Broken by the Monster: Dark Twisted Love Book One

by Fox, Logan

  Jesus, his mind felt like stale cotton candy. He hadn’t wanted to sleep so late, but at least he’d be able to drive all the way through to Silver City without having to stop.

  “Get a move on, Cora,” Finn called out. “We should have been on the road already.”

  Not unsurprisingly, there was no response from the bathroom. He winced at a twinge from his neck and started putting all his shit back in his pockets.

  The TV was on but muted. He stared at the screen as he put on his boots. A big banner reading ‘Breaking News’ splayed across the screen. Finn stood, stamping his feet into his boots, and then muttered, “Fuck,” as he made a dash for the remote control where it lay on the corner of the sofa’s headrest.

  There, besides the news reporter’s immaculate hairdo, was a picture of her. Cora looked maybe a year or two younger than she was now. She wore a bikini and was perched at the edge of the manor’s swimming pool, about to dive in.

  He stabbed at the volume control. A news presenter’s voice bellowed into the room.

  “…missing for several hours. Eleodora Rivera, daughter of one of the El Calacas Vivo’s cartel leaders, was abducted from their Phoenix home late last night.

  “It is believed that Antonio Luis Rivera fled to America after the kidnap and torture of his family more than a decade and a half ago. Until now, the infamous ‘El Araña’ had evaded law enforcement authorities.

  “An anonymous call to a local police station brought both the cartel leader’s presence and the disappearance of his daughter, age twenty, to the DEA’s attention. Any information—”

  Finn stabbed at the power button. “Cora!” he bellowed. Fuck, it wasn’t even her real name.

  He surged toward the bathroom, pushing it open before he could reign himself in. He spun around and almost left the room again, but then turned back.

  Despite the steam choking the air, it was obvious the shower was empty.

  12

  Cartel Princess

  “You’re through to the Crime Hotline. To ensure the anonymity of this call, do not give your name or identify yourself in any way. Is this a school incident?”

  “N-No.”

  “What type of crime are you reporting?”

  “It’s…uh…it was on the news today. That girl? The missing one?”

  “You’re calling to report a missing person sighting?”

  “I think so. I mean…it looks like her, but it’s hard to tell.”

  “Would this be Eleodora Rivera?”

  “Yes. I think I saw her.”

  “Could you please advise the location of the sighting?”

  “The Mountain Home Inn. Payson, Arizona.”

  “When was this?”

  “Just a few minutes ago.”

  “Can you please identify the person you saw?”

  “She-she has dark hair. Long. And her face—it looks like someone hit her. She’s with this big guy, six-two maybe. He looks like he’s in the army or something. Is she really the daughter of a drug dealer?”

  “I have no information on that. Did you see what she was wearing?”

  “Uh…a cap. A black cap. Jeans, I think. A white t-shirt.”

  “You say she was traveling with someone? Could you describe that person in detail, please?”

  “A military-looking man. Six-two, maybe six-three. Brown hair. Blue eyes. Are the cops going to come? I mean, if she’s connected to drugs—”

  “I will be passing this information to local law enforcement.”

  “When are they coming? I want them here as soon as possible.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “The inn! I want them out of my inn. Christ, what’ll this place turn into if—”

  “I’m going to have to disconnect this call to reserve your anonymity. Please call back to speak to another operator.”

  . . .

  Finn darted from the bathroom, his gaze going to the front door. Orange porch light shone through the crack between the door and the jamb. Cursing quietly, he ran over to the bed and strapped his holster to his chest. He snatched his cap from the nightstand, hesitated, and then ran around to take Cora’s Taurus off hers. Ignoring the pain in his neck and chest, he bolted out the door.

  Outside, he paused long enough to whip off his cap, scrape his nails over his hair, and tug it low over his forehead. Twilight clung to the oaks lining the inn’s parking lot. The Ford was still outside, unmoved. A few of the vehicles he could remember seeing from earlier that day had gone, others had replaced them. The inn seemed popular — there were only three vacant parking spots as he made his way toward the reception.

