reply, and he shakes his head at my terrible manipulation of the word. “But you did take a bullet for me.”
His smile fades, as does mine.
“Worth it,” he says.
I touch his hand briefly, and he smirks. “Don't get all sappy on me.”
I incline my head, putting my fist in front of my mouth. “I would never dream of it.”
Tallinn sees that I'm covering a smile. “Yeah, ya would. You're all Latin and that. You guys get all smoochy. I've seen it with my own eyes.”
I roll mine. “I think you're doing just fine, friend.”
Tallinn scowls. “What? That's it? I get a short little visit, pat on my hand, and off you trot? Nope.”
My chin dips lower, and my fist falls, revealing the humor I can't hide, the excitement thrilling through me.
Tallinn squints suspiciously. “What?”
“You will be released shortly, yes?”
Tallinn nods. “Yeah. Can't wait to bust outta here. Fucking hospitals—creepy. Even if the Norwegian chicks are hot and they have to take care of me.” He waggles his eyebrows.
I grin. “Then I cannot be detained. I must see Greta.”
Tallinn's expression sobers instantly. “How is she?”
Officer Fett expounded on what Zaire could not. The events of the past few weeks are so layered, I don't know where to begin.
Tallinn must see some of it on my face. “Just give me the bottom line. Reader's Digest style.”
I do. All of it.
After a half an hour passes, I finish.
Tallinn gives a low whistle. “Wow, that's the short version?” He laces his fingers and stuffs his knotted hands beneath his head, grimacing. “You can't make that shit up.”
I give a listless chuckle. “No. Zaire apparently pays off the Narco better than I.”
“Yeah.” His eyes slide to mine. “What about those freaks, Tor and Lisbeth?”
“Dead.”
Tallinn snorts. “Never did warm up to that bitch.”
I would agree.
Tallinn blows out a rough exhale. “Did they work Greta over again?”
I shake my head.
“But she's probably still messed up.”
I nod. I don't think there's any way she couldn't be.
“You killed Tor?”
A spontaneous smile lights my face.
Tallinn laughs. “You found him, Paco.”
My eyes sharpen on his face, slightly startled. “Who?”
“Your inner animal.”
His hand rises, closing into a fist.
I bump it. It's immature to celebrate the taking of a life. But it feels so innately right—and good. Tor Aros was an evil human being. He'd irrevocably wounded a woman that I'm bound to.
Or that is my hope.
I stand up. I'm determined to find out.
Tallinn's eyes hold knowledge. “Do it, man. Show her your worth, Paco.”
“There is no showing my friend—only doing.”
Tallinn smirks. “Then what are you doing here with my hairy ass? Get doinʼ.”
I move away without a word, shutting the door silently behind me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Paco
I splay my fingers on Greta's hospital door before entering.
After exchanging a nod with the lawman guarding the door, I gently push. The heavy door whispers open, and I see a woman, with coloring not unlike mine, perched beside Greta. She does not seem surprised to see me, and she stands.
She marches up to me, her head level with my shoulder, and puts her hands on either side of my face.
Surprise holds me still. Shock freezes me when she kisses me on the mouth. It's not a sexual press of lips but a robust greeting.
She rolls back to her heels. “There!” she announces.
Greta laughs in the background, and confused, I take in their amused expressions.
“I just wanted to put a lip-lock on the man who saved my friend.”
My face heats, and I fight the urge to scrub a hand over the hot flesh.
“I'm Gia,” she says, sticking out her hand.
Ah. I take her hand and give a single shake and drop it. “I am Francisco Emmanuel Lewis Castillo.”
Her hand goes to her hip as an ebony eyebrow shoots up. “Huh.”
My lips twitch. “You may call me Paco.”
“Well thank Christ! That other bunch of names is a mouthful.”
Very American. A laugh parts my lips, and she grins. Her smile fades as she grips my shoulders.
Her lips brush my ear. “Take care of her, or I'll cut off your nuts, capiche?”
I whisper back without missing a beat, “If she will allow it.”
“See that you do.”
“Gia, please don't threaten Paco.” Greta’s eyes move to mine, swimmingly blue and intense. “I think he's proven himself.”
“Mhmm.” She says as though unconvinced.
Gia gives me one more death stare, as Tallinn would call it, and leaves through the door I just entered.
Greta and I are alone.
Finally.
The silence is tense.
“Kind of awkward,” Greta comments, high color beginning to spread over the abrasions of her face.
I shrug, stuffing my hands inside the pockets of my slacks.
Awkward doesn't concern me. Not anymore.
“They—” Her throat convulses. “They gave me a shower.”
Her discomfort is evident in the way she knots and smoothes the sheet between her slender fingers.
I don't know what will be too much. My heart already beats inside the palm of her hand, though she remains unaware.
My body stays rooted across the room.
I will not push, though every fiber of my being would be holding Greta now at her command—were she to ask.
Our gazes lock.
Tears begin to flow out of her eyes, coloring the hospital gown to a deep blue. “I-I am so ashamed.”
My feet take me across the room in two strides. Every bit of me is tense, and I say with quiet fierceness, “You have nothing to feel ashamed about. Nada.”
