“Then you’d better get in so he and I don’t have a confrontation,” Cristiano said. “Quit stalling.”
I crouched to unbuckle the strap of one shoe. “My feet ache,” I explained, furtively scanning the steps of the church and then the crowds for Diego. Laying eyes on him one last time wouldn’t change my situation, but it didn’t feel right to just leave.
“He’s gone if he knows what’s good for him,” Cristiano said, calling my eyes up as he looked down on me.
Just like that, my entire life had been flipped on its side. Diego was nowhere to be seen, and his brother filled my vision and called me wife.
“Forget the shoes,” Cristiano said, “and get in the car—and don’t mention his name again, or so help me God, I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” I asked, standing. “Separate me from my loved ones and condemn me to a life I never wanted?”
He narrowed his eyes. What could he say? It was true. My fate was sealed.
I ducked inside before Cristiano could respond. He removed his jacket as he went to the first SUV and spoke to the driver. I fixed my gaze out my window, memorizing the town square. Until I saw Diego again, my last memory would be the defeat in his stance as Cristiano had ordered everyone but me from the church.
My heart sank. Diego had given me away. He’d had no choice—Cristiano had decided he’d wanted to unite our families, and his cartel with my father’s, so he’d made it happen. Nothing could’ve stopped him.
But still. The person I loved, the man I’d been willing to betray my father to marry, had let me walk down the aisle to someone else. And not just anyone. His cruel, notoriously violent brother.
Was he sorry? How long had he known about this?
My chin wobbled, but I stilled it in an attempt to pull myself together. Fuck Diego for putting me in this position—and fuck me for still trying to catch once last glimpse of him.
Cristiano tossed his suit jacket onto the seat next to me and slid behind the driver. “Why do you care where my brother is?” he asked, raising a partition between the front and back seats.
I turned from the window to Cristiano. “He was going to be my husband.”
“Diego gave you up to save his own ass. He’s not worth your time.” Cristiano studied me as we pulled away from the curb. “You should be thanking me for stepping in.”
Thank him? My blood simmered. My wellbeing was his justification for trapping me. Between our union and Cristiano’s human trafficking business, I doubted there wasn’t anything he couldn’t rationalize. “You left him no other choice.”
“There’s always a choice.” Cristiano tugged at his shirtsleeve, then held out his arm. “Do you mind?”
I looked at his hand. “What?”
“My cufflinks.”
We slowly made our way through the square decorated with papier-mâché figures, multi-colored flags, and flower bunches. Men in sombreros and women costumed in traditional ancient dresses with woven baskets on their heads moved aside, peering through the tinted windows, some of them tossing out angry words at our intrusion. We weren’t supposed to be driving through here.
“You can remove them yourself,” I said.
“But I’m asking you to.”
Was an ask ever truly that with Cristiano? I heard the demand in his words. Hesitantly, I pulled his wrist to me and slipped the sterling silver bar of a grooved cufflink through its hole. “What would you have done in Diego’s shoes? Or mine, for that matter?” I asked. “Although, I suppose you’d have to know love to truly understand the lengths you’d go to for it.”
“I should warn you, each time you say my brother’s name, a vision comes to mind. One I don’t like. So unless you wish to provoke me, you won’t speak his name again.”
His cuff hung loose. He nodded at it, so I rolled it up, my fingers grazing a vein of his thick, dark-haired forearm. “What vision?” I asked quietly.
Once I’d secured his sleeve at his elbow, he shifted to give me his other hand. “If I vocalize it, it’s likely to anger me. Not wise when you’re trapped back here with me.”
Diego’s name could’ve called up a memory for Cristiano that haunted me as well. Eleven years earlier, Diego had accused his brother of murdering my mother knowing it would cost Cristiano his life. Diego had chosen justice over family, and in the cartel, betraying family was the ultimate sin. I could still see Diego clear as day, aiming his gun at Cristiano and me, and I wasn’t even the one he’d wanted to shoot.
