I nod, watching as he moves through the house, turning on lights. I follow him into a living room and he turns around. His eyes lock with mine and my breaths falter under his dark green gaze. His jaw tightens and he closes his eyes on a sigh. "How did she die?" he asks, his voice is full of pain and heartbreak. Cayla. He's talking about Cayla. He thinks she's dead? Of course he does, that's what Jésus told anyone other than me, him, Camilla, and the two men who watch Lizzie’s every move from the shadows.
I swallow around the lump that lodges in my throat. My heart skips erratically, letting out a painful, stilted thud in my chest. What do I tell him? What do I say? I close the distance between us and cup his cheek, wishing I could tell him everything, but I can't. Maybe I could tell him she's alive, but that I don't know where she is. But then he's going to look for her. He's going to come at Jésus with everything he has.
“How did she die, Tor?”
"I don't know," I whisper, chewing the inside of my lip anxiously. "Don't...don't think about it," I whisper.
"Don't think about it?" His eyes flash open swirling with anger and hurt. "My daughter—our daughter, Tor—"
"I don't know!" My voice cracks and tears slip down my cheeks, because I am a horrible person. My chest physically aches keeping this from him. "I can't tell you. I'm sorry." I try and push a grain of truth into my words, all the while feeling like the worst person in the world.
He glares and the silence cuts through me. Cold. Hard. "You set me up for Cayla, you know—"
"You weren't supposed to have half the Russian mafia with you!"
"What did you expect? It was Ronan's fucking plan, that I wasn't let in on, mind you, until you had gone to fucking Jésus."
I turn away from him and drag my hand through my hair. "No." I grit my teeth as I say the words. "As far as Jésus was concerned, you were supposed to die. Gabriel was supposed to die." I turn back to face him. His eyes are focused on me, his jaw ticking with the tension. "You needed to kill him," I say, "and you failed. This is the price. We lost, Jude." In truth, I am the price and the prize. But I don't want to tell Jude that he lost us both.
"So what now? Huh?" He drags his hands through his hair before reaching in his pocket for a cigarette. He cups the flame as he lights it and takes several heavy puffs. "What fucking now?"
"Now we accept what we can't change." I drop my gaze to his chest and place my palm against his hard stomach. I miss him. I miss everything about him. "And we take revenge where we can." I have to go back to Jésus and then I must kill him to protect Cayla. It's best if Jude thinks this is all in the name of revenge. He'll understand it.
Jude laughs disbelievingly as he takes a step toward me, backing me against the wall. "I don't accept shit," he says. He inches closer to me, his warm breath fanning across my face. I want to kiss him, touch him, but I don't. I can't because if I do I'm afraid I'll never let him go. "Tor," he says, "she's not dead, is she?" I close my eyes and press my head back against the wall as I swallow heavily. His fingers wrap around my throat and I feel his lips brush my jaw. The lie is on the tip of my tongue. "Don't lie to me. I know you." I open my eyes and he pulls back slightly to look at me. That energy crackles between us, the magnetic pull that always seems to anchor me to Jude so irrevocably. My eyes drop to his lips. I can't do this with him. He grips my chin so hard, so very Jude. "Is she alive?" he says.
"She's gone."
"Is. She. Alive." His grip hardens, his eyes flickering.
I take a steadying breath and close my eyes. I force myself to remember everything that brought us here. I tell myself that Jude started this. The cartel wanted him, so they took Cayla. Every single thing my little girl has gone through is his fault. She may not be dead, but I have lost her. I'm resigned to being Jésus' whore to protect the daughter I can never see. I have lost everything I love, including Jude. He may be alive, but he might as well be dead because yet again, I have to choose Cayla over him. I will make the same choice, over and over, every single time until it breaks me, and it is breaking me, piece by piece. Bit by bit. I allow all the rage I feel to fill me, coursing through my veins until red-hot heat takes over. I plant my hands on his chest and shove him away from me. He moves back half a step before he's right back in my face.
