The Mule: An Erotic Romance in Colombia

by Storm Chase

  “In here. Open up the case and put it next to me.”

  They’d put the injured man on the worktable. He was groaning with pain. Cleo felt sick: his feet were missing.

  “Land mine,” Connor said briefly.

  Two of the gunmen stood against the walls and watched. The other two went outside and stood at the gate. Cleo wondered why they weren’t helping. Then she saw their hands were muddied. Touching those wounds would kill him with infection later. If he survived.

  “Can’t we call an ambulance?”

  “The nearest one is three hours away. A car’s on its way.” Connor took a knife from the wall and slit the man’s trousers up to the knee. “Boil a kettle. And bring clean dishcloths. As many as we have.”

  Cleo flew to obey. When she came back, Connor was gory up to his wrists but the bleeding had stopped. The man wasn’t groaning anymore. He’d fainted.

  “Pour hot water into that dish, add a cap of the liquid from the blue bottle, then put in those needles.”

  She knew what was coming next. He was going to sew up that tattered, bloody mess of bone and blood. And she would have to help. She felt her stomach heave.

  “Now go away, Cleo.”

  She stared at him. “Don’t you want me to help?”

  “No. You’ll only get in the way.” He looked at her briefly. There was no emotion in his voice and his eyes were cool. “Go inside. I will speak to you later.”

  Cleo went to her room. Plagued with inner visions of those gory stumps, she tried to throw up but couldn’t. Nervously, she waited for Connor. She wondered how mad he was. Maybe he’d be over it by the time he got that poor man fixed up. Cleo sighed. She knew he would not. The icy way he’d sent her to her room told her that Connor was fuming.

  Surprisingly, it didn’t take him long. She’d only gotten to the point where she imagined him beating her senseless and locking her up without food for a week when he appeared in the doorway, looking grim. Hands and a shirt streaked with blood didn’t help. “Make me a drink and bring it to my room.” He vanished.

  When Cleo returned with an extra large, extra sour rum, he was in the shower. She picked up the blood spattered clothes he had dropped on the floor Maybe if she took them to the kitchen and started to wash them, he wouldn’t be so mad at her. It would be like a penance. He seemed to like her hand washing stuff.

  Before she could exit, Connor reappeared. He smelled of soap, there were drops of water running from his hair and a towel was slung across his hips. Cleo swallowed nervously. The visible rage had gone down the plughole along with the soapsuds but he was still looking extremely flinty-eyed.

  “I’ll just go and wash these,” Cleo said while edging towards the door.

  “Oh no you don’t.” He picked up his drink and sat on the bed. “Come here.”

  It was the longest three feet of space she’d ever crossed. Part of her wanted to run. The other part wanted to beg forgiveness. Pride kept her silent.

  Connor took a sip of his drink and thought furiously. Part of him still itched to beat the hell out of her but he knew he couldn’t do it. Although he was still livid with her, he couldn’t hurt her. A small part of him was relieved; at least he had the monster inside him under control. But Connor wasn’t happy. He was determined that she stick to the deal, not just because she had agreed, but because Garcia Riviera was as dangerous as the land mines that were strewn around.

  Connor knew she wouldn’t accept his reasoning, and he didn’t want to have to watch her every second of the day. Grimly, he wondered if he should simply put the fear of god into her. “Didn’t I tell you not to leave the compound?” he asked coldly.

  She nodded and hung her head.

  He realised he had no clue what to do with her. If she’d been a raw recruit, he’d have known exactly how to deal with her. But Cleo wasn’t a raw recruit. She was just a girl. A foolish girl. A girl who was feeling guilty. He could see it in the hangdog look and the way she shifted from foot to foot.

  Looking at her, Connor realised something else: he wanted her. It was a straight response to the gory scene in his workshop. Every soldier knew it for what it was. Coming close to death was inevitably followed by drunken relief at still being alive and in one piece.

  She was standing in front of him, shuffling her feet. He could smell that signature grassy clean perfume: he drowned in it every night. It fuelled the surge of lust that washed through him. He would have her and figure out later what to do about keeping her from bolting again.

  “Strip, Cleo.” He reached for his drink and missed the look of horror on her face.

