by Amarie Avant
“The maids were just arriving as I did. The kitchen seems as if it hasn’t been used for days,” Hector said in between bites of food. He spoke in Spanish, apparently trying to keep his conversation private from her.
“We’ve been in search of Lalina since you left,” Canelo replied.
“I see. Soledad advised of your return a few days ago.”
“Ye-yes,” Canelo said.
“You’ve been in my home with my woman all this time. No other guards? No other maids?” he asked.
“Well, no. Because we had the girl here too.” Canelo placed his spoon back in his bowl without taking another sip. “We cannot trust everyone. I didn’t want it to get out that we had the upper hand with Escobar.”
“Makes sense. Who can be trusted these days, eh?” Hector placed the cloth napkin in his lap. “I’ve had security cameras installed.”
The color from Canelo’s face faded. Mary Jane glanced back and forth between the two. The intensity of silence made it hard for her to breathe.
“Hector…I-I can explain!”
“You’ve been in my bed,” Hector murmured.
Canelo slammed his hand on the table. “I didn’t want to sleep with her!”
“I said, you’ve been in my bed! Is it not apparent that I don’t give a fuck about Soledad? Wasn’t it evident a few minutes ago?” Hector stopped to take a sip of his wine. “There are some things we haven’t been eye-to-eye about, Canelo.”
“I’m-I’m sorry,” Canelo replied. His hands went to the Mother Mary medal around his neck, and he spilled an arsenal of repentance, begging for mercy.
“Shhh!” Hector commanded. The room became deathly quiet. “When I started my business, I economized on very small towns and readymade farms,” Hector began. “I saved you from a life as a little beggar!”
Canelo’s fleshy face softened. “For that, I will always be grateful.”
“I turned you into the man you are today. Put more money in your pocket than you’d ever see where you came from.” Hector pointed a stiff hand at him.
“And I appreciate it,” Canelo spoke sincerely.
“You are a very big man. Yet, I’ve come to understand to be patient with you, Canelo. See, it takes time for your brain to catch up,” Hector said in annoyance as he tapped an index finger to his forehead. His lips curved into a smile, framing expensive veneers. “Treated you like a son all along.”
“Thank you, Hector,” Canelo practically spat the words, the sorrow for his misdeeds written all over his face.
Hector glanced around and laughed. “I said I’ve been patient with you. Fuck, I’ve wagered with a few of these motherfuckers here… That you’d find out a long time ago, though you didn’t.” He paused as more of his men tuned in with laughter. Hector picked up his bowl and slurped up the last bits of creamy soup. He turned to Mary Jane and in English said, “Eat up, please. You are my guest.”
Her eyes cast downward to the full bowl of soup as Canelo appeared swallowed up with guilt.
“Still he doesn’t get it?” Hector spoke in Spanish. They all shook their heads no.
“I,” Hector replied, standing. He dabbed his lips with the cloth, then let it float to his empty bowl. “Requested the death of your family. The man and police who invaded your home, killed your family and set it all on fire, work for me.”
“You,” Canelo whispered, beginning to grip a fork in his hand. He twirled the handle in his thick, sweaty palm. “You…you…”
“Si.”
“But!” Canelo stood, and then they all did. “But you’re my family. You’ve been like a father to me!”
“Yes.” Hector shrugged. “I’ve done my best raising you.”
“Raising! Me! You–raised–me!” Canelo stabbed himself in the chest with the fork. With each word, spots of blood dotted his light gray button up. “You took me out of the home with my Madre and brought me here. Motherfucker, you raised me!”
Mary Jane looked back and forth between them. Canelo crying and stabbing himself made her mouth drop open. Guns were raised at the snap of a finger, all pointed at Canelo. The fork fell from his fingers in a nano-second. He whisked out a snub-nosed revolver and pointed it toward Hector.
Mary Jane reared back in her chair as shots fired. On hands and knees, she slithered toward the door to the kitchen. Pushing it forward with one hand, she quickly crawled inside as a frenzy of fireworks went off.
