by LP Lovell
I sit there in the kitchen, drinking and smoking until the door bangs open. Samuel and ten of his men are staying here. They’re a specialized team, military, trained, regimented. They all disappear, like an apparition that never existed. None of them ever linger in my presence for too long, except Sam. Maybe he’s just a glutton for punishment.
“Someone will be here in the morning to pick up the guns. There’re a couple of missiles in there as well.”
“Fucking Russians and their dodgy shit.”
He snorts and takes the vodka from me, tipping it back. “God, I hate this damn cold. How can these people live like this?”
“They’re vampires.”
He snorts.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I take it out, glancing at the screen. Unknown number. On a frown, I answer it.
“Yeah?”
“Rafael D’Cruze,” the man on the other end purrs in a distinct Russian accent.
“Yes?”
“I believe you’ve been trying to contact me.”
“Nicholai.” The tiniest spark of hope ignites in my chest. He’s calling, which means he must be open to a trade. Samuel stiffens beside me, his eyes locking with mine.
“I hear you have a port you are willing to trade for Anna Vasiliev.”
I rub at my throbbing temples. “I tried to contact you with that offer two months ago.”
“Oh? Well, I had other uses for her, but it seems I have no need of her.” He laughs. “Is it now off the table then, so to speak?”
“No. I want to talk to her.”
“Tsk, tsk. I’m afraid that’s not possible.”
“I need proof of life.” I hate to say it, but I don’t trust him for shit.
He laughs. “So demanding, but I think I hold all the cards, no?”
“Do you want the port or not?”
“My people will be in touch for a meet. Oh, and Rafael…I suggest you stop taking my guns, or I will simply kill your precious little slave.” The line cuts off, and I stare at the phone in my hand as though it’s a mirage. He’s willing to make a trade. Two months, and he’s willing to make a trade.
“Well?” Samuel asks.
“He wants to meet.”
“And proof of life?” I shake my head because I can’t stomach the idea that she might be dead, but I know it’s entirely possible. “You can’t give him too much,” Samuel says hesitantly. My fists tighten. “Not without proof. He could screw you over.”
“I know that, Sam!”
“I’m only looking out for you, Rafe, before you fucking destroy everything we’ve built. Even just giving him the use of that port will cause anarchy across the cartels.”
“I know.”
“Well, then don’t give him the deed for a dead girl.”
I pick up the vodka bottle and launch it across the room until it smashes against the worn yellow wallpaper. Liquid drips down the wall, pooling around the glass. “Don’t fucking say it.”
“You have to face the facts, Rafe.” That tiny little rational fissure of my mind knows he’s right, but it’s so drowned out by everything else.
“If she’s dead, he won’t get anything from me other than a bullet in the head.” He nods, and I get up, finding another bottle of vodka in the freezer. I go upstairs and shut myself in the drab-looking master bedroom. For the first time in a long time, I drink to the possibilities, to the fact that Anna may just be within my grasp.
I send a text message to Nero.
Nicholai wants to meet and possibly trade Anna.
I toss my phone to the side and collapse back on the bed, allowing the alcohol to pull me under into a weightless sleep.
Anna stands across the pond from me, her blonde hair whipping around her in the warm desert breeze. I start to walk around the pond, but every time I do, she moves as well, keeping it between us.
“Avecita.”
A sad smile pulls at her lips, and she opens her mouth, but only silence greets me. Her face crumples, and she starts to cry, her tears morphing to blood, streaking down her beautiful cheeks.
“Anna!” I jump the low wall into the water, wading through it as I try to reach her. My fingers are a breath away from touching her when she collapses on the ground. “No!”
I jolt awake to a loud buzzing. My breaths are ragged, my heart hammering. It takes me a confused moment to locate the source of the sound. My phone dances over the wooden surface of the bedside table.
I pick it up. “Yeah?”
“Tell me everything.” Nero.
“He just wants to meet. I asked for proof of life. He wouldn’t let me talk to her.”
“What does he want?”
“I have a port…” I hesitate. “I got a tip-off that the Russians are looking for a foothold in Mexico. A way to get arms over the American border from the south.”
He’s silent for a moment. “Offer him whatever you have to, Rafael.” He sounds every bit as strained as I do. There’s a sound in the background; a high-pitched cry. “With Anna out of there, Una is far more likely to come back.” I feel bad for him. Anna was taken, but Una went willingly, and then sent him his baby. Does she ever intend to come back? It’s one thing to lose someone through force. It’s another when they choose to abandon you.
“I’ll do whatever I have to, to get Anna back.”
“I know.” There’s another screaming sound and Nero sighs. “I have to go. The baby’s awake.”
“I’ll keep you informed.” He hangs up, and I toss the phone on the bedside table again.
This has to work, for all our sakes. I need Anna, he needs Una, and that kid needs his mother. Everything is riding on this one tiny olive branch the Russian has extended. It’s not enough, but it’s all we have.