  Cleo knew her worst fears were coming true. He was going to beat her. There was nowhere to run. Her hands shook as she took the T-shirt, the skirt and the bikini she wore beneath. Shivering, unable to look him in the eyes, she waited. She was determined not to cry.

  Belatedly, Connor saw the tense muscles and wide, staring eyes.

  Connor was suddenly appalled. This wasn’t guilt; it was terror. After all the effort he’d taken with her, she was still afraid of him. He knew what it was: she could see below the surface. She had sensed the rage that possessed him. Ironic really considering he meant her no harm.

  “Hey, don’t be scared, alright?” He pulled her into his lap. Lifting her chin with a gentle finger, he looked into her eyes. “I won’t hurt you. Not ever. Just apologise and we’ll forget it.”

  The breath whooshed out of her. Her relief was palpable. “Sorry.”

  He smiled slightly. “Is that it?”

  “Very sorry.”

  He knew he’d made his point. “All right. Let’s forget it ever happened.” He took a sip of rum, pushed her gently onto the bed and dropped the towel. “I’m in the mood for a fuck. Show me how a live audition goes.”

  Cleo looked at him in surprise. It was totally unlike him. Then she shrugged. She could see the fury had gone but he was still edgy, unsettled somehow. She really wished she hadn’t been so stupid. She also felt rather guilty. She’d made a deal with him, given her word, and she’d broken it. She should have waited; Connor was bound to take her out soon. And he was always nice to her. Connor never made sarcastic comments, or yelled at her, not even when she’d dropped his favourite glass over the veranda into the gorge or let the potatoes boil dry because she decided to go for a quick swim before supper.

  Cleo decided she’d make up for it all by giving him a good time. If he wanted to see what a live audition was about, she’d show him the best one ever. Quickly, she went down on him. Instantly, his hands were in her hair. At first he just held her but as she licked and sucked, he began caressing her neck and shoulders. Good, it was working. He was enjoying himself.

  When he was ready, she took as much of him in her mouth as she could. She waited till he began to roll his hips with pleasure, then stopped and looked up. “This is where we fuck.”

  There was no desk. “Face down then, Cleo.”

  He soon had her kneeling in front of him. She could feel his hand rubbing between her legs. For the first time, he didn’t get her off first. He just began pushing himself inside her. Usually he had her so ready that she was dying for the feel of him. This time she was barely wet.

  “Come on, Cleo. Best fuck ever.”

  She tilted her hips, reached back and ran a finger over his balls as he thrust in and out of her. A small grunt told her he liked it. Cleo rubbed him with one hand as he began thrusting in and out of her. She worked him, carefully matching her movements to his, letting her body take over.

  He was ramming into her now, pulling out and slamming back inside her. She knelt, spreading herself wide and accepting him. He was gripping her hips with his hands, holding her steady as he used her. She could feel him heat up and swell inside her. Holding her breath, she braced herself as he exploded inside her.

  As he slowly arched inside her with ever-smaller strokes, leaning his weight on her, Cleo felt her body begin to collapse. Instead of lying on top of her, he pulled out and lay down n
ext to her.

  Connor lay down, breathing hard and not at all happy. The image of those torn and bleeding legs flashed into his mind. He wondered if he’d done the right thing by helping. He didn’t know the injured man well but he knew one thing: he’d lose both feet, possibly one of his legs up to the knee. He’d never walk again. Never be independent. Never be the head of his family again. He would need someone to look after him for the rest of his life. Maybe he’d look back on today and wish Connor had let him die.

  Cleo had curled up next to Connor but when he didn’t pull her into his arms as he usually did, she felt very strange. Depressed almost. Then it came to her: this was the way she’d always felt in the past. Not just after live auditions but also with Peter and John and Raj and all the other boyfriends she’d had; when sex promised so much but always fell short. Before she’d fallen in love. Before Juan.

  A feeling of utter desolation swept over her.

  Connor raised his head and looked at her, sensing her distress. He pulled her over and held her. She was one of the good things in his life. A hold on reason and sanity. He kissed her hair, grateful she was there with him. If it weren’t for Cleo, he’d be hitting a bottle of rum by now and hating himself more than ever. Cleo was a blessing.