The sound of a hammer cocked back on a Winchester rifle brought her back to her knees before she could even make it to her feet.
“Make a move, I’ll blow your fucking head off!” said the cook in broken English.
She closed her eyes at his words and nodded her head then took a deep breath.
“Up!” he announced. “Slowly, very slowly, Lalina!”
Mary Jane cried, “I-I’m not—”
“Shut up!”
She stood, eye-level to his gnarly yellow teeth.
He grabbed a knife from the rack. When he lashed out with it, Mary Jane jumped back. He gripped her wrist and yanked her body to him. Her hand went out to hit the chef, but he turned her quickly and pinned her back to him. The knife chewed softly at her neck.
His sweaty body molded to her behind. “I wonder how Escobar will feel when receiving a call while I rape every orifice of your body.”
Mary Jane whimpered at the callous beast. He pulled her against his body, his member hard and poking harshly against her bottom. The chef wrapped a large arm around her throat, putting her in a headlock. “Do you think Escobar will stay on the phone long enough to hear his precious daughter take her last breath?”
The cook’s fat sausage fingers groped at her breasts. The slob became a wild animal as he struggled and concentrated with undoing the button of her jeans.
In that exact instant, Mary Jane hauled back her head and slammed against his fleshy nose.
“You bitch!” he screamed. The knife flew from his hand. His eyes narrowed even more until they seemed to be swallowed by puffy skin. She kicked him in the crouch, and he fell to his knees.
“Now, Mr. Cook. That’s never been my favorite word.” She smiled.
“Yeah, but now this knife gets to have some fun with you.” He grinned, grabbing the serrated utility knife from the rack. The blade was semi-hooked and had a jagged edge that matched the sharpness of the chef’s smile.
“Not gonna happen.” Mary Jane grabbed the wood chopping block as he lunged toward her. The sound of it smacking his forehead sent shimmers of happiness down her spine. His large body fell back and hit the floor, knocking him out cold.
Taking a quick breath, she stood up as the side door flew open. Her eyes widened. “You!”
55
Wulf’s heart began to beat once more as he took in Mary Jane, a disheveled mess. He thanked God she was alive. The mansion had been surrounded in chaos while he strategically moved throughout it in search of her. He’d feared the worst.
Wulf sidestepped the large cook. He quickly scanned across the room for more threats. But the shootout in the dining room still rang loud and clear.
“Mary Jane, we have to go,” he ordered. Though getting out of the house was paramount, he reached out to embrace her. She pushed him. “What did I do?”
“You bastard!” Mary Jane screamed.
“Shhh!” He put a finger to his lips. There had been more movement in the house when he scoped out the place. He’d run through the kitchen entrance upon seeing her through the window.
On instinct, Wulf knelt.
“Lalina.” The voice was soft, sincere, and held a hint of madness. The kitchen door swung open again. Wulf reached for Mary Jane to yank her down, but she stood rooted in shock.
Hector held a bloody hand to his chest but smiled at her. In his other hand was the shiny, pearl handled Desert Eagle. The barrel of the 44 magnum gun was at her heart. “Sorry about your last meal; my team can be a bit overzealous at times. There’s nothing like seizing the moment when shots are fired. Let’s
take this party into the office, shall we? I have a camcorder to set up.”
Wulf looked up as Mary Jane nodded. He almost rose but at his angle noticed the gun in the man’s hand and couldn’t risk her life while lunging at the man.
Mary Jane argued, “Oh, I get it. You plan to record my death? A few hours ago, I was really thinking about dying…about the man I care for with every bit of my heart and soul, and how he abandoned me.” She gritted her teeth, the tremble of rage in her voice was enough for Wulf to grimace.
Hector chuckled. “You’re chattier than before. I enjoy a laugh.”
Wulf attempted to catch Mary Jane’s gaze. All he needed her to do was get down as swiftly as possible. But instead, she started out of the kitchen with Hector. In a crouched position, he moved toward their voices.