"You want the truth?" I shout. "I hate you, Jude. All of this is your fault. You are the reason my daughter is gone. You are the reason I will never hold her again, never see her smile." Tears blur my vision and I choke on my words. Rage and guilt collide, swirling and blending until I don't know whether I'm mad at him or myself. My pain and his pain become one and the same until his failures are mine, and the cuts I inflict on him wound me every bit as deeply. "Never watch her grow up, or get married." The tears streak down my face. This is all true. She might not be dead, but she is gone, and if I can't kill Jésus, then she might soon be dead. I will always be the mother she never knew, and she will forever be my heart living outside of my body. "I was willing to give up everything to save her, and where were you?" I shove against him again, and this time he does step back. I follow him, pushing him again. "Your life for hers. It was simple."
Him dying wouldn't have changed a thing, I know that, but I'm angry because I feel so alone in this, and I wish he could help me, but he can't. I love him, but everything has changed. The life we had is a distant fairytale and now, all we can do is survive. In order to do that I can't be with him, and that breaks me a little bit. He just stares at me, his expression riddled with a pain that mirrors my own. "All I have left is to kill Jésus," I say. "I don't care if I have to fuck him for the next ten years to do it. I will end this."
Jude exhales before turning and walking toward the door. "Do whatever the fuck you need to do, Tor. Hate me if it'll make you feel better. But you're just as much to blame as I am."
He might as well have thrust a blade into my chest. "There are days where I wish I'd never met you, Jude. I wish I'd had a normal life, where my daughter would have been safe." I swipe the tears from my face. Cayla can have that life now, just not with me.
He turns around, glaring at me. "I gave you that opportunity, Tor. When I went to jail, but you chose me."
I laugh humourlessly. "I loved you." Love. I love him. Despite everything, I do, and I always will.
His eyes land on me, cold. Hard. "We never belonged together."
I'm trying to push him away. His words shouldn't hurt, but god, they do, and I can't handle it. "Please don't," I can't help but beg on a whisper.
He shakes his head, swiping his hand over his mouth. He closes the space between us, sweeping his fingers over my jaw as he studies me. His teeth rake over his lip and a line sinks between his dark brows. “We can’t do this to each other. Don’t do this to us…” He exhales. "She's dead, Tor. Going back to him, what the hell is that going to do? Huh?" He leans close to me, so close I feel his warm breath fan across my throat and everything inside of me crumbles. " It won't bring her back. Don't leave me for revenge, Tor. Don't."
This is like standing in a fire and allowing the flames to lick over my skin, fighting every natural instinct to get out and holding myself by the sheer force of will. Tears pour down my cheeks, and I wish I could control them but I can't. This may be worse than having to let Cayla go. At least then I only had to deal with my own pain, but now I'm shouldering his too, knowing that I am the cause of it. I stroke my fingers over the rough stubble of his jaw and tilt my head back, pressing my lips to his. The saltiness of my tears mixes with the agony and torment of a kiss we both know can't last. Yet I wish I could make it last forever. I wish I could fuse myself to him and never let go. He grips the back of my head forcefully, desperately. When we finally break apart, he rests his forehead against mine.
“Don’t leave me alone, Tor.” There’s such hurt in his voice.
"I have to do this, Jude. You should understand it better than anyone." I pull back and meet his eyes. His expression shutters, and I know I just lost him.
"No, I can't fucking unders
tand it."
"But you do. Joe consumed you, until killing him was all you lived for."
"I had nothing else until I had you, and then I chased him for you. I would never choose revenge over you, Tor."
I shake my head, gripping the front of his shirt tightly in both hands. "It's Cayla." It's all I can say. What else can I say? "It's for Cayla."
"She's dead!" His eyes well with tears. I watch his jaw tighten as he fights them back.
She's not though, and that's why I'm fighting so hard. "Jésus has to pay for taking her from me, Jude," I say. "He has to."
Jude sighs before he scrubs his hand over his face. He steps toward me, cupping my cheek in his warm hand. “That means more to you than me?”
“It means everything to me,” I barely manage the words.
There's a look of regret in his eyes I've never seen. "I'll always love you. Remember that." And with that, he presses a kiss to my forehead before turning around.
