The Black Fox (The Dirty Heroes Collection Book 1)

by Brianna Hale

  “Who’s there?”

  The castillo is empty around me. The chirping cicadas cut through the night air. I look down at my hands, the ones that so recently held my belt tight around Lolita’s throat, and see that they’re shaking.

  Who am I? What am I becoming? I don’t recognize myself from the man I was this morning. The man I was before I met Lolita.

  I charge upstairs, passing the door to Valeria’s bedroom and Lolita’s. I keep going until I reach a storage room where my things are packed away. There’s a large wooden chest, and I fall to my knees before it and dig a key out of my pocket.

  I don’t want to be Zacarias anymore.

  I unlock the chest and throw back the lid. The empty holes in the mask stare up at me. I kept it out of affection. I never intended to wear it again, but then I never imagined I would need the Black Fox as much as I need him now.

  It’s the work of just a few minutes to change. As I dress, I feel my heart-rate steadying. The mask and hat go on, and I can think straight once more. I slip through the darkened house and step out onto the terrace. When I draw my sword, a sliver of moonlight catches the razor sharp edge.

  “Hello, old friend,” I murmur, a smile on my face.

  Below, lights twinkle here and there in the town. I sheath my sword, and in silent, booted feet I slip into the shadows. There’s a path leading down to the cobbled streets. I’m moving so fast that I don’t hear her, don’t see her, until I’m right on top of her.

  Lolita is standing in the middle of the path, hands over her face and sobbing. The path is narrow and my body thuds into hers. Out of reflex, I scoop her up in my arms to prevent her from being knocked to the ground.

  Her tear-filled eyes grow very large in the thin, silvery light as she gazes up at me. “It’s you.”

  She lifts a shaking hand to touch my mask. I tense, ready to pull away, but she doesn’t try to lift it and discover my identity. Her trembling finger traces the mask, then my jaw, and then finally my lips. Her soft touch makes my heart turn over.

  “Black Fox. I thought you’d disappeared. You haven’t been heard of for months, and I feared that…”

  I reach up and brush the backs of my fingers across her wet cheek, searching my soul for some trace of the cruel beast that made me hurt her so mercilessly not ten minutes ago. “I was never gone. I’ve always been close by.”

  Lolita’s eyes fill with grateful tears. “I knew it.”

  “Don’t cry. I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

  My words seem to have the opposite effect, because she bursts into sobs and buries her face against my chest, her slender shoulders heaving with sobs. There’s a large, flat rock behind me and I sit down with her on my lap, pulling her close.

  Lolita cries brokenly for several minutes, giving into her misery and fear. I wrap my arms tightly around her, furious that anyone could do this to her; wracked with guilt that it was me. There’s no trace of that beast anywhere in my heart now. I’m the Black Fox, and only the Black Fox.

  Finally, Lolita begins to hiccup her way back to composure. She lifts her face to mine, and her gaze lands on my mouth. I’m hypnotized by the sight of her beautiful, tear-streaked face in the silvery light. She reaches for my mask once more, but I grasp her hand and press it to my thundering heart.

  “I met you once before,” she whispers. “Do you remember me?”

  Hoarsely, I say, “Down in the town. A summer’s night a year ago. You dropped a book.”

  She cries out and throws her arms around my neck. “You remember, you remember.”

  “I went back for you.” I stroke my hand through her long, silky hair, wretchedness expanding through my chest. How different things might have been if I’d only found her. “I searched the streets all night, but I couldn’t find you.”

  She lifts her head. “You did? Oh, that makes my heart feel so full. Perhaps it was a good thing you didn’t find me, though, because I was only seventeen and I would have covered you with kisses and made you angry with me.”

  I find myself smiling down at her. Her body is a warm bundle in my arms. “Never. I could never be angry with you.”

  Lolita gives a shaky, tear-stained laugh. “Everyone’s always angry with me.”

  “Not me. Never, mi dulce.”

  She tilts her mouth up to mine, inviting me to do what I most crave in the world; lower my lips to hers and kiss her. I turn my face quickly away.