  Had the same people responsible for the roadblock taken Cora? Why had they left him alive?

  Music thumped ahead. Voices, laughter. Seemed the inn had its own pub. He glared at the bright yellow light falling from one of the small French windows. More shone from the open double doors. If the hostess hadn’t seen anything, he’d have to go inside and ask around. Quietly interrogate some of the other guests of the inn, find out if they’d seen Cora leave their room. Noticed strange cars parked close to their door. He’d have to be subtle, so no one thought she’d escaped him.

  It couldn’t look good — him and Cora together, her with such obvious injuries. Him too young to be her father, probably too old to be dating. And she didn’t look comfortable with him — how could she? They were oil and water. No, fuck it, they were dry-ass timber and a flamethrower.

  The hostess might have seen something. She seemed the inquisitive type, always poking her nose in other people’s business.

  He cast a cautious glance inside the pub. A bar against one wall, a small dance floor with two or three couples dancing, several tables filled with guests. Food, beer, and cigarette smoke hung thick in the air and greeted him in a warm gust as he strode past.

  Had Cora let them in, not realizing who was behind the door? So it must have been someone she’d trusted.

  Bailey.

  Finn paused, his breath hitching.

  Fuck.

  If that were the case, no one would have seen anything. She wouldn’t have made a fuss. She would have gone quietly, happily, like the goddamn spoiled brat of a princess that she was. There would be no eyewitnesses—

  Someone laughed, the sound carrying easily over some country singer’s attempt at a love song involving too many references to saddles and ranches.

  Finn stopped because he recognized that laugh.

  Backing up, Finn turned his head, neck moving stiffly and complaining about it, and stared through the open door.

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered solemnly.

  13

  Narco Pieces of Shit

  The man slung his arm around Cora’s waist, gripped her, and then used the touch on her wrist to spin her around. She laughed again, despite the way her nose throbbed at the velocity and twirled back into the man’s arms.

  She’d never imagined dancing to country music would be this much fun.

  The lyrics were distant, but the drums and the guitar had taken hold of her seconds after she’d walked in behind Fiona to fetch her and Finn some food.

  Surprisingly, the woman had seemed more eager to get her inside this pub than to give her the receipt for the deposit. She’d handed over the strip of paper, taken hold of Cora’s shoulder, and herded her into the pub. Cora had gone straight to the buffet, following the line of Fiona’s finger as the woman left, heading for reception again. The place was busy — not as busy as it was now — but she’d hung back, watching a couple get onto the dance floor and begin dancing. A new song had started playing on the pub’s rather impressive sound system.

  Her foot had begun tapping.

  Her hips had started to sway.

  Someone had come up from behind and grabbed her around the waist.

  She’d almost screamed. But the guy was handsome — despite a too-big nose — and his smile had been disarming enough that she’d only mildly protested as he’d led her to the dance fl
oor.

  That had been forever ago.

  The guy had stamina — he hadn’t once slowed down. She’d even stood on his feet a few times, but he didn’t seem to mind. Dancing was more difficult than she’d thought. Especially when they had to keep dodging the other couples as they came and went on the crowded floor.

  Distantly, she knew she had to get back to their room. Too many of the people seated around those tables stared at her. But who on earth would recognize her, here, now? She’d made sure her cap was as low as it could go. She doubted her dance partner could even tell what color her eyes were.

  The man spun her around and grabbed her tight, grinding against her ass as the singer’s lyrics slowed to a sultry rasp. He put his mouth to her ear.

  “What’s ya name, beautiful?”

  A warm tingle fluttered through her belly. Her cheeks were already warm from their furious dancing, but now they glowed.

  “Christine.” She turned to look up at him and then shied away when she saw how close he was. Another tingle spread through her.

  Their bodies were flush against each other. Her ass against his pelvis, her back against his muscled chest. He grabbed her hips, forcing her even harder against him.

  “Nice ta meet ya, Christine,” he murmured into her ear. “I’m Ned.”

