I hear the distinct click of a safety being removed before the barrel of a gun is rammed into my stomach. "Sweetheart, I really need you to give me back that money." She narrows her eyes and her lips curl in the hint of a smile.
I see the hesitation, the fear in her eyes. "Shoot me,” I dare. “Can't be any worse than what you've already done to me, now can it?"
The gun presses deeper into my side. Her teeth slide over her bottom lip. "I can't go back empty handed."
I hold out my hands and shrug one shoulder. "Then by all means...pull the trigger."
She slams her palm against my chest. "Damn it, Jude. Don't do this."
"I'm just doing my job, nothing personal."
She sighs and drops the gun, closing her eyes. "Then at least hit me and make it look good."
The woman in front of me is the love of my life, my meaning, my sole-fucking-purpose. She learned vengeance from me. I taught her how releasing it was with Bob and Joe. I made her this bloodthirsty beast. When I go to touch her, she flinches. I shake my head as I cup her cheek, sweeping my thumb along her jaw and over her plump bottom lip. "There's no way in hell that the last thing you'll remember about me is hate." I press a gentle kiss to her forehead and force myself to take a step back, fighting the pain tearing through my chest like a razorblade.
"He'll just do it instead, Jude. Either give me the money or take a swing. Please."
I drag my free hand down my face and turn toward the door. "Bye, Tor." I open the door and walk through the shitty bar. I'm nearly to the door when I hear a gunshot from the back, and I freeze, the next beat of my heart hesitating for a second before the door bangs open. Tor comes storming through, gripping her thigh with blood running down her leg and staining her white dress. Jésus' men come pouring in through the front entrance, guns raised. Tor waves them off as she heads toward the door and they fall in line behind her—the newly crowned princess of the Sinaloa cartel.
I may love her, but sometimes you just have to know when to let shit go. She's gone, mad with the drive for vengeance and bloodshed, and I know nothing I can say or do will bring her back. I'm angry that I’m not enough to force her need for revenge away, but Tor's been through a lot. We both have.
And you can only break so many times in one life.
16
Tor
As soon as I get back, Michael greets me at the door. "Boss wants to see you," he says.
I sigh and limp towards Jésus' office. His eyes meet mine the second I push open the door. His dark brows pull together as he rests his elbows on his desk. "What happened?" he asks. He takes a cigarette from his pocket and slowly places it between his lips, lighting it. The click of his lighter snapping shut sounds entirely too loud in the silence of the room.
"I was shot." I point to my leg, stating the obvious.
He inhales a deep breath, his eyes locking onto the bloody bandage wrapped around my thigh. "Where were my men?"
"In the car," I say carefully.
"Who was it?"
I shrug. "I don't know. He shot me and took the money. Maybe one of Gabriel's men, I can't be sure."
He studies me through narrowed eyes for a moment. "Michael!" he shouts.
A few seconds later Michael walks into the office. "Boss."
"You let her get shot?"
Michael eyes me. "No, it wasn't his fault," I say.
"You let my woman get shot!" Jésus’ cheeks turn red, his nostrils flaring as his hand moves to the desk.
BANG.
Warm blood splatters the side of my face and I close my eyes, swallowing back the horrified scream that tries to make its way up my throat. No matter how long I live in this world of criminals, murder and corruption, I will never get used to the utter ruthlessness, the complete lack of morality that comes with it.
"The doctor will be here soon," Jésus says. "You can go."
I nod and leave the room, my stomach churning uncomfortably. He's mad, but I don't know whether he's mad at me or the situation. I'd rather not stick around to find out.
I wake up when I feel something sweep over my arm. My eyes take a second to adjust to the darkness of the room. My head spins slightly from all the pain killers the doctor gave me. I can just make out Jésus sitting on the edge of the bed dressed in his trousers, no shirt.
"Jésus, come to bed," I say.
"Victoria," he breathes, a soft smile touching his lips. I roll onto my back and he reaches for my face, gently trailing his fingertip down my cheek. "So beautiful."
