by LP Lovell
I push away from the door and rush along the hallway, my heart sinking like an anchor in an endless ocean. Hopelessness creeps up on me, but I should be used to it. After all, it’s been my only constant, but I find I resent it now.
Lucas is already waiting for me outside, a satchel tossed over his shoulder and a bin bag in his hand. “You ready?”
I nod. I just want to lose myself in the deafening sound of a gun firing, the feel of the power in the palm of my hand. We go to the back of the house where there’s a small Eucalyptus grove. Lucas digs around in the bin bag and pulls out several beer bottles. He walks over to the low wall that surrounds the property and spaces the bottles out evenly.
“I don’t think I’m that good of a shot,” I say.
He hands me a pistol. “Not what I heard.”
I check the clip and then line up my shot before flicking off the safety. My mind empties and all my focus shifts to the short barrel of the gun, and the glass bottle in my eye line. Nothing else. I fire, and the smashing of glass as the bottle shatters permeates the satisfying bang of the gun.
Lucas snorts. “Not a good shot. Riiiight.”
“That might have just been lucky.”
He rolls his eyes and takes a shot, missing the first time, and hitting a bottle the second. We stay out here for hours. Until we’re all out of bullets and bottles.
We walk over to a little stone bench that sits in a corner of the grove. There’s a tiny patch of daisies between the bench and a large stone pot, almost as if the gardener missed that bit when he was weeding. I crouch down and pick a handful, placing them on the bench before I sit cross-legged on it and set about making a daisy chain. Lucas watches me intently, his brows furrowed together as though he’s completely confused. It’s childish and simple, but it’s something Una and I used to do when we were little girls. I’d forgotten it until now. She would braid my hair and tuck the little flowers into the plaits.
When I’m done, I place it on Lucas’ head like a little crown. He scowls at me, and I laugh. “You look so pretty.”
He rolls his eyes and picks up a single stray daisy off the bench in front of me. He reaches out and tucks it into my hair behind my ear. “So pretty,” he says, before blushing so hard, I’m sure all the blood has vacated his body.
I smile. “Thanks.”
We stay there, talking and laughing for what seems like hours. Lucas is so easy going. He couldn’t possibly be considered as any kind of threat. He’s just light-hearted and easy to be around in a way that I’ve never known before. He almost makes me feel normal. I could imagine in another life we’d be friends. We’d met for coffee and go to bars. Maybe we’d go to college together. I smile at the whimsical thought.
“Really, Lucas?” Rafael’s distinctive deep voice snaps me from my daydreaming. He’s looking at Lucas, one brow raised as he takes in his daisy chain crown. Lucas snatches it off his head, and I glare at Rafael.
“Leave him alone. I made it for him.”
Rafael’s lips twitch.
Lucas turns beet red. “I…uh, have to…go.” Standing up, he practically trips over himself to get away.
Rafael must have only just left the gym. How long was he in there? Hours? His vest is soaked through with sweat, a stark reminder of the pent-up aggression he just unleashed on Carlos. I hate that I’m driving him to that. Avoiding his gaze, I brace my hands against the edge of the bench and lean back, closing my eyes. The suns rays heat my skin, and the soft breeze stirs the strands of my hair.
“Always in the sun, avecita.” I turn to face him, and he swats at a bug. “It’s hot as fuck out here.”
“It’s Mexico. Of course it’s hot.”
“I thought Russians liked the cold.”
“I’m not sure I can really be counted as Russian anymore.” I hold my arm out, glancing at the golden hue of my skin.
He sits next to me, picking up a strand of my blonde hair. “You’re still a rare bird, avecita.”
He tugs his shirt over his head and tosses it to the side, revealing his damp chest and abs. I force myself not to look, and instead pluck one of the discarded daisies from their spot on the bench next to me, caressing the soft petals. I hate that I suddenly feel so awkward around him of all people.