  His fingertips were hurting her. She wriggled a little, trying to make space between them, but he just gripped her tighter.

  “You here with someone?” he asked, his lips brushing her ear.

  A shiver coursed through her. “Uh… yeah…”

  “So why’s he not here? Why’s he not dancing with ya?”

  “He’s…” She swallowed. What the hell was she supposed to say? “He’s sleeping.”

  “Yeah?” Ned laughed. “Ya wanna drink?”

  “I…” She didn’t want to admit she wasn’t old enough to drink. “I don’t think—”

  “Not here, beautiful,” Ned said. He kissed her ear and let out a sigh that made her cheeks grow hot again. “Got some whiskey in my room.”

  She struggled against him. “I really shouldn’t—”

  “Come on…” His lips moved to her neck. “It’ll be fun.”

  Cora’s eyes fluttered closed. God, but his lips were so soft. So suggestive. His fingertips no longer dug into her — they just held her tight against him.

  Tight enough she could feel his hip bones, the buckle of his belt against her lower back, and—

  Her eyes flashed open. She tried to step away, but he drew her back.

  The music died down as the song ended. “I have to go,” she said, turning to face him over her shoulder.

  Ned smiled at her. “To my room?”

  She laughed, the sound louder than it should have been. Hysterical, almost. “No, to mine.”

  Another song started, this one so lively that their stationary position on the dance floor put them in danger of being run over by the other dancers.

  “Sure thing, beautiful.” Ned’s hand came around, grasping roughly at her breast. “But he’ll have to watch; I don’t do no gay shit.”

  Cora struggled hard, and almost got an elbow in Ned’s stomach before the man wrestled her back. Tugged her close, and drove the bulge in his pants against her ass.

  “Please, I don’t want—”

  And then Ned was gone. She stumbled, thrown off balance by the sudden lack of arms around her. A woman flounced past, and Cora bounced off her, almost falling on her ass before the woman’s partner grabbed her elbow and yanked her back on her feet.

  “You okay?” the woman asked, eyes wide with concern.

  Cora spun around.

  Finn had Ned by the throat. He lifted the man, gave him a shake, and then tossed him aside like a piece of trash. Those pale blue eyes scanned the dancers, found her, latched on.

  She took an involuntary step back, crowding against the woman as Finn surged up to her with a furious snarl on his face.

  “Honey—” the woman began, but Finn batted aside the woman’s arm before it had time to slide around Cora’s shoulder.

  “We’re leaving,” Finn rumbled as he grabbed her wrist. She yelped when he yanked her forward, and then stumbled after him.

  “Motherfucker!” came a yell.

  Finn turned. Ned’s fist connected with his jaw, cracking his head to the side. Finn’s fingers tore away from Cora’s wrist as he lurched to the right.

  “No!” Cora shrieked, hurtling herself at Ned. The man seemed surprised to see her. He was even more surprised when she slammed the heel of her palm up against the base of his nose. He wheeled back with a cry, clutching a nose spraying with blood.

  Finn had recovered and swung back to Ned with a growl. His fist met the guy’s chin, and Ned collapsed to the dance floor without a sound.

  The music cut off.

  Feet shuffled, and someone yelled, “Call the cops!”

  Finn jerked, throwing Cora a furious look. Then he snatched her wrist and tugged her forward, forcing his way through the crowd accumulating on the edge of the dance floor. He batted chairs, people, tables out of his way.

  “Finn.”

  “Quiet.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Shut it!”

  She tore her wrist free. Finn spun to face her. A nearby porch light bathed his face, turning his hard jaw into orange marble. Her mouth was open, something scathing ready, but he lurched forward and grabbed her, dragging her after him.

  “Let go!” she yelled.

  Instead, he wrestled her in beside him and slapped a hand over her mouth. She struggled, her scream muffled against his massive hand as Finn hurried down the hallway to their room.

  “Un-fucking-believable,” Finn muttered.

  So she bit his hand.

