by Elodie Colt
“What is the painting about?”
“It shows four shepherds standing around a tomb. No one knows what the artist implied with the title, but some interpret it as something like no matter how great someone’s life appears to be, eventually the same fate awaits all of us.”
I ponder over this before I remark with a harrumph, “You took off your clothes in front of me.”
She finishes dressing, and I’m shocked to see how well the clothes suit her. Wouldn’t have thought a real woman’s body hides underneath the baggy pants. “So? Never seen a naked woman?”
“Not one like you, no.”
I stare at the door long after Daniel leaves. I can’t figure him out, and I don’t like it. He doesn’t strike me as a bad guy, something that makes it even harder to decide how to react in his presence.
I can deal with the bad guys. In school, I made my first friend when I saved a girl from a bully who found it funny to eat up her lunch every day. One day, I stuffed her sandwich with a Habanero pepper my mother grew in the garden. The boy nearly died of a heart attack.
A guy once tried to angle a score at Kendra, not getting that she wasn’t interested in him. He stuck to his guns, though, trying to drag her away from me. I pulled his ear until it nearly tore off, his package firmly in my hands. I swore to tear off his dick should I ever see him again.
But the good guys? They were a mystery.
When I was fifteen, one came up to me and told me I had the most beautiful eyes. When I gave him a confused look and asked him how he intended to verify his theory, he left with a shaking head.
When we moved into Sam’s apartment, a man saw me struggling with two suitcases, a duffel bag, and a plant in my hands. He came over to offer his help. His mistake was to approach me from behind, and I ended up bopping the pot on his head in my mental state. He ran off with a broken nose.
So, how the fuck should I handle Daniel?
I’m not blind. He’s what Kendra would call ‘a solid ten’ with mocha brown hair that grows longer in front, sleeked back in a soccer-star style, and the sides cropped short. A set of pale blues enhances his sharp features. Whenever his gaze settles on me, my body reacts in a weird way—my hands get sweaty, my belly flips, and my cheeks heat up.
Fear? No, I’m not afraid of him. He doesn’t want to harm me—his actions proved as much. But I’m still in the dark about what he wants from me. He didn’t say so, but drug lord is written all over his expensive Armani suit.
Drugs are the reason my father became a different man. Drugs are the reason my mother lost faith. Drugs are the reason thousands die every year while children are exploited, families are destroyed, and the global economy crumbles.
I don’t acknowledge Emilio as he saunters in, but I’m curious about the pile he sets on my desk. Strolling over to it, I find a note attached to a pencil and a sketchpad on top of the pile. The pencil is of the harder variety. In fact, its lead is so hard, I could use it as a cutter.
Leonara,
Thank you for the striptease. It was the best I’ve ever seen.
Daniel
The note brings me back to the fact that I undressed in front of him without a second thought. I’m not a prude. I run around Sam’s house naked all the time. Ruby hates it, especially when her boyfriend, Jesse, is around. Why should I wear clothes at home when I feel comfortable without them? My body is neither as curvy as Kendra’s, nor as slender as Sam’s, and certainly not as athletic as Skyla’s. I’ve got nothing to hide and nothing to show.
Granted, I just wanted to test his boundaries. Men like him live for control. If you want to find their weakness, your best chance is to confuse or distract them. And confuse him I did, if the astonishment on his face was anything to go by.
Underneath the sketchpad is a big, square box, another note sticking to it.
Dinner tomorrow, 8:00 p.m., and I’ll answer all your questions.
“Hell, no,” I mutter when I open the box, a mass of expensive fabric stuffed inside. The label reads Harvey Nichols. Never heard of the designer, but I’m sure Kendra would volunteer to get kidnapped by Daniel to get her hands on this piece.
For some reason, a wave of melancholy washes over me. If I ever were to wear a dress for the first time in my life, it should be for Sam’s wedding, not to impress an arrogant asshole whose records are as clean as Pablo Escobar’s.
Raking a hand through my hair, I weigh up my options. What are the odds I can escape? Close to zero, I assume.