“Nero called,” he finally says. I still and seemingly so does everything around me: the sound of the gentle breeze, the cicadas… it all stops. Whatever temporary moment of peace we were having is instantly shattered.
“What did he want?” Is he coming after Rafael? Is Rafael going to suffer repercussions because he denied Nero?
“He called to say that he has vague whereabouts on Una. She’s in Europe.”
I“Europe? Why?”
He shrugs. “She is from there. But I guess she’s trying to outrun the hit.”
“Who would try to assassinate an assassin?”
“In our world, there must always be balance. One crime organization gains too much power, and it throws everything off. Una is supposed to be neutral. But Nero just had her kill four Italians, all fairly influential. It put a target on her back. I’d say it’s one of the mob bosses.”
“Why would she do that in the first place?” He glances at me, lifting a brow, waiting on me to piece it together. “He bought me…to get to her.”
He nods. “Nero is gaining power and your sister is sure to be at the top of the Italian’s shit list.”
“Surely they know he hired her?”
“Let’s just say Nero has some powerful friends, and he’s without the usual mafia morals. Without solid proof, no one is going to be brave enough to point the finger at him.”
“So my sister is now being hunted because of him?”
“She chose to do it, Anna.”
“For me.”
“She’ll be fine. Whoever’s brave enough to go after her will get a nasty surprise. Not to mention the fact that Nikolai Ivanov will lose his shit. He’s very attached to her from what I hear. No one wants that crazy bastard after them.”
I shift closer to him and lean my head on his shoulder, needing his closeness. It’s all so messy. “Does Nero still want me to go to him?”
“I don’t care if he does.”
Despite the heat, I shiver. “I hate this,” I say quietly.
Rafael grabs my thigh and yanks me across his lap in one move. I try to shift away from him, but his fingers spear into my hair, holding me to him. I’m instantly acutely aware of every part of his body that’s touching mine. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“Rafe, you’re putting yourself right in the middle of shit that shouldn’t concern you.” His jaw tenses, his expression hardening. I scratch my nails over the stubble on his face. “I only mean that this isn’t good for your business.”
“Fuck business.”
I tip my head back with a sigh. I want to scream because it seems I’ll never escape fate. It always seems to follow me. His fingers tighten and he touches his forehead to mine. “Fuck everything that isn’t this, right here.”
“At some point, the bubble will burst,” I whisper. I feel like it’s already straining under everything.
“What bubble? Everything we are is born from chaos, little warrior. Life in the cartel is dangerous. You know this.”
“I didn’t choose to be a part of the cartel.”
“Didn’t you?”
It’s right there on the tip of my tongue. Even staying with him was never a choice. When choosing between the cartel and the mafia…well, it’s a rock and a hard place, isn’t it?
“I chose you. Not the cartel.”
“It’s one and the same, avecita.”
He reaches for my face, but I grasp his hand mid-air, glancing at his split knuckles; a very real reminder of exactly who and what he is. My gaze lifts from his bloodied skin to his face. “You hurt yourself.”
He tightens his fist, and the skin starts to bleed again. “It’s necessary. Sometimes you break something to make it stronger.” I trace my fin
gers over what looks like years of scar tissue over his knuckles. Broken, again and again, to make the skin tougher and stronger.
Make it stronger. Like him. Like Una. “Teach me to fight,” I blurt.
He frowns. “Anna…”
“Make me stronger. Please.” I need to be stronger in every way.
“You don’t need to fight.” His gaze meets mine, and he strokes fingers over my cheek gently. “I’ll always protect you.”
“And what if you can’t always be there?”
His eyes tighten. “Are you planning on leaving?”
“Rafael, I can’t always be tied to your side. Those guys came into your house and took me while you weren’t there. If I’d been able to defend myself…”
“You can defend yourself.” He stands up, taking me with him before he drops me to my feet. He says nothing as he marches back toward the house, dragging me behind him. Leading me through the house, we go to his office. He goes over to a picture behind the desk, an oil painting of a beach. It swings away from the wall, revealing a safe behind it. With the press of a few buttons and a beep, the metal door swings open.