I inhale a shaky breath, fighting my hammering pulse. Jésus is a monster, a murderer, a drug lord. He does awful things without feeling an ounce of remorse, and yet that side of him doesn't worry me. This is what scares me, the moments when he's kind and gentle. The moments when he treats me like a lover, something valued and precious. I lie here in silence, just waiting.
"Such a slut," he whispers, trailing his hand down my body until his fingers brush over my bandaged leg. The smile fades and then he grabs me by the jaw with his free hand, his fingers digging into my skin so hard I can feel the bite of his short fingernails. "I know what you did, Victoria. Maybe one of Gabriel's men? Jude Pearson was at El Pedro tonight, and you were in there for quite some time. Did he shoot you, or did you shoot yourself to protect him?" He grabs my thigh squeezing. I scream out and he laughs. "Was this before or after you fucked him?"
My heart leaps into a sprint and I sit up, trying to pull away from him. He releases me, and I dive for the other side of the bed, but he grabs me around the waist, yanking me back. I struggle, but he lays his weight over me, pressing me into the mattress. "Stop," I plead.
Laughing, he wraps his hand around my throat. I turn my head to the side as his lips touch my cheek. "You betrayed me, Victoria.” I close my eyes fighting back tears. My mind short circuits as his hot breath blows over my neck and his fingers tighten on my skin. “After I gave you everything. And you gave him my fucking pussy."
"I didn't!"
"You still want him, but you won't let me have you. What makes him so good? Am I so bad?" he snarls.
I buck beneath him, fighting before I snap. "You took everything from me!" I shout.
He shoves me down on the bed hard, and I cough against his brutal hold. "No,” he says, a flicker of amusement in his voice, “but I'm about to." He roughly yanks the material of my dress over my thigh. Complete panic consumes me. He slams his lips over mine, and a muffled cry slips from my lips. "I wanted you to come to me, chiquita, but you've been a bad girl. I want you, and now I'm going to have you."
He tears the thin dress down the front, baring my breasts to him. I fight, clawing at his arms as he tries to pin me down. "Such a shame about that scar," he says, on a laugh as his palm glides over my right breast, brushing over the ugly scar tissue from the bullet that nearly killed me. "But then, someone already fucked you up long before that." His fingers trail down my stomach, following the long line that runs from my sternum to my belly button. His hand dips lower and lands on the inside of my thigh. Wrenching my legs apart, he grinds his hard cock against me. Bile rises in my throat and I shove him, but it's pointless. The harder I fight him, the rougher he is. I thrash and claw at him until he smacks me across the face so hard that my head snaps to the side and blood wells in my mouth.
"Don't move!" he growls.
I freeze and he pulls away from me, roughly yanking at his belt as he kneels over me. This isn't happening. Not again. A man took everything from me once, but never again. I tilt my head back looking for something I can use as a weapon. Anything. With a thrash of my legs I kick him in the stomach hard enough to push him away, and I scramble for the bedside table. He grips a handful of my hair and I scream.
My fingers wrap around the wire of the lamp as he tosses me down on my back. I yank the wire, grab the base, and swing the lamp at his head. It shatters against the side of his face, sending pieces of shattered porcelain everywhere. He falls off me, but only for a second, and then he's right there, his f
ace an inch from mine, his body crushing me into the mattress. Blood trickles from a cut at his hairline. "You're going to pay for that one, chiquita. I'm going to fuck you like the slut that you are, the bookies whore." He shoves his trousers down and fists his dick. My stomach rolls and my breaths become nothing more than rapid pants. He grabs my thighs, a sick smile working over his lips. "I bet your pussy feels amazing," he says, laughing.
The shame and degradation wash over me, stealing all sense of who I am, making me feel weak and powerless. Images flash through my mind, Joe holding me down and forcing himself inside me, him branding me. My hands scramble around on the sheet beneath me until my fingers brush over a large piece of broken porcelain from the lamp. I clutch it in my hand, gripping hard enough to slice my palms. Mustering every bit of strength I have, I drive it into the side of his neck. His eyes go wide, all the colour draining from his face as he coughs. I ignore the pain in my hand, ramming the shard further into his neck. Blood runs down my arm. It drips on my chest. I shove him off and straddle his prone body.