  He whipped it off her mouth, hissing like a snake, and threw her a contorted snarl.

  “Stop treating me like a child!” She yelled. “I can look after—”

  “You are a fucking child!” Finn shook his hand. Had she drawn blood? “You’re a spoiled, idiotic, useless child, Eleodora.” he spat.

  The sound of her real name went through her like a whip. She swallowed hard, hands shaking when he shoved her duffel bag into her arms. “How…how do you—” she managed in something barely stronger than a whisper.

  He stabbed a finger to the passenger-side door. “Get in the fucking truck.”

  Finn wrenched open the Ford’s hood open. A second later, the truck rumbled into life.

  She moved around the car, heart pounding. How the hell had Finn figured out who she was? The thought that he knew made her skin writhe.

  The music hadn’t started up yet, so when someone came running toward them, she heard it clearly despite the Ford’s thrumming engine. Finn slammed the hood shut, turning as Fiona came to a stop a few feet away.

  “You stay right where you are,” she said. Her eyes flashed from Finn to Cora. “The cops are on their way.”

  Finn gave Fiona a blank look and then opened his door. Fiona came after him, grabbing the handle.

  “I know who you are! I told ‘em. They’re gonna lock you up and deport you, you narco piece of—”

  Finn yanked the handle out of Fiona’s hands. She took a hurried step back when he revved the Ford’s engine into an angry growl, before throwing the truck into reverse and peeling out of the parking lot. A few people stood outside the pub’s doors, silhouetted by the warm lights streaming out from inside. A pair of them had a bloody Ned draped from their shoulders.

  Cora shuddered and cupped her eyes with a hand. Her mind reeled, and her body felt like she’d caught a fever; chilled and shaking and loose.

  Finn exhaled loudly. The sound made her risk a peek from under her hand.

  “The daughter of El Araña?” he murmured, eyes shining with zealous anger when he glanced at her.

  She licked her lips. “I never said—”

  “The fucking daughter of the fucking capo of a fucking cartel?” Finn said through his teeth. “You didn’t thin
k I needed to know that?” His voice kept getting harder, crystallizing.

  “I said he worked—”

  “He doesn’t work for them. He fucking owns them. He is them.”

  “I’m sorr—”

  “Fuck!” Finn slammed his fist against the truck’s console, and then washed his hands over his face. He let out another low, “Fuck.”

  A cold dread filled Cora then. She hugged herself hard and tried to force her lips to stop trembling. Her eyes darted over Finn, and she saw the butt of her Taurus sticking out from his belt. “Take me to Texas. That’s what you were paid to do. You just take me to—”

  “Shut it,” Finn said, lifting a hand in her direction. “I need to think this through.” His jaw flinched, and he brought a hand carefully to his neck.

  For a few minutes, the only sound was the hum of the Ford’s tires on the road.

  “I’m sorry,” Cora said quietly when she couldn’t stand the silence anymore.

  “You’d fucking better be, princess.” His eyes shot to her and then flickered away. His voice softened. “You’re on the news, you know that?”

  “The news? How—” she began, but Finn made an irritated sound, and she hurriedly cut off.

  “They had a picture. You were wearing a pink bikini. Sound familiar?”

  Cora blinked at him. “A pink—”

  “Yes, a fucking pink bikini!” Finn’s hand curled into a fist against the steering wheel before he flattened it out and gripped the wheel again. “Who took the photo?”

  She bit the inside of her lip so hard, a flash of pain jolted through her.

  “Who?” Finn said in a low voice.

  “Bailey,” she whispered.

  “Fucking knew it,” Finn murmured.

  There was silence between them again.

  “Where are we going?” Cora asked quietly.

  When he did speak, his voice was low and tight. “You want to live long enough to see your father again, you’re going to have to start trusting me, Ms. Swan.”

  So it was back to Ms. Swan? But maybe it was better; she didn’t like the way she’d felt when he said her name. It was too intimate. She kept her eyes on the road and gingerly touched her nose. At least it had stopped throbbing.