I removed the other cufflink, clutching both silver pieces in my palm. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more composed man than you were in that church,” I said to see if I could gain some insight into what made him tick. “Now you’re angry. What changed?”
It was his turn to look out the window. Cristiano didn’t have to acknowledge any of my questions, and that made answers precious. No matter the topic, anything could be considered a clue to the man behind the calavera mask. Who was Cristiano? What did a man as cold and callous as him fear? Desire? Love?
And why did I care?
Information. Once the only vice of a girl whose family told her nothing under the guise of protection, and later a burden when I’d wanted to forget everything to do with this life, could now be the thing that saved me. It would be easier to survive my enemy if I knew what he wanted. What he expected. What drove him.
Not just survive him, but maybe even escape him.
I was metaphorically chained to Cristiano by the power he held over the lives of the people I loved. I couldn’t run. But that didn’t mean there weren’t ways to get free of him.
I grazed a fingertip over the smooth skin of Cristiano’s wrist, lightly enough to make it seem like an accident. “What made you angry?” I pressed.
He continued to stare out the window for a beat, then turned to me. “Jealousy is new to me, but I no longer allow emotions to overtake me, so I was able to conceal it in the church.”
Jealousy? I schooled my expression to hide my surprise, both at his answer, and that he’d answered at all. Perhaps his response shouldn’t have caught me off guard me, though. Cristiano had expected me pure. Was he upset that he’d gotten his brother’s hand-me-down? Or was it simply the primitive urge of a husband who’d wanted to have his wife first?
He’d threatened to remove Diego’s hands just for touching me—but what had Cristiano thought would happen? He’d walked into the middle of my relationship with Diego. He’d disrupted our wedding.
He’d won.
When he reached for my ankle, I sprang back.
“Is the ache from the shoes?” he asked, pulling my foot into his lap. “Or the cuts?”
My heart pounded as the hair on my arms rose. I could never forget that Cristiano could—and would—touch me at any moment. I shifted my back against the door so I was facing him. “The cuts have nearly healed.”
“You had a good doctor.” The corner of his mouth lifted as his big fingers struggled with the stiletto’s delicate buckle. Days earlier, my fear of Cristiano had been overridden by how gently he’d tweezed glass from my feet. Instead of taking advantage of a situation, he’d helped me.
We cleared the town and accelerated down a two-lane highway, surrounded by desert on both sides as we barreled toward the storm clouds gathered ahead. I crossed my arms. “You’re a doctor, captor, and husband all rolled into one,” I said. “Lucky me.”
“Say that again.” He tossed my shoe aside and met my eyes. “I like the way that word sounds on your tongue.”
“Captor,” I said. “I’m your captive, and I have no doubt it brings you pleasure to hear that.”
“Not that one. Husband.” He moved my foot a few inches over until my arch aligned with a bulge at his zipper. “You are my wife, and it brings me perverse pleasure to both say it and hear it.”
My throat dried as he lengthened and grew against my foot. He was aroused, and I was at his mercy.
Rain pattered the roof as the sky darkened. “How long until
we reach the Badlands?”
Cristiano wet his lips. “Another half hour or so.”
I weighed my options. I had no idea what awaited me inside the gates. At least twice, he’d warned of taking me later. Better it lasted thirty minutes than through the night. If luck was on my side, maybe once would be enough for him to tire of me and move on.
“Just enough time to consummate our union,” I said.
He stilled, blinking at me. “I’m sorry?”
I pushed through the instinct to shut my mouth. I could endure him for thirty minutes. And even if I couldn’t, I had to rise to the challenge. “You said the marriage wasn’t valid until we consummated it.”
“Correct.”
“Then the people I love aren’t safe until the ink is dry.”
He cocked his head, squeezing my foot as he ran a firm thumb along my sole the way he had after he’d removed all the glass from it. A sharp, delicious twinge pulled inside me, and I shuddered to hide that his touch tickled. “You’re so eager that you want me to take you here the first time?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious.