  “But I’m eighteen now. I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

  She doesn’t know me. I don’t know me. I don’t recognize the man I became tonight, and I could revert into that fiend at any moment. One kiss could be all it takes to push me over the edge. I could hurt her.

  “It’s not possible,” I say through clenched teeth. “We can’t.”

  Lolita smooths her hands up my chest, and nestles closer in my lap. Her plump behind rubs deliciously against my thighs and thickening cock.

  “You don’t have to tell me who you are,” she whispers. “I’ll never ask you to remove that mask. Only love me, and I’ll be happy.”

  I imagine how it might be. She could give herself to the Black Fox, body and soul, and I could take what I want, over and over every night. I can have her, but never her love.

  It’s true. I really am cursed.

  Carefully, I get to my feet, my hands on Lolita’s waist to steady her.

  “I wish it could be so, mi dulce.” I take her hand and press a kiss to her palm, looking into her luminous eyes. “I really wish it could.”

  I disappear swiftly into the darkness. Away from temptation, and the brief hours of happiness I might have known with her.

  “My name’s Lolita!” she calls after me, her voice fading in the air like a sad cry.

  4

  Lolita

  I open my eyes to the morning sun, and a huge smile breaks over my face. He’s back. He’s here.

  I stretch luxuriously in the sheets, and then turn my face to the balcony door. I left the curtains ajar and sunlight is streaming in through the gap. He could be living in the town, or somewhere close by. I could pass him on the streets. I’ll find him, and convince him we can be together. I know we can.

  So that’s what it feels like to have a man’s arms around you. To feel his strength and smell his masculine scent. To want to give yourself to him, and know that he’s the only one for you for the rest of your life. That he says he can’t love me back or be with me has only made me more determined.

  The Black Fox deserves to be happy, and I’m the woman to make it so.

  My eyes land on the clock on my bedside table and I see it’s nearly eight o’clock. Though I want to lie in bed all morning and daydream about my Black Fox, I sigh and sit up. Mama likes a proper breakfast to be served and for everyone in the house to be neatly dressed and sit together. No robes or oversized nightshirts and bare legs at her breakfast table. Not that I’m likely to go wandering around in my underwear with a man like Zacarias in the house.

  After I’ve splashed cold water on my face, I pull on some jeans and a white T-shirt, tucking it in, and put my hair up into a ponytail. With some sandals on my feet and a pair of small gold hoops in my ears, I should look presentable enough for her.

  Mama and Zacarias are already at the breakfast table when I enter the dining room. Mama doesn’t look up from reading her tablet, and I feel rather than see Zacarias’ eyes track me across the room. Though I keep my face averted, I feel it flood with color.

  Say you’re sorry. Say, I’m sorry daddy.

  A shudder passes down my spine. To make myself feel better, I imagine what the Black Fox would do to him for being such a pervert. Stand on his throat, perhaps. Tickle his balls with the end of his sword.

  I make myself quash my smile as I sit down. The table is set with white linen, porcelain, silver and plates of ornately cut fruit. I reach for the gleaming coffee pot, but Zacarias gets there first and pours me a steaming cupful. I look in the other direction and don’t say t
hank you. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice that Zacarias puts the coffee pot down and his hand remains clenched around the handle. He can be as annoyed as he likes. I’m ignoring him from now on.

  Mama’s long, manicured nails clack softly against the glass screen of her tablet. Finally, she looks up me.

  “There’s a ball in Madrid tomorrow night. We’re all going.”

  “Good morning to you, too,” I mutter under my breath as I lift my coffee cup to my lips. A ball. I don’t want to go to a ball, I want to get out of here and go to university.

  “Be civil to your mother, Lolita,” Zacarias snaps.

  I glance at Zacarias and find him regarding me sternly, without a trace of the predatory gleam I saw in his eyes last night. I suppose he daren’t demand I call him daddy or try to choke me in front of Mama.

  “Gracias, but I don’t want to go to a ball,” I tell her. It will be a boring, stuffy affair. Mama loves official events and important people. I’ve sat though dozens of dinners with foreign dignitaries, businessmen in toupées and wives who make small talk about their beauty treatments.