  Cleo clung to him. Depression swamped her, turning everything black. She hung on to Connor, feeling his hand rub her hair. Connor was the only solace she could turn to. For a moment, Cleo really hated him. Then the feeling disappeared. It wasn’t Connor’s fault that someone had put cocaine in her luggage. He’d offered her a deal and she’d taken it. He’d made it plain that she wasn’t to see Juan again right from the start and she’d agreed. But somehow she hadn’t really believed she’d never see Juan again. Cleo felt something inside her curl up and wither. Nothing really mattered anymore.

  Connor saw her pain and wondered at it. He’d been selfish but he knew he hadn’t hurt her and she hadn’t been afraid. Even so, a small voice inside told him, it was no better than rape.

  Looking into Cleo’s sad eyes, Connor felt a surge of violent self-hatred. He could feel his fingers digging into her shoulder. Hastily, he let go and rubbed the area gently. Poor girl. It was a shame. He cursed himself for his lousy rotten temper. He had congratulated himself on controlling himself, and then he’d done something worse. He’d abused this poor defenseless girl. He wished someone would beat the hell out of him.

  He remembered how she’d come up to him earlier, begging to go out. “Get dressed, Cleo. Put on your jeans”

  Cleo froze. The weather was so balmy that she hadn’t worn her jeans since she’d arrived. A terrible thought occurred to her. “Please don’t send me back to prison.”

  His arms tightened around her. Jesus, he was really fucking up. “Don’t be silly, love, of course I’m not sending you back there. There’s a party in the village. A baptism for one of the kids. We’re going for a drink.”

  Hope surged through her. “To San Juan?”

  “No, to our village. Dos Burros.”

  Even so, maybe she could get word to Juan.

  “Cleo,” he looked into her eyes. When she mentioned San Juan, he knew she was thinking of that fucker Garcia Riviera. For a moment he wanted to tell her to forget him but one look decided him against it. She’d never believe how evil he was. When her eyes slid away from him, Connor wondered if she thought of him as an evil fucker too. Probably. And she wasn’t wrong either.

  “I’m sorry,” he heard himself say. The words tumbled out of him. “I shouldn’t have done that.” He touched her apologetically, disgusted at himself for having used her so appallingly.

  Cleo sighed, thinking of Juan. “We had a deal. I promised.”

  “I know I’m a slave driving, bossy bastard but it wasn’t part of the deal for me to abuse you.”

  Cleo was taken aback. She suddenly realised he was worried because she hadn’t come. “I’m ok. Really.”

  “Cleo, it is not ok. I won’t ever do that again. I’m sorry. I should be shot for this.” Cradling her, he realised she still didn’t know how frightened he’d been for her earlier. He couldn’t allow her to place herself in danger that way again. “This is not an excuse but this was partly a reaction to the accident.”

  Cleo touched him gently. “It’s alright, Connor. I know. It was horrible.”

  “But that’s not all. Earlier, when you went out of the gates, I was angry but I was also afraid for you. There are FARC out there who think gang rape is fun. They watch the roads. And the land is seeded with mines. The drug lords use them to prevent theft and the army use them to fight the FARC. There are more land mines in Colombia than in Afghanistan. It’s not safe outside these gates.”

  “I had no idea!” Cleo was horrified. “That man who got blown up, is he FARC?”

  “No. He’s just some poor bastard who went to check on his potato crop.”

  Cleo swallowed. “Those men were farmers? They all had guns!”

  “They have to carry them to protect themselves from the FARC and the drug lords.”

  “I didn’t know it was dangerous, I just wanted -” Cleo began.

  Connor didn’t want to hear about Garcia Riviera. He cut in and deliberately misunderstood her. “You’re feeling cooped up. We’ll go out. There will be lots of dancing.”

  Cleo smiled. “It sounds great.”

  “But no coke, do you hear me?”

  “I know,” she said hastily.

  “Consider yourself threatened,” Connor ruffled her hair and smiled.