“I want it done,” I said.
“You cowered from me in the church.”
“To be violated as Our Lady of Guadalupe looks on is heinous.” I should’ve been more afraid of what I was asking. I was tempting the beast to defile me. But I tried to appeal to logic. The devil I knew was here, now, and the clock was ticking. “To be had in the backseat of a car,”—I swallowed—“feels truer than anything yet.”
“Not in the least,” he said immediately, curving his hand against the smooth black leather seat. “This isn’t suitable for my bride.”
“I’m not your bride—I’m your prisoner. You want to be my husband? It’s too late for that. You will take me as your captive, not your wife.”
He set his jaw and reached for my other leg. Instinctively, I pulled away at the thought of him taking hold of both my ankles, but the backseat didn’t give me much room. He captured my foot and set to work freeing it from its satin confines. “You’re speaking from anger,” he said. “I understand. You feel betrayed—as you should. He traded you, but take comfort in the fact that I never will.”
“Where’s the comfort in that?”
“You’ll learn to find it.”
Though I faced him now with both feet in his lap, I turned my head away. “For my sanity, I hope I do.”
My jaw tingled. Trapped. At least he acknowledged it. But how literal would my captivity be? Momentarily, I’d forgotten to fear not just Cristiano but the place he called home. The Badlands had been described as dangerous, cultish, lawless—a wasteland for women and children. To add insult to injury, it was set against—but walled off from—the Pacific Ocean that sprawled from Mexico’s west coast. And I would be in the center of it all.
“What are you thinking about that makes your toes curl?” he asked.
I flexed my feet, forcing myself to relax. I had to remember Cristiano was nothing if not observant. Even as a girl, I’d been the subject of his attention, which unfortunately meant he might know me better than I was comfortable with.
Having liberated my feet, he inspected the soles.
“Have you taken more bullets than drugs in your lifetime?” I asked.
He raised just his eyes. And a single brow. “Pardon?”
“That’s the rumor about Calavera’s leader.”
“I have never taken drugs,” he said.
“And bullets?”
“What do you think?”
“I think . . . yes. You have.”
He squeezed my heel. “Good guess.”
He seemed simultaneously amused and grave. I ran my tongue along the bottom of my teeth. “Do you have a foot fetish?” I asked, just to see what he’d say.
“So many questions.” He seemed to consciously flex his grip, as if he’d forgotten he was holding onto me. “Why do you ask?”
“First you cleaned my feet in my bathroom the morning of the warehouse attack, and now you’re fondling them.”
“I cleaned you in the bathroom,” he said. “Now I’m touching you. Maybe I have a Natalia fetish.” He sat back in his seat but kept my feet where they were. “So, la narcoprincesa is curious about my habits and fetishes. She must be wondering what awaits her in the Badlands.”
How did a broken society function? If they were as devout to Cristiano as reported, what would they make of me? I didn’t know much about his business, either, except he moved weapons and women. Virgins, everyone in this world knew, were valuable. If he hadn’t married me, I’d be agonizing over the possibility of being sold. Maybe I did need to be worried about that.
I shivered and caught him staring at me. In an afternoon, Cristiano had already gotten what he’d wanted from me—the power two families and cartels afforded him. But at the end of a kingpin’s long day of destruction, he was still a man, and he looked at me with a man’s eyes. His gaze wouldn’t release me, nor his large hands.
He would have me tonight.
It was all there in the way his eyes devoured me. I had to face the truth. I’d given myself to Diego on the promise that he’d be the only man to ever have me. Now, I was facing a lifetime of servitude to his ruthless brother.
I could not cower or run. Cristiano would get what he wanted. And one day, he’d tire of me.
A man like him was not made for one woman.
Having a wife would be more of an inconvenience to him than anything. I hoped, out of respect for our history, he’d keep me somewhere tolerable. That I’d be housed and fed decently as my father had done for him. That I’d be called to his bed when needed, and otherwise left alone. But I didn’t dare expect anything.