  Mama is scrolling through her tablet again. “I wasn’t asking if you wanted to go, Lolita. I’m telling you that we are all going.”

  One of the staff brings dishes with silver covers to the table. As she sets them out, I wonder how Zacarias is enjoying being ordered about by Mama as if he’s a dog. Perhaps he’s happy to put up with it for the sake of her money.

  I help myself to potato omelet as well as slices of ham and cheese. Mama looks up from her fruit and glances at my plate.

  “Lolita. Don’t be so greedy.”

  I put another slice of potato omelet on my plate.

  Zacarias chuckles, buttering a roll. “It’s all right, Valeria. She needs fattening up. You want her to be married, and men don’t like a woman to be all skin and bones.”

  His eyes rake my figure, and I see a flash of the same hunger I saw last night. It’s gone the moment he turns back to his food.

  Mama starts reading aloud from her tablet. “The Vizconde of Barola. The French ambassador’s son. The French ambassador himself. He was widowed just over a year ago…”

  I feel a horrified shiver run down my spine. “Is that the guest list?”

  “Si. The men whom you might marry.”

  I drop my fork onto my plate with a clatter. “You want me to marry the French ambassador? Mama, he’s ancient.”

  “He’s not ancient. He’s sixty-two.”

  I glance at Zacarias to see what he makes of all of this. To my surprise, he’s glaring down at his plate and holding his fork so tightly he seems ready to use it as a weapon. Perhaps I only imagined this, though, because a moment later he goes on eating his breakfast as if the conversation is very dull to him and he’s not even listening.

  Mama shoots me a look. “That means he’s old enough to keep a disobedient girl like you in check.”

  Zacarias suddenly stands up and throws his napkin onto the table. After muttering something about needing to check his emails, he strides from the room. We watch him go, me with suspicion and Mama with thinly veiled irritation. She hasn’t finished her breakfast yet, which means no one should be leaving the table. I wonder if Zacarias knows he’s going to be scolded for that later. I almost smile at the thought, imagining her treating him like her toy poodle.

  Bad Zacarias. Naughty Zacarias. No treats for you.

  Now that I’m finally alone with Mama I can talk to her about him. In a whisper, I lean forward and ask, “Who is this man you married? What do you really know about him?”

  Mama hoists Blanca into her lap and feeds her the bacon from Zacarias’ plate. “I told you in a letter weeks ago. Do you not read my letters?”

  I received one page in her elegant scrawl saying she was going to be married to a man she met at the opera. “You said he worked for the policía as a contractor before he retired. That doesn’t sound like a real job to me, and isn’t he a little young to retire?” Zacarias looks about forty, a few years younger than Mama.

  “I hope you won’t be asking tedious questions like this at the ball tomorrow night. You should be practicing your conversation skills on me. How lovely the weather is we’ve been having. That sort of thing.” She drops a kiss onto Blanca’s head and makes baby noises at the little dog.

  I grit my teeth in annoyance. She’s not listening to me. “Hasn’t it occurred to you that he’s only after your money? How can you trust him when you’ve only known him a few months?”

  “We have a pre-nup. Your inheritance is quite safe.”

  I wasn’t thinking about me. Not about the money, anyway, though I am worried about living under the same roof as an utter creep. I take a deep breath and get to what I really want to say. “How can you be sure he can be trusted around me?”

  Mama’s brow creases with distaste. “I beg your pardon?”

  I fumble with my napkin in my lap, wondering how to phrase it. “He might mistreat me.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Aren’t you a little old to be indulging in poor-little-step-daughter fantasies? Cinderella didn’t get to go to the ball. You do, and I expect you to look your best.”

  I sit back in my seat and sigh. All she wants to think about is this ridiculous ball. “I don’t want to go. I don’t even have anything to wear.”

  “Yes, you do. Take a look in your wardrobe. I bought you several gowns while you were in Switzerland, and you have new shoes and jewelry, as well. No more excuses.”

  I sit in silence for the rest of the meal, waiting for Mama to finish so I can be dismissed and go back to my room.