Panic grips me in its clutches. "Jude!" I grab his arm. He halts with his back to me. I move closer to him and place my hands on his sides, pressing my face into his back. "Don't give up on us. I will come back to you," I choke. "I promise."
"Promises don't mean shit to me, Tor." He walks out of the room, leaving me alone.
"I love you," I say quietly, knowing he can't hear me.
Whatever was left of me shatters and I slide to the floor, pressing my forehead to my knees. I cry. I cry for everything that we've lost, including each other. I always thought that Jude and I had a love that could withstand any storm. Cayla is the only thing that could ever break us. My heart aches for him. I want to get up and follow him. I want to tell him that I love him, but I just can't be with him right now. That he is, and always will be, the other half of me, my soulmate. But how can I? How can I tell him that and then ask him to let me walk into the arms of our enemy? No. I have a plan, but, in order for it to work, everyone must believe that I am with Jésus, especially Jude.
So I get up and walk out of the room.
On the table next to the front door is a set of keys. I pick them up and stare at them before glancing down the hallway where Jude disappeared. Everything in me is torn in two, separate parts of myself pulling in opposing directions.
There's a stack of post it notes and a pen on the table, just sitting there. I pick up the pen and stare at the little yellow square before I start writing:
Loving you has never been a choice, it just is.
I'm sorry,
Tor.
I open the front door and walk down the short path to the driveway. A SUV sits in the drive, and I press the button on the key fob. The locks beep. As soon as I'm inside, I rev the engine and pull away from the house. I glance in my rearview mirror, and I swear I can see Jude standing in the top window watching me go. I swipe at the tears that track down my cheeks. I can't break over Jude right now. I have to get back to Jésus.
I drive into Juarez, my eyes skimming the sidewalks where dirty-looking bars spill onto the street. I have no idea where I am and no way of contacting Jésus, but he practically owns Juarez. Surely anyone can point me in the right direction? Unless I get one of Gabe's guys. Fuck. I see a bar I vaguely recognise, and take a chance. I pull over to the side of the road and glance up at the front. There's not even a name, just a red neon sign of a dancing woman that blinks on and off. I yank the glove box open and rummage around. It's a cartel car. There's bound to be...my fingers brush over the metal barrel of a gun. I pull it out, slam the glove box, and get out of the car.
As soon as I step around the front of the car, I can feel eyes on me. A blonde woman in a negligée isn't exactly common around here. A group of guys stand outside the bar smoking. I recognize the tattoo on one of their forearms: a snake coiled in a knot. Taking a deep breath, I tighten my grip on the gun, and walk over to him. Five men all turn to look at me when I stop in front of them. Towering over me, their eyes freely roam over every inch of my body.
"You going to use that gun, little gringo?" The guy with the tat asks on a smirk.
I glare at him. "I need Jésus."
His smirk turns into a grin. "Well, his name is Jésus." He jerks his thumb towards the guy next to him.
"Jésus Garcia. Your boss." The smile falls from his face. "Trust me," I say, "he'll be looking for me."
He looks me up and down again and fumbles around in his pocket, pulling out a phone. He says something in Spanish to the group of men and they circle me, their backs to me, guarding. He presses his phone to his ear and waits. Words are exchanged, and then he nods, his eyes narrowing at me before he hangs up.
"The boss is on his way," he says, his accent thick.
"Thank you. I'll just... wait here." I gesture towards a small table propped against the crumbling concrete wall of the bar.
He shakes his head and steps into my path. "Please come inside."
I eye the doorway, and then look back at him. "I'm fine here."
"I insist." He takes a step closer to me, and I fight the urge to step back from his hulking form. His friends subtly move away, disappearing into the shadows.
I don't think I'm left with much choice, so I allow him to guide me to the front door and through the packed bar. Sweaty bodies jostle up against me, and someone sloshes cold beer down my arm. Eventually, the guy leads me to a door in the back. I glance nervously over my shoulder. What if he's just bringing me to some back room so he can rape and murder me? I'm not stupid. This is Juarez and these men in this bar are far from gentlemen. The cartel is the main business in these parts, and it breeds a certain community.