Surveying the room, I search for anything helpful. In the end, I come up with two things—the pencil, which I stuff into my pants, and the black, lacy bra that came with the dress, which I hurl around my neck. I guess Daniel didn’t want me to wear my sports bra under the designer piece. Too bad I won’t give him the satisfaction.
Switching off the lights, I pretend to go to sleep and tiptoe to the window. Assessing the property, I count three guards blocking my way to the gate about fifty yards straight ahead. Guard One paces the pathway directly below me. Guards Two and Three stand sentry on either side of the gates—gates with sharp spikes, I might add.
Twines of ivy snake up the wall below my window that could help me reach the ground safely. Could, in bold letters and with three exclamation marks.
Pushing all thoughts of failure to the back of my mind, I carefully open the window. The moonlight shines from behind the mansion, so I remain mostly hidden in the shadows. With a last breath for bravery, I step over the windowsill and reach for the ivy.
Halfway down, I scratch my hand and hiss, attracting Guard One’s attention. My heart pumps loudly as I watch him looking left and right, but after a moment, he shrugs and returns to his usual post. When I’m assured I can take the last feet in a leap, I adjust my grip so I can easily use my hands. Snatching the bra from my neck, I hook my fingers through the straps and pull them like a slingshot, taking aim.
With a snap, the bra sails wide until it lands in the pool, causing Guard One to whirl around and hurry over to the source of the sound. I use the moment to sprint over the ground, but unfortunately, the guy turns around just as I pass him. I rip the headset from his ear, and a shove makes him stumble and plunge into the pool.
I only have seconds to dart over the ground and dive for cover behind a fountain. When the guy resurfaces, he shouts, causing the other two men to rush to his aid.
“Nice,” I mumble to myself, now having a clear field to reach the gates. Making sure the unit is busy firing orders, I dash for the gates, climbing the rungs in a hurry. Carefully lifting my legs over the spikes, I leap down, the impact jarring my bones and shooting pain up my leg.
With a last glance over my shoulder, I scramble up and run for freedom, two guards already on my heels. Not knowing where to go, I decide to leave the road and go for the wilderness instead, hoping to minimize their chances of catching me.
My hope is short-lived, though, because a flashlight swerving over the space is my only warning before someone crashes into me from behind, making me lose all sanity for a second. The guy yanks me up, and I snatch my pencil, plunging it into his calf. He goes down with a howl of pain, but I didn’t count on Javier already hard on my heels.
Before I know what’s happening, he has his tie wrapped around my wrists and hauls me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. I don’t bother to scream and just hang my head.
“Damn, I was so close…”
Javier’s back vibrates as he chuckles at my comment.
~~~
All the guards shoot me sharp glares when we pass. I grin at the one who looks like a poodle in the rain with the bra in his fist and bristling with fury, but it vanishes when I’m carried back to my room where a furious Daniel waits for me.
He nods his head to Javier who takes the cue and sets me down. I don’t know what awaits me, but when Javier forces my shackled hands up and hooks them through the chain dangling from the ceiling, I panic.
With a rough shove, Javier spins me around so I’m facin
g the wall, then rips my top open in one swift movement, leaving my back bare. My mind goes blank, and I scream from the top of my lungs as horrible memories force their way to the surface.
“What do you want from me?” I scream. The guards leave, ignoring me altogether. Daniel stays behind me, and I feel his ominous presence like an evil shadow.
“As impressed as I am you got past three of my men, let me ask you…” A breeze wafts over my bare back as I feel him stepping closer. “Where did you want to go once you were outside?” he requests, seemingly unfazed by me drowning in a pitch of agony.
His words barely register, and I close my eyes in hopes of chasing away the rising nausea. Against my will, a tear rolls down my cheek. His hand comes up in front of my face, prompting me to open my eyes, and I quiver as Daniel catches the tear and wipes it from my cheek.