The dining room was a massacre. Riddled bodies slumped over tables, on the floor, and in seats. He traded the knife for a nine-millimeter. Checked the clip and continued to follow the sound of their voices. They were heading up the stairs. While heading up the stairs, he could hear their seemingly friendly chat.
“Please have a seat while I ready the camcorder,” Hector ordered to Mary Jane.
“Okay.” Mary Jane was so complacent that, although he could not observe them, Wulf had a hunch she had something up her sleeve. Don’t get yourself killed, MJ. He fisted the gun in his hand while coming down the corner closer to the room where their voices traveled from.
Wulf peered into an office. Hector was an easy target, but still held his gun on Mary Jane. She caught Wulf’s gaze as she sat on a chaise near the cherry wood desk. She was pulling something out of her pocket and behind her back.
“Get down,” he mouthed with tensed lips. She shook her head no.
The minx was unpredictable, and Wulf feared shooting a man with his finger on the trigger trained at Mary Jane. Especially if she refused to cooperate.
“I’ll have more help in a few minutes,” Hector warned, “but I need you to cooperate and not try to run. If you do, realize that this property is surrounded. My men will be on you before you can make it off my land. Got that?”
“Sure.” She shrugged as he turned around to look in the drawer of the desk. Wulf ducked out of the doorway as Hector rustled around in his desk. The moment Hector turned back around, Wulf glanced inside to see Mary Jane stuffing something into a bottle behind her back.
“Did I say you can move?” He faced her.
“Not even for a better backdrop?” Mary Jane held a throw pillow in front of her.
Assuming she was harmless, Hector turned around to check another drawer.
“Ah ha! Here we are.” Hector grabbed a camcorder. The instant he glanced Mary Jane’s way, she swung her arm forward, the chemicals in the bottle soaring out and spraying his face.
“Hold your breath!” Mary Jane shouted to Wulf as she ran toward the door. Just speaking sent fire racing down her throat and lungs.
Hector reached for Mary Jane as she darted past him. Wulf took the shot. A bullet pierced straight through Hector’s right eye. The drug lord fell backward into a clay statue that fell and shattered along with his dead body.
Wulf and Mary’s hands connected, and they ran downstairs and out the door. Heavy exhaust sounds sparked through the air. As Hector had said, there were more men coming. SUVs were packed with armed men ready to strike.
“Wulf,” she gasped the words, voice hoarse.
He tugged her hand.
“But that’s the way down—”
“Trust me,” Wulf barked.
They sprinted toward the thicket, lungs working overdrive.
Hard voices shouted words in Spanish and footsteps pounded the pavement as men got out of cars behind them, but Wulf and Mary Jane escaped into the foliage before being noticed.
The sun had fallen, but the stars had yet to reign. And it was an hour into driving when Wulf realized Mary Jane hadn’t said a single word to him. He’d just pulled back onto the highway after navigating rocky, curvy terrain. He rubbed a hand along the back of his neck and then shook his heavy arms. While taking the road at about five miles over the speed limit, he contemplated their interaction after the explosion. Fucking ironic. She hates me like this is day one.
“I thought you left me, MJ,” he spoke, the sorrow woven into his tone.
“Good thing you’ve vowed your love to me, Wulf. You promised to me on countless occasions that you’d never leave me as I lay in your arms crying about stupid dreams.” Her voice raised with each word. “You made promises! Now, was it my imagination? I could’ve sworn I saw you earlier today, after that nasty motherfucker wedged his tongue down my throat. You left me.”
A heavy grumble vibrated through him. “I apolo—”
She cut him off in a monotonous voice, “We’re both alive.”
The tires screeched and Wulf jerked the wheel to the right. They went swerving onto the gravel. Mary Jane’s beautiful brown eyes glowered at him, and she held a hand against the dashboard.
“Fuck that, Mary Jane!” he shouted. “You don’t get to turn off, okay? You don’t have the right. We’ve been through too much shit together.”
Her steely gaze slid away from his and to the open road. For a second, Wulf noticed a softness in her eyes, but the rest of her was like a detached shell. She said, “Drive.”