Her swollen eyes look up at me, and in that moment I would give quite a bit to kill Tor Aros a second time.
But death only comes once.
Life has given us a second chance. I will not waste it.
My fingertip traces the fine bone of her jaw, unmarred by Aros’s beating. When it nears her lips she kisses the tip, leaning the side of her face against my palm.
I sit beside her on the bed, holding her face with the greatest care of anything I have ever held in my life.
After a moment, she pushes the covers away and crawls onto my lap, curling up into a ball. I hold her as she cries against my chest.
The salt of her sadness is my redemption.
*
Greta-two weeks later
“I'm fine, I swear it,” I say into the phone. I move through the hospital's glass doors and tip my face into the sun. A last rare warm autumn day has appeared, and I suck up the faint heat with a smile.
I am free.
“You better be. And Paco better be the stud to end all studs.” Gia's words are drier than the Sahara desert.
I smile at her words.
Paco's hand is clasped in mine.
He hasn't left my side since I fell apart in his arms two weeks ago.
I inhale deeply then release it slowly.
Paco was there for every piece of me to be glued back together. He didn't run when I snotted his expensive shirt. He simply took it off.
I slipped my hand inside his sports coat, placing my palm against his bare chest directly over his heart.
His warm hand covered mine.
“I think he's okay,” I say in the present, across the long-distance connection, my eyes steady on his.
“No está mal?” Paco's eyes never leave mine as he lifts my hand to kiss each knuckle.
Just okay? I translate then giggle.
“What is going on? Are you doing some hanky-panky, Greta?”
“No,” I reply, but my voice is breathy.
“All right, get your mushy self home. Pronto.”
“Yes, ma'am.” I swipe Gia's image away without looking.
“Gia?” Paco asks without a trace of accent.
I nod. “She worries,” I answer.
“No more than I.”
I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders and touch my forehead to his chest, ignoring the pain of my face. I don't know when Paco became home for me. Touching him makes me feel as though nothing can ever hurt me.
It's amazing what some real-life therapy can do for a girl.
I pocket my cell and our fingers thread as we walk to the waiting limo.
Tallinn steps out of the passenger side and opens the door.
“Tallinn,” Paco admonishes, and I can totally tell Tallinn loves to break the rules.
“It was a bullet, not a grenade. I'm good as new.”
I think he's a little gray around the edges, but I don't say it. He's not driving, just traveling with us.
A nurse, a beautiful one, will be on Paco's private jet to take care of Tallinn. I will be going with them, as well.
Paco and I have a lot to figure out.
A good start within horrible conditions doesn't guarantee anything. But it's the most hope I've had in the last two years.
I'll take it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Paco
The wind whistles between the downtown high-rises in the heart of Seattle, twisting transluscent blond strands of Greta's unbraided hair, tossing them around her face. I tuck a clump behind her ear, and she looks up at me.
We're standing outside Club Alpha.
Neither of us knows what to say. It's been a month since the ordeal in Norway and our subsequent return to the States. Our fantasy contract is over.
Zaire always closes everything.
And he's never been more smug. I had to admit that there was a woman out there who was meant for me. I'm not sure that Greta is aware in the way I am.
Tallinn is hanging around at the hotel we have been living in temporarily. I have just returned from Columbia to oversee a new plant, and every second I was away from Greta was unbearable.
“I was thinking the same thoughts.” I shrug, and she laughs again, pressing her finger in the deep dimple in my chin.
I snap my teeth at her and growl.
Greta bursts out laughing, and I pull her against me.
Slowly her natural humor and personality are reasserting themselves, and I'm grateful.
“Ms. Dahlem!” someone shouts, and I sigh.
The paparazzi. Again. They won't leave us alone, specifically, Greta. Her story of beautiful, almost-murdered Norwegian heiress is simply too tantalizing for the media to ignore.
Her fingers tighten on the lapels of my jacket as my substitute bodyguard throws up his hands. “Stand back, guys.”
I pull Greta against the side of my body as she slips on large sunglasses. Celebrities don't wear glasses to look fetching. They wear them against the blinding flashbulbs.
Greta trembles as the cameras flash and click.
Gia Township said anything sudden might trigger Greta for many months later. I loathe the insensitivity of the press as well as the greater masses of humanity who are more curious than compassionate.
“Have you considered my invitation?” I ask quietly beside her ear.
The new bodyguard swings open the door to the limo.
A photographer sticks the nose of his long lens into Greta's face, and I bash it aside before anyone can react.
Greta gasps.
I growl.
No one gets near her.
“Hey! You fucker! I'll sue you!” he screams at me.
Typical American. They can't think of an outcome that doesn't involve suing. In this way, the Mexicans are smarter. If you're enough of an imbecile to get yourself in a corner of your own making, there will be no recourse from our government, only accountability through cause and effect. That keeps things simpler.
“See that you do,” I say with a nonchalance I feel to my marrow.
Greta smiles as she slides in first.
When we're seated and the comments and bulbs are swarming outside the blackened glass of the limo, I face her.
“I've thought about it a ton, Paco.”
My heart races, and I can't catch it. Only she can. “I will.”