“Do you know what kind of danger lurks out there?” he drawls while brushing the remains of my top from one shoulder. “Do you know how many people are buried underneath this land—victims of an everlasting drug war turning the country into a mass grave?” With help from his finger, my top slides down the other shoulder, the fabric now hanging loosely from my arms. “Believe me, you’re safer here than out there,” he whispers in my ear, and for one second, I believe him.
Just as my heart rate calms, Daniel moves his hands to my hips, pressing me back into his body.
“No, please!” I whine as shame and rage mix with my fear.
Daniel answers with yanking my hair, exposing my neck and letting me cry out in terror. “Why are you screaming like that all of a sudden? What do you think I’m gonna do, huh?” he hisses. “Hit you? Kill you? Fuck you?” I just shake my head, trying to wriggle free from his grip. “I admit, one thought is quite appealing,” he answers his own question, clawing his fingers into my skin. My answer is a garbled choke.
Finally, Daniel spins me around, pressing me against the wall and grabbing my chin. Fear keeps me immobile, but now that he’s not behind me anymore, the tension in my body subsides, something that doesn’t escape his notice.
“What happened to you?” he demands, eyes roaming between mine as his gaze claws its way into my soul. I clench my teeth, desperate to shut him out, but I feel him reading the answer on my face.
I can’t hide from him.
He knows.
Endless seconds drag by, our ragged breathing the only sound in the room before Daniel breaks the silence.
“Is the motherfucker dead?” I blink, surprised by the lethal edge in his tone that I imagine his enemies get to hear all the time. Is it that obvious what happened to me? Do I have rape victim stamped on my forehead?
“Is… he… dead?” he repeats, louder this time and with his face a lot closer than before—so close, our noses nearly touch.
He relaxes visibly when I manage a nod. With his gaze glued to mine, he frees me from the chain. A few seconds of silence tick by.
“Which thought?” I ask when he undoes the knot around my wrists.
Daniel frowns. “What?”
“You said ‘one thought is quite appealing.’ Which one of the three?”
A strange sparkle in his eyes is my only warning before his teeth clamp down on my lower lip, sucking it into his mouth. A mixture of a yelp and a moan escapes me as his teeth play with my lip ring, but before I can truly relish the feeling, he pulls back.
“Do you really want to find out?” And with that, he leaves.
“Yes, I do,” I whisper to myself, utterly bewildered by what just happened.
The day is useless. A shit-ton of work waits for me, but every paper I take into my hands ends up being tossed on the desk as my thoughts wander back to the girl I keep imprisoned. In fact, I can’t stop thinking about her since I left her room yesterday after I found out how she became the person she is in her soulful eyes.
Good thing the motherfucker is dead, or I would have locked up Leonara and gone on a killing spree until I held his severed head in my hands.
Taking the package from my desk, I put it in my safe where it will stay until Leonara’s birthday.
After I found out about the valuable painting, I had my men searching for it immediately. Turned out Sofia hid it in the Fuerte Baluarte Museum within the frame of another painting. Not the best hiding spot considering Piero knows all about hiding things in paintings, but thankfully, my men got their hands on it first.
“Señor DeLuca,” Mariana calls, halting in the door frame. “Dinner is ready.”
“Thank you,” I say before calling Emilio. “Bring her down.”
For the first time in years, the dining table is set for two people, one seat on each end. Latin music plays in the background, and the smell of Mexican delicacies hangs in the air. The lights are dimmed, various candles throwing a soft glow on the silver dinnerware. I wear dark jeans and a black shirt for the occasion, and I make sure I look presentable before Leonara appears in the doorway.
For a second, the sight of her takes my breath away. I knew she’d look stunning in the dress I gave her, but now that she stands in front of me, she surpasses all expectations.
The black silk bodice draped over one tattooed shoulder hugs her upper body like a second skin, melting into a mini skirt from the hip down. Layers of chiffon flare around her legs, the transparent fabric showing her thighs and buckled ankle boots. Gathering from the scowl on her face, she’d rather wear her own clothes, but she never looked sexier.
“This is a bad idea,” she comments after taking in the scene.