Adrenaline washed through his veins at her flippant demeanor. I keep fighting for this woman and she doesn’t give a fuck. But what he’d said was true. After all the crap they’d gone through together, he’d be forever loyal. Wulf’s head dropped back against the headrest as he breathed heavily. “I fucked up. I thought you left with Keegan and Megan.”
Mary Jane sniggered, still glaring out the window. She was pulling even further away from him than they’d been in the past few days. “Why the fuck would I leave with those people?”
“Those people? They’re your family!” Wulf reached over and grabbed her chin. He forced her to meet his gaze, and her lips trembled in indignation. “I went to see Amy and Tom after I learned that you hadn’t run off on me.”
Mary Jane silently stared out the window.
“After I left, they were murdered. The only man in this entire world that you never get a fucking attitude with—he did it.” His gaze latched on to hers again, searching for a shred of humanity. The grit of her jaw was all the emotion he’d see. Wulf let her chin go. Again her gaze went to the road. This time, she turned her body away from him, lifting her knees onto the seat and positioned herself along the side window.
Wulf pulled back onto the road. “They were our friends.”
The blood in his veins boiled. Mary Jane was being seriously callous, and he’d just risked his life for her.
Wulf drove in silence; his jaw clenched. He heard a quieted sob coming from Mary Jane. Not sure if he should strike up another conversation, he reached over to grab her thigh. Her hand went to the top of his and the only sign that she gave a damn about Tom and Amy was a soft squeeze.
“Thank you for saving me,” she mustered after a few more minutes.
“I’d do anything for you, Mary Jane.”
56
After a few hours of driving under the cloak of night, Wulf traded in cars. She returned to the passenger seat and gulped down the lump in her throat. She’d cried and cried already. Amy Blackwood’s death hit hard. But Mary Jane had a set of skills as evidenced by her brainwashing. She clung to the “drug addicted Megan” who rarely exhibited any grain of emotion. A part of her felt an urge for a hit. Some hardcore shit that would cut through the loneliness.
Wulf’s large, muscular frame was tense in the driver’s seat. With the sporadically placed lights on the freeway, shadows cast along his angular face. It made him less approachable, which was all wrong since she was truly the asshole. They’d been through so much shit together he’d said.
Wrong. She’d ruined his life and forced the shit upon him. It was the same thing Peter had done to her. And she hated Peter. Why didn’t Dylan
Wulf want to be a million miles away from her?
Out of the blue he spoke. “We’re going to have to drive to the airport in Le Quela.”
Mary Jane’s eyes closed as she listened to him. She imagined that they were back in the villa they’d rented. They were happy and life was good. A small seed churned in her gut, warning her that no matter what, her life ultimately sucked. No need keeping Wulf around. People around you die, just push him away, something told her.
“How do you know about Jake?” she finally asked, after guilt had all but eroded the lining of her stomach.
“Juarez and Robertson.”
“So Jake and the Feds are searching for me?”
“The Feds want to sacrifice you to Jake. He’s murdered half a dozen women named Mary Jane.”
“Oh,” she mumbled as his words just solidified the fact that she was toxic. Faces flashed before her gaze. The elderly Protestant couple, the Blackwoods, the women Jake murdered, even some of the idiots who worked for Beasley had to have families that would miss them.
“Stop,” she said.
“Why?”
“I’m feeling queasy.” Her hand planted against the dashboard again, this time Mary Jane’s vision began to swim before her.
“I told you that I’m getting you home to your parents.”
Her voice was devoid of its commanding nature, almost alluring as she pleaded, “Okay, but not tonight. Can we stop? I need a hot shower and a good night’s sleep.” I need to save you from me. Being around me is a death sentence.
“All right,” Wulf replied. “Just a few hours’ sleep, then we will head home.”
An hour later, they’d pulled into the parking lot of a two-story motel. When he said he’d check in and wanted her to stay in the car, Mary Jane saw that as the prime opportunity to hit the road.
To save Wulf’s life.
To save him from her.
But she couldn’t leave him without a note and a quick check in the glove compartment showed old, frayed insurance documents. Nothing to write with.