"Fuck you, Jésus," I say, wrenching the shard out of his neck.
Arterial spray shoots across the bed, and he clutches frantically at his neck. He opens his mouth and tries to shout, but I slam my hand over his trembling lips. I hold him down, watching him bleed out, and I feel nothing. This man would have raped me. He took my daughter, he used her to keep me here. He is scum, and his pathetic death is nothing but justice. His movements weaken and his breaths become gasping pants, like a fish out of water. And finally, he goes limp. I fall off him, sitting on the blood-stained sheets as I try and catch my breath. I glance at Jésus, then at the door. Now I'm fucked. I hated Jésus, but he was the only thing keeping me alive here. I leap off the bed and run to the bathroom, stopping in front of the mirror to look at my reflection. Blood coats my chest and neck; my torn dress is splattered with it. I pull the dress over my head and turn the taps on, attempting to wash the visible evidence off because I don't have time to shower. One of his men could come in here at any point and see their dead boss on the bed.
I go to the closet, take out another dress, and tug it over my head. As I’m smoothing it out, I go to the bed and toss the duvet over this body, hoping it will buy me a little more time if anyone takes a quick glance. I open the bedroom door and look out in the hall. There are two guys walking with their backs to me at the end of the hall, so I slip through the door, closing it behind me. I'm not a prisoner here as such. I can walk the halls freely, but someone might wonder why I'm not with Jésus at this time of night.
I calmly make my way through the house, keeping my gaze fixed on the floor. The guards pay no attention as I make my way to the front door. There's a line of SUV's parked outside the house. I keep walking until I find Jésus’ Hummer, and open the door. I yank the sun visor down and the keys fall into my lap. Taking a deep breath, I shove the key in the ignition and start the engine with a roar. The second I reverse; I hear a bullet ping off the hood. Fuck.
I slam my foot over the accelerator and floor it down the drive. Bullets ricochet off the car like rain, but there's a reason I picked this one. It's bullet proof. I charge towards the gate, bracing as the car crashes right through the steel and taking it off its hinges. The car jolts awkwardly and there's the sound of metal grinding against metal before I'm flying down the long, winding road that leads down to the city. I clutch my phone, pressing Gabe's number and holding it to my ear. It rings and rings before it goes to voicemail.
"Damn it, Gabe!"
The loud, rapid fire of a machine gun rings out along with the chink, chink, chink of bullets hitting the back of the car. I drive as fast as I can, passing the boundaries of Juarez city. I could try and call Jude, but I don't think he'll answer, and I don't have time for that right now.
I fumble with the phone that Ronan's man gave me and press number one. It rings several times before Ronan picks up.
"Ah, Victoria."
The turn I need to take creeps up on me in the dark and I nearly miss it. I slam my foot over the brake and jerk the wheel to the right. The car spins around and screeches around the corner, taking out a road sign. People leap out of the way, horns blare and bullets fly. I just need to make it to Gabe.
"Jésus is dead!" I shout over the noise. "You need to get Cayla."
"Already taken care of. I have the little one," he says. But he didn't even know Jésus was dead. I frown down at the phone in my lap.
"What?"
"I have your child. I'll be in touch, Victoria." And the line goes dead. What the hell? He screwed me, I know he did. This horrible feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. The Russian has my daughter and this time, I have absolutely no idea how to get her back. I need Jude. I need Gabe. I need help.
I try and call Gabe again, and again it goes to voicemail.
"Gabe, I swear to god..." Another hail storm of bullets hit the car. "Pick up your fucking phone!"
I glance at the mob of cars following me in the rearview and push the accelerator all the way to the floor. Looks like I'm bringing this shit show to him then.
17
Jude
My vision swims as I lean back in the leather chair in Gabe’s office. I glance down at the nearly empty bottle of tequila, and clumsily wipe at my mouth.
I walked away from Tor.
One minute I'm angry as piss at her, the next I'm heartbroken. I miss her. I miss Cayla. God, I miss Cayla. I close my eyes and think about her little hands rubbing through the scruff on my face, her laugh. I take another swig of tequila. I hate the way it tastes, but it does a damn good job of numbing you up.