  Several hours later I’m wandering disconsolately through the downstairs rooms when I hear the doorbell ring. I hurry to the door, but Zacarias gets there first. His big frame blocks the doorway and I can’t see who it is. When he turns around there’s a package in his hands. He notices me standing in the hall and smiles. It’s not a nice smile.

  “Well, well, well. What have we here? A package for Señorita Lolita Hernandez.”

  I step forward and try to snatch it from him. He holds it up out of my reach and makes a tutting noise. “Not so fast, mi niñita.”

  His little girl. Revulsion slips down my spine as I glare at him. The power he has over me is a palpable, vindictive force.

  “Why are you being sent packages? Does your mother know about this?”

  I shrug as nonchalantly as I can. “Can’t a girl do a little shopping?”

  He weighs the package in his hands. “It doesn’t feel like clothes or shoes. What have you been ordering? Could it be…books?”

  “I like to read. So sue me.”

  Zacarias nods in mock-understanding. “Of course. Books. In that case, let’s take this to your mother and see if she shares your taste in reading material.” He turns towards the door.

  “Wait!” I chase after Zacarias. He halts in the doorway, his back to mine, one ear cocked. “It’s textbooks. I’m taking an online course this summer. Something to keep my mind busy and keep me out from underneath your feet. I won’t make any noise if I’m studying.”

  If I frame this in terms entirely for his benefit, maybe he’ll hand the box over. I remember the textbooks it contains. Principals of Environmental Law. Human Rights: Law and Practice. Freedom of Information In Context. I glance nervously from the box to his broad back. Something tells me if he opens it and sees these books, they’ll end up in the trash. Zacarias doesn’t seem big on human rights.

  He turns slowly toward me, frowning deeply. “Your mother wants you to focus on getting a husband.”

  “I can do both.” I hate the wheedling tone in my voice. I’m eighteen and I shouldn’t have to beg for my own things like I’m living under a totalitarian regime. “There’s only so much nail buffing and hair curling I need to do for an evening out. If I don’t have hobbies to fill my days, I’m going to be such a pain to live with.”

  Zacarias’ eyes narrow. “Are you threatening me, Lolita?”

&n
bsp; I force a laugh and it comes out high-pitched and nervous. “No! Of course not. I was just pointing out that idle hands… I mean, you must have noticed by now that if Mama doesn’t have anything to occupy herself with she starts sighing about the house and sulking. I take after her like that.”

  It’s risky, criticizing Mama to her overzealous new husband, but it seems to work. Zacarias’ eyes flash in momentary agreement. He starts to pass the box over and I reach for it with both hands.

  Then he draws it back again. “Wait.”

  Biting down on the inside of my cheek, I force myself to express nothing but neutral patience.

  “Perhaps we can come to an agreement, Lolita.”

  That predatory smile of his is back. My stomach sinks through the floor. I relive in vivid detail the feel of his belt tight around my throat as he demanded I call him daddy. There wasn’t anything remotely fatherly about what he was doing to me.

  “We’re going to a ball tomorrow night,” he reminds me.

  “Yes, and I promise to dance with as many eligible men as possible,” I recite with a sigh. “I’ll smile and act interested and appealing. I know you want to get rid of me, too.”

  “No.” His voice is as hard as granite. “I don’t want you dancing with anyone. I don’t want you smiling at anyone.”

  I stare are him, confused. “I don’t understand.”

  Zacarias steps closer and I feel the heat radiating from his body. “If you so much as look in another man’s direction, I will see to it that he dies a slow and bloody death.”

  My eyes widen. “Don’t—don’t you want me married and gone from here as soon as possible?”

  His gaze glitters like obsidian. “Gone, mi niñita? Why would I want such a pretty treasure as you gone?”

  Cold dread runs down my spine. I can feel his eyes all over me. How could my mother marry such a fiend and bring him into our home? “Mama will be so angry with me. She’s made me promise to meet as many men as possible.”

  Zacarias finally places the box into my hands. “Who would you rather be angry with you? Me, or her?”