“What?”
“I don’t do this stuff. I wear military pants and Converse. I eat fast food in bed and get food stains on my clothes all the time. I’m not good company, believe me.”
I let the last part of her comment slide, thinking I never had better company in my home. “Didn’t any man ever take you out?” I ask with a grin, as usual amused by her easy attitude.
“I never had a man,” she blurts as if she doesn’t have a care in the world, rendering me speechless.
She never had a man? What does that mean? As in she never had a relationship? She has a thing for women? Or… she never had sex?
I’m glad Leonara has no clue about courtesies and sits down instead of waiting for me to shove a chair under her sweet butt, oblivious to the emotions conflicting on my face. I gather my composure while she examines the set of cutleries as if she’s never seen anything alike.
“You look stunning, by the way.”
She squints her eyes as if not trusting my words but accepts the compliment with a tentative, “Thanks.”
“Wine?”
“A beer,” she demands causing me to snicker. I should have known I can’t impress her with a bottle of Casa Madero Chardonnay right from the oak barrel.
“Sure.” Fetching two Coronas from the mini fridge, I hand her one.
After taking a sip, she grabs her spoon and starts loading her plate with everything within reach—pork, rice, seafood, chili, quesadillas—not waiting for an official invite, of course. She’s so busy swallowing down the food, she doesn’t even notice me watching her like a hawk. She munches and slurps, and I chuckle inwardly as she uses her hands more often than the cutlery to get the food into her mouth.
“I’d be careful with that,” I warn when she shoves her spoon into a bowl with spicy salsa.
“Why?” Not waiting for my reply, she pops the spoon into her mouth. Grinning, I watch her face contort and tears well up her eyes. “Jesus, this is fucking hot!” she exclaims, grabbing her Corona and emptying the entire bottle.
I laugh. “Sorry, I should have warned you. Eat the cinnamon rice, it will help.” She accepts my advice and reaches for the rice bowl but stills suddenly, her eyes growing wide in shock. “What’s wrong?” I ask, but she doesn’t answer, setting the bowl slowly back on the table.
“Uh, I think something’s on my back,” she says hesitantly.
I frown, confused, but then I see it—a hairy leg appearing under her ear. My heart drop
s as I realize a tarantula makes its way over Leonara’s bare shoulder.
“Don’t move,” I caution while keeping an eye on the fist-sized animal.
“Okay…” she says in an uncertain yet calm tone, watching me striding in her direction. “It feels like a spider.”
“A tarantula,” I clarify and sit down next to her. “They are not deadly, but they can bite, and some are allergic to their venom.”
To her credit, she doesn’t even flinch as the spider makes its way over her skin, but its front legs tangle with her hair, causing Leonara to hiss slightly.
“All good,” I comfort her. “Just keep still.”
Slowly, I raise my hand and brush the strands away from her neck. For a moment, I have trouble concentrating on the task and not fantasizing about licking her skin.
The movement seems to irritate the animal, and it quickly changes direction, scrambling down Leonara’s collarbone and dangerously close to her neckline.
“Uh… Daniel?”
“Shh, keep calm,” I say, although there’s no reason considering she hasn’t screamed once. “Sorry, but I have to do this,” I mumble in apology before resting the edge of my hand on the swell of her breasts. Leonara sits stock-still, but her chest heaves, making me nearly lose my focus.
“There you go,” I croon as the animal finally crawls into my palm, and Leonara breathes out in relief.
“That was weird.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Oh wow, she’s beautiful,” she says to my surprise, leaning closer to examine the spider with its eight, brown-striped legs.
I chuckle at her saying ‘she,’ not ‘it.’ “She is. They rarely bite, but they have their own defense tactics when they feel threatened.”
“Like what?” I smile as Leonara stretches out her hand and strokes the spider’s fat body.
“They use their hind legs to scrape barbed hairs from their abdomen and fling them at their enemy. It can cause a nasty rash.”
“Really? That’s so cool,” she gushes, not in the least bit afraid. “How did she come in?”