  Cleo relaxed. Something inside her felt better. It had been a weird day. A really horrible day really. She still felt sick thinking about those missing feet. If Connor hadn’t told her how freaked he’d been, she wouldn’t have believed it. He’d looked so calm. Clearly Connor felt much more than he showed. He really cared. Connor truly was a good man. “Will he be ok? The farmer, I mean?”

  “He’ll live.”

  “How come you knew what to do?”

  “I’m trained for first aid. I just fixed him up so he’d make it to hospital.”

  “First aid includes fix up land mine blasts?”

  “No, but efficient killing means you have to know how things fit together.” He’d spoken without thinking.

  Cleo shivered. Violence always made her queasy. Connor had been blown up and she was sure he’d been in battle but as he never talked about it, she mostly forgot he was used to fighting and bloodshed.

  “Go put on your jeans, love,” Connor said gently. “A night on the tiles will cheer you up.”

  By the time they went out, the sun was going down and the village square was full of people. Much to Cleo’s surprise, Connor was greeted warmly. When they sat down at a small table, there were friendly nods and smiles all round. Cleo recognised one of the welcoming faces as one of the gunmen from that afternoon. He came over, a bottle in his hand. Sitting down with them, he poured out large glasses of red wine and then spoke at length to Connor. Finally, Connor turned to Cleo. “Our friend made it to hospital. He’ll live. This is his cousin, Javier.”

  He turned back to Javier and continued their discussion. Cleo didn’t understand one word in ten but it didn’t matter. She enjoyed just being out and about with people again. They sat and drank as the sun dropped over the horizon. The moment it was dark, music began to blare.

  When Javier wandered off and Connor headed for the tiny tavern to arrange for refills, two men immediately sat down at the table. Speaking slowly, they complimented Cleo on her ojos azules. She knew that phrase; they liked her blue eyes.

  She smiled and tried to tell them that she was with Connor but they just sat and stared at her. She realised they were a bit drunk.

  Connor came back, loaded with bottles and followed by a girl carrying plates of olives and empanadas, little flaky pastries filled with spiced fish, vegetables and minced meat.

  The two men mumbled at Connor and ambled off. “I didn’t ask them to sit down,” Cleo said nervously.

  “They jus
t wanted to talk to you.”

  “I didn’t ask them to!” she looked at him apprehensively.

  “I am not a Juan, a Peter and whoever else you’ve been with in the past,” Connor said calmly. “I’m not going to yell and scream because some man looks at you or even talks to you.”

  Cleo nodded. “Yes, Connor.”

  He could see she didn’t believe him. He tried again. “You’re always going to attract attention,” he pointed out, “because you’re beautiful. I don’t mind. In fact, I’d be upset if they didn’t look. I like to be envied.”

  “Oh,” Cleo said blankly. She hadn’t thought of it that way. “You think I’m pretty?”

  “No, I think you’re beautiful.”

  Cleo’s smile could have illuminated the square.

  “Now, drink your wine,” Connor said. “I won’t say enjoy it because it’s made by the owner. It’s his first time attempt and it tastes like a mule’s urine sample.”

  Cleo giggled. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t know anything about wine.”

  “Believe me when I tell you it’s an advantage,” Connor said dryly. “Luckily the food is good.”

  Cleo looked at him. He was a hard man and she knew there was violence below the surface but she suddenly discovered that the hidden rage no longer frightened her. He’d been tempted to beat her, she had seen it in his eyes, but he hadn’t done it. Connor wouldn’t lift a hand to her; she knew that now.

  He’d been upset about the sex but Cleo wasn’t bothered. It was just one of those things. In Cleo’s experience, men usually put their own pleasure first. Quite a few of them didn’t even know how to get a girl to come. She’d been 20 when she’d had her first orgasm and they’d been few and far between ever since. Connor was the first man she’d ever met who thought her enjoyment was as important as her own.

  Except for with Juan of course, she told herself hastily. But Cleo couldn’t help remembering all the times that Juan had been rough and distant because she’d done something to annoy him or because he’d had a bad day. There had been quite a few times when she’d had to beg him for a cuddle after sex. But that wasn’t something she could tell Connor. Not just because he had forbidden her to mention Juan but also because Cleo knew he wouldn’t understand Juan’s Latin temper. No, it was better just to forget it.