Gabe walks into the living room with a wide grin. "I see you’re drunk. See, tequila makes everything better, and..." He waves his hand through the air, "strippers and tequila make everything mucho better." He claps as two women strut into the room in nothing but thongs.
"Shit, Gabe, I don't want—"
"Just watch, ese. Just watch them."
I sink further into the chair and lift the bottle again, groaning. He turns the stereo on, slaps one of the girls on the ass, then takes a seat next to me. I stare down in my lap, picking at the label on the bottle. Gabe claps his hand over my shoulder. "Come on, ese, it's been too long. Your poor dick must be thirsty as fuck."
I glare at him. "I'm not interested," I say.
"You say that, these are Juarez’s best ladies. Look at them, my friend." He points, a drunk smile crossing his lips. "Look at the chi chis on that one. Don't tell me you don't miss the feel of a woman, her curves, the taste...ai ai ai."
I wipe my hand over my face and shake my head.
"She's gone,” he says. “She turned on you, Jude." That comment slices to the bone, so I turn the bottle back up, sucking down the remaining tequila. "It's not good for a man to have nothing but his hand," Gabe laughs, and I shove him.
"Fucking shut up."
One of the women trots over, swiping her finger over Gabe's jaw before she straddles him. "Oh, cholita," he says, and I groan.
The other one comes swaying over to me, her red lips pulled into a tight smile. "Not fucking interested," I say, but she just plops her ass right on down. I grunt under her weight.
"Que?" she bats her eyes.
"Gabe, I'm gonna fucking punch you for this shit."
"Ah, ese, just let her grind over your gringo dick for a minute—"
The sound of gun fire erupts. I shove the woman off my lap and grab my pistol from the table.
"What is this shit?" Gabe shouts with a hint of a slur as he adjusts his dick and cocks his gun. "Nothing pisses me off more than having a lap dance interrupted by cartel bullshit."
We stagger to the window. I have to cover one eye with a hand to see straight. All I can see are the sparks from guns firing. "Fuck...I'm too drunk for this shit."
"I'm too drunk and my cock is too hard." Gabe laughs, waving his loaded gun around.
"Would you stop with that shit?" I shove his hand away.
"Oh, wha
t bookie? You scared of a little bullet." He raises the gun again and smiles before firing it straight into the air. The women scream. "Did you piss your little girlie panties?"
Shaking my head, I stare through the window.
"Let them all shoot each other," Gabe says. "It'll be fine...Cholita?" he shouts. "Come back. Sit in my lap."
There's a loud bang. The grating noise of metal against metal as a Hummer comes crashing through Gabe's front gate.
"Oh, hell no. They did not just run through my gate." He stands up and wobbles before firing his gun through the window, glass shattering and spraying in all directions. "Fuck you, puta."
I laugh. We're about to get fucking killed. I'm too drunk. He's too drunk. A spray of bullets comes pummeling through the sheetrock. Vases bust. Feathers fly from pillows. The strippers are in the corner crying, and Gabe just laughs. "Welcome to the cartel," he sings.
There's a few explosion. Pops of guns. People shouting, and then silence.
"Come on, ese," he says, wobbling toward the doorway and grabbing a machine gun from underneath a table. I follow him through to the front of the house. When the door swings open, two cars are in flames, and a silver Hummer has crashed into the side of the house.
"Jesus fucking—"
"Jésus!" Gabe shouts. "You pussy fuckface bastardo." He lifts the machine gun and randomly fires at the Hummer, but the bullets just ricochet from the side. "Fucking pussy in his bullet proof car." He stumbles across the courtyard, and I follow with my gun raised. I stare down the sites, but everything's blurring. Double vision's a bitch in situations like this.
The door to the Hummer clicks open and Gabe holds up his gun as he drunkenly sways back and forth. "Don't shoot me, Gabe, you arsehole." The door opens wider and a bare foot touches the ground, then another, a swash a white material billowing around them. Tor. Her lip is spit, her jaw swelling. She slams the door and the side mirror falls off.
War (Wrong Book 4) Page 8