The door opens and I walk into a dirty office. There's a torn-up leather sofa pushed against the back wall and a desk off to the side. That's it. There are no windows—no escape. I take a seat on the sofa, trying to calm my racing pulse. It'll be fine. I'll be fine. The universe couldn't be so cruel as to take everything from me only to have me murdered by some random gang banger now.
The guy stands facing me, his back to the door and his thick, inked arms folded over his chest. Yeah, I'm definitely a prisoner. I sit here, drumming my fingers over the arm of the chair for what feels like an hour. Eventually there's a knock on the door, and the guy steps to the side before he pulls it open.
Jésus strolls into the room in a pair of chinos and a white shirt looking like he owns everything he looks upon. He drags a hand through his pitch-black hair and a strand falls over his forehead. His dark eyes lock with mine before sliding over my body. Tension radiates from him, making his movements stiff and controlled.
"Are you hurt?" he asks.
"No." I stand up and walk over to him. He cups my cheek, swiping his thumb over my bottom lip. My stomach knots tightly, and suddenly this feels all the more wrong. Even thinking Jude was dead, Jésus' touch felt repulsive to me, a betrayal...but now I know he's alive, my frozen heart seems to be limping back to life.
Jésus snaps his fingers at the hulking body guard and barks something in Spanish. The guy takes off his leather jacket and hands it to Jésus. He drapes the heavy leather over my shoulders, covering me.
"Thank you," I say.
He takes my hand, threading our fingers together before he leads me out of the room and back into the busy bar. I feel the eyes on me, the way their probing gazes inspect me. They're wondering who I am, who this woman is on Jésus Lopez's arm. We walk outside and he leads me to the silver hummer, opening the back door for me and helping me in. He climbs in after me and barks something at the driver before he turns to look at me. He strokes my face, his eyes flicking over me in concern.
"Who took you, chiquita?" he asks.
I pull away from him and lean back in the seat. "You said he was dead," I whisper. Jésus is not my friend, and we owe each other nothing. We are enemies. However, I can't deny that I'm angry at him for lying to me. I know I can expect no less, but it feels so unnecessarily cruel.
He falls back in his seat, tapping his finger over his bottom lip. Eventually he looks at
me. "Jude Pearson."
"You said he was dead," I repeat slowly.
I watch his fist tighten where it rests on his thigh. His jaw clenches so hard that the muscles twitch with the strain. "He should be."
"But he isn't."
His eyes narrow, his jaw clenches and then his hand darts out, gripping my jaw so hard that I cry out in pain. "Is this what you want, Victoria? To know he's alive and to have to sacrifice him for your child?" I whimper and a small smile pulls at his lips. "We both know it changes nothing. You would still be right here with me, no matter what." He leans in closer. "I only wanted to make it easier on you. The sooner you let go of him, the easier this will be." He lets go of me and I drag in a ragged breath as his dark eyes lock with mine. "I have been patient with you, but I will not wait forever." His voice is layered with implication. This right here is a crossroads. Yes, Jude took me, but I came back. I need him to think it was for more than just Cayla. I need him to trust me.
I take a deep breath and climb across the seat, throwing my leg over him until I'm straddling him. My eyes lock with his as I thread my fingers through his hair, fingers that less than an hour ago were in Jude's hair. He cocks a brow, his expression guarded. "I hate him," I say. "I loved him and he cost me and my daughter everything. You could have killed us both, but you didn't." I stroke my fingers over his cheek. His hands land on my hips and I can feel him hardening beneath me. "And I could have run with him, but I came back to you."
"Do you think me a fool?" he asks.
I shake my head. "No," I whisper, my eyes dropping to his lips. Gripping his hair, I lean in and kiss him. For a moment he doesn't respond and my heart pounds as the seconds pass. But then his fingers dig into my hips and he kisses me back violently. His hands skate down my body until he pushes my skirt up. I can do this. I can do this. My heartbeat rises as panic grips me in its clutches. I break the kiss and my hands dart to his wrists, my fingers wrapping around them and halting him. His fingers are just sweeping the edge of my underwear and I feel like a dirty whore. I press my lips to his once more in an attempt to soften the blow. "I'm still... I can't..."
War (Wrong Book 4) Page 5