“I gave this to Violet on her sixteenth birthday,” he says, his back still to me. Turning around, he places a gun on the desk. “I want you to have it.”
I glance at the silver gun, so inconspicuous, but it was his sister’s, which means it has meaning. “I can’t take your sister’s gun.”
He braces both hands on the desk. “It’s not like it could have saved her, Anna. Please. Have it.” Picking it up, he checks the clip before handing it to me, butt first. “And now you can defend yourself. You don’t need to fight.”
There’s something in his eyes, almost close to panic, so I decide to let it go. For now. “Thank you.”
I shove the gun into the waistband of my shorts, and he smirks. “Be careful.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not going to shoot myself, Rafe.” He rounds the desk and presses a kiss to my lips. The smell of sweat hits me, along with that underlying citrus. I wrinkle my nose. “You smell.”
He laughs and backs away towards the door. “I’m going to take a shower. Care to watch?” My face heats, and I say nothing. His laughter echoes down the hallway after he leaves the office.
I pull the gun from the back of my shorts and stare at it, clutched in my hands. His sister’s gun. I chew on my bottom lip, turning the weapon over. The light glints off the silver barrel, highlighting the engraved patterns on the butt. He gave me Violet’s gun, and I know how much that means. He gives me so much. And yet again, that sense of inadequacy settles in my gut, eating away at me like a disease. He’s given me everything, and I’ve given him nothing.
What if I could though? It’s not like I’m not well versed in fucking men. Why am I so incapable of doing it with him? Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. At the thought, fear grips me, sending my heart sprinting in a pounding beat. My stomach clenches and bile creeps up my throat. I can’t...But then I imagine what it would feel like to lose him, and that fear is far more intense. It doesn’t matter how tight I hold onto him, we’re slipping apart. And I need him. He’s become like air to me, and the thought of him walking away…it hurts, far more than my lost dignity. Steeling myself, I close my eyes and inhale a deep breath. I can do this. I’ve done it plenty of times before.
Turning around, I walk out of the office and straight up the stairs. Once inside the bedroom, I can hear the shower running through the cracked bathroom door. My heart pitter-patters right along with the falling droplets. Taking the gun from the back of my shorts, I place it on the dresser. I pace the room for a few seconds, fighting nerves.
Enough stalling. I open the bathroom door and step into the steam. The sound of water over tile gets louder, the steam cloying my lungs and clinging to my skin until I feel my hair sticking to the nape of my neck. My breaths are audible to my own ears, and I try to calm myself.
He doesn’t seem to notice me, so I get closer until I’m standing almost against the glass. On a deep inhale, I reach for the hem of my tank. The door slides open, making me jump. His fingers wrap around my wrist, and he yanks me forward until I slam against his enormous body. Hot water drenches my tank top and shorts instantly. The door closes behind me, enclosing me in here with him.
“Ah, avecita. Such a curious little kitten.”
I suddenly feel like cornered prey. Why did I think this was a good idea? Stupid, stupid, Anna. Adrenaline spikes my blood, and my breaths come out in rapid pants that I know he must be able to hear over the water. Before I can think it through, his fingers knot in my wet hair, tilting my head back before his lips slam over mine. This kiss isn’t gentle or careful, it’s hard and desperate, a man on the edge. His fingers leave my hair and grip my thighs, lifting me and slamming me against the tiled wall. My heart leaps in my chest, and I close my eyes, trying to drag desperate breaths into ever-shrinking lungs. I know he’s naked, and I know exactly what that hard bar pressing against the inside of my thigh is. The more he touches me, the more that tiny grain of confidence I had, shrinks. You can do this.
I place a trembling hand against his chest, and he stills, lips breaking away from mine. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m fine.”
He groans. “You shouldn’t have come in here.”