Not after the things I’d heard.
What was it Diego and Tepic had told me? Rumors about Calavera’s mistreatment of whores, and satanic practices that involved eating snails, sacrificing virgins, and chanting in tongues. Nobody could confirm nor deny what went down on the devil’s playground, because apparently, no trespasser had ever lived to tell the tale.
Diego had promised to come for me. My father would try, too. But I couldn’t depend on them against the all-powerful Cristiano. If I wanted out, I’d have to find a way from within—and until then, I just needed to hold on.
In the literal sense, too, it seemed. I latched onto the door as the SUV jostled when we pulled off the main highway. Lush, green mountains rose from the barren desert, vibrant against the clouds. I knew the Pacific spread behind mountain range. It was a trifecta of natural beauty, and it didn’t surprise me he’d taken this particular town so he could erect his man-made hell.
He liked beautiful things, so he made them his.
“Do you get carsick?” he asked.
“Not usually.”
“Good. It gets rough here. The roads leading up to the gates aren’t paved.”
“We’re here already?” I asked.
“The distance from your father’s house isn’t great. It’s the terrain that slows people down.”
I gripped the side panel as we made our way down a rocky dirt road. “Why don’t you fix the roads?”
“That would make it too easy to get in.”
Or out.
My stomach dropped. Up ahead, stone walls rose from the desert like a fortress, sectioning off acres of land that abutted the mountainside.
The Badlands. The designation made sense now. It was hard to get to, and anyone who made it in wouldn’t be able to make a hasty escape.
A smirk ghosted over his features. “By the look on your face, you’ve heard the rumors. I ruined this town—defiled, disgraced, and ran out its people. That I rule it with an iron fist.” He slid his hand under the hem of my long dress, up my calf. “Maybe you can open that fist, Natalia. Turn it from iron to liquid mercury and sculpt it to your liking. As your mother once did with your father.”
I ground my teeth together. “If I’m forbidden from mentioning Diego, then you should be forbidden from speaking about my mother.
”
I tried to pull my leg back, but he seized it. After a brief hesitation, he let go. “I knew Bianca well,” he said. “She had influence—and a spine of steel to stand by Costa’s side. You’re not there yet, but you have it in you.”
“She’d be horrified by what you’ve become. Of how you treat women. And by whatever you have planned for me.”
Color crept up his neck until he looked away. I slid my legs from his lap and bent my knees to my chest, hugging them as we bounced toward iron gates several times taller than the men guarding them.
Silence settled between us as tires crunched dirt and rocks hit the bottom of the car. That was as much as he was willing to acknowledge my mother, it seemed. Or the brutal conditions that lay ahead. I’d find out soon enough what was true and what wasn’t, but where there was smoke, there was fire. I could see the walls and gates for myself. They hid secrets, and people, and in this world, that could mean nothing good.
He was confused if he thought I’d ever develop a tolerance to treating humans like commodities. If he thought my mother would want that for me.
We stopped in front of a gate. The walls were thick enough that their stone housed checkpoints, as if we were crossing a border. Men with guns and clipboards stepped out as the gates opened inward.
Blocking my view was a grumbling semi. I craned my neck as we passed it. Men hopped out of the back and pulled down the door, and I glimpsed people in the trailer.
Who were they? Were they arriving or being taken somewhere? I needed to ask. But what would I do with the answer? I was as stuck as they were. I squeezed my legs more tightly to my chest and inhaled a breath to calm my racing heart as we entered “las puertas del infierno,” as Tepic had called them.
The gates of hell.
To mentally prepare myself, I closed my eyes and envisioned the worst—a scorched earth ghost town, patrols with AR-15s nudging beggars and prostitutes along, heavy chains weighing down exits and people. Brothels and abandoned storefronts, warehouses of guns and drug labs, failed absconders hanging like examples from trees.
Violent Ends (White Monarch Book 2) Page 2