I don’t know what to say, so I simply wind my hand around his neck and tug him closer until I can kiss him. My mind races right along with my pulse as I slide my free hand from his chest, down over his stomach. You can do this. I’m so close to touching him there, when his fingers wrap around my wrist. Tugging my hand away, he pins it to the tile above my head.
“You’re going to kill me, woman.” He removes my other hand from the back of his neck and pins it to the wall with the first, trapping both wrists in one hand before he sets me on my feet. He towers over me, effortlessly restraining me against the tile. I swallow heavily, and my gaze follows his free hand over each defined bump of his abs, lower, lower, until he’s wrapping his tattooed fingers around himself. A little silver piercing catches under the bright lights of the bathroom. The water continues to pour over the both of us, and I lick a drop from my bottom lip. Rafe hisses out a breath through his teeth, his movements speeding up a little. As I watch him, I forget all about my fear. I forget why I came in here.
His chest seems to grow, his abs popping and flexing violently. Our eyes lock, and I slowly lean in, brushing my lips over his jaw. The corded muscles of his throat pop as he tips his head back, rivulets of water cascading over his skin. I swipe my tongue up the length of his throat, licking the hot water from him. Piece by piece, Rafael comes undone. Every touch, every kiss, he becomes a little wilder, a little more unhinged, and I find that I want it. I want to be in control of a man like him. Pushing up on tiptoes, I place my lips against his. I can feel the tight restraint in every inch of his body, his hand pumping against my stomach as the distance between us closes. I want him to come undone for me because this thing that has always made me so powerless is empowering right now.
A feral growl works up his throat and for the briefest moment, my mind waivers—my grip on reality slipping ever so slightly. I get this sick feeling in my stomach. This is wrong and dirty.
“God, you ruin me, Anna.” Anna. I have a name here. I’m a person, not a thing. I focus on Rafael, on the way his body bucks and tenses, on the glazed, needy look in his eyes. He releases me and slams his hand against the tile over my head, his shoulders slumping forward as he loses the battle with himself. “Anna…fuck.”
He’s cracking wide open, breaking and shattering before my eyes. It’s vulnerable and pure, untainted. A string of groans leave him between hard breaths, his body going tense before his head falls forward against my chest. For a moment, neither of us says anything.
“You always surprise me, avecita.”
The reality of what just happened crashes in on me like a wave breaking against the rocky shore. My thoughts becoming nothing more than scattered white foam, bubbl
ing to the surface in a messy rush.
“I’m…uh, I’m s—”
His hand lands over my mouth. “I swear, if you apologize, right now…” I try to move, to shift away from him, but he uses the weight of his body to trap me. “Oh no. You stay here until that look disappears from your face.” He drops his hand.
“What look?”
“Like you just did something wrong, something you’re ashamed of.” I tilt my head back and close my eyes. He sees too much. I don’t like it. His lips brush my cheek, stopping by my ear. “This isn’t wrong.” That’s just it though, how can something feel right when it’s been your own personal nightmare for so long? I’m warring with myself, torn in two between this engrained disgust and this longing to be something other than what I am. I open my eyes to find him watching me.
“Why did you stop me?” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the sound of the water.
“Why did you come in here?” I say nothing. “You’re not ready.”
I close my eyes. “If you wait for me to ‘be ready’, you might be waiting forever.”
“Then I’ll wait forever.” I open my eyes and meet his steely gaze.
He says that now. I try to duck around him, but of course, he blocks me. Standing there wordlessly like an impenetrable wall. “Let me go.”
“No. Talk.”
My frustration and self-loathing swirl together into a toxic concoction that has everything bubbling to the surface uncontrollably. “You won’t though!” I shout.
“I won’t what?”
“You won’t wait forever.” Tears prickle my eyes and fall down my cheeks, disguised by the water of the shower.
He closes the space between us, pressing me against the wall once more. His fingertips gently trace over my cheek. “You underestimate how much I want you. Not your body—you. One day you will come to me, and you will ask me to give you something that no one else can.”
“What—”
“Do you trust me?”
I hesitate for a second. “Yes.”