41
Rafael
It’s taken that bastard two weeks to arrange a meeting. I pull the car onto the top level of the parking deck. My guess is he has the place covered by snipers, but there’s not an awful lot I can do about that. If he kills me, he won’t have access to my port, and if I kill him, I won’t get Anna back. It’s a tentative understanding, and I don’t trust the Russian for shit. I turn the lights off and wait. Snow swirls across the open space in manic flurries, disappearing into the darkness of the night sky just as quickly as it appears. After a few minutes, a black SUV pulls up the ramp, circling around behind our car and coming to a halt right in front of us.
I get out of the car, and so do the two guys I brought with me. Samuel stayed behind for this one. I can’t risk the possibility of this being a trap and them taking both of us out. He’s too important to the survival of the cartel, and despite how it may seem, I do still give a shit what happens to it.
The car doors open and a figure emerges in front of the headlights. His dark hair is graying, his eyes such a chilling shade of pale blue that he looks like the villain in every movie. An expensive wool coat hangs open over a three-piece suit. He’s both a cliché and nothing like what I expected. Two others move in on either side of him, and my eyes lock with the startling lilac irises of Una Ivanov. I force my expression to remain impassive, but I’ll admit, I’m shocked to see her here. She stares at me for a moment longer before I tear my gaze away and focus on Nicholai.
I’ve already laid out what I am and am not prepared to give him. Truthfully, there’s not a lot I wouldn’t give for Anna, but therein lies the problem. Show an enemy your weak spot, and he will exploit it. Though I’m not sure there’s any point in trying to hide it at this point. After all, I’m here, willing to barter things I never would have previously. For her life. “I offer you reasonable terms, but I want proof of life.”
Nicholai throws his head back on a laugh. “You are demanding for a nobody.”
Here, I am a nobody, and he thinks himself untouchable, surrounded by his army, but in Mexico…he would be eaten alive. That’s the only small condolence I have in allowing him any foothold in my country. “Here.” He reaches into his pocket and throws something to me. I catch
it, frowning down at it. It’s plastic Ziploc bag, and in it, is a finger.
“Is this a joke?”
“Of course not. See, it is fresh. Just cut this morning.” Nicholai spreads his hands to the side.
“This is not proof of life.” My heart hammers in my chest so hard it’s all I can feel, all I can hear. “This could belong to anyone.” Not to mention that whoever owns it could now be dead.
“If you look closely you’ll see the faded tattoo of a slave number.” He shrugs. “We used to tattoo their fingers until we realized it would fade. Then we did the wrists.” Bile rises in my throat as I notice the blur of faded ink, the same blur I’ve noticed on Anna’s little finger before. Stepping closer to me, Nicholai grins and places a hand to his chest. “On my honor, it is hers. Una cut it off herself.” My gaze swings to Una, and I grit my teeth as red-hot rage rips over my skin. She cut off her own sister’s finger. What kind of animal is she?
“You did this?”
There’s nothing in her cold gaze, not even a flicker of emotion. “You wanted proof of life. Now you have it. Her finger for her freedom seems like a good trade to me.” I glance from Una to Nicholai and back again, trying to comprehend what’s happening. I trusted that Una would protect her sister to a degree, but now…
“She loves you,” I growl.
“Love is weakness, Rafael. After all, look at you here, brokering non-advantageous deals, all for my sweet little sister.”
I dismiss her with a snarl of my lip. She’s a disgrace. Even by my standards, that’s low. The cartel might not have many ethics, but we’d never mutilate our family. “Do we have a deal?” I ask the Russian.
Nicholai’s head tilts to the side. “We do.”
“Good. I expect Anna within twenty-four hours. As soon as I have her, you can use the port.”
He smirks. “I will be in touch about your delivery.” He turns away, getting back in the car. Una simply turns away and gets in the car as if we’ve never met. Is her loyalty really that easily swayed? Or is she playing a role? Role or not, she cut off her sister’s finger. That’s fucked up.
Two days, and I’ve heard nothing. I sit at the dining table in the Russian house, swigging on a bottle of Russia’s finest vodka. I sent Samuel back to Russia last night, with half the men. The rest of them remain in the house, but as usual, they avoid my presence. I drink myself into a restless sleep, and jolt awake at the sound of squealing tires right outside the house. I must have passed out. Voices drift down the hallway followed by the front door clicking open. I get up and make my way into the hallway. Two of Samuel’s guys are standing in the open doorway, guns in hand.
“What’s happening?”
One of my soldiers steps into the light of the porch, a small figure clutched in his arms. Anna. I’m moving towards him and shoving the other men out of the way before I can truly process what’s happening. He hands her to me, and I clutch her tight to my chest. Her eyes are closed, her head lolling to the side.
“They dumped her out the front and drove away,” he says in a clipped voice.
“What’s wrong with her?”
“Probably drugged.”
I back into the living room and lay her on the couch. Her pulse is steady and strong when my fingertips touch her throat. I stroke my fingers over her cheek, barely able to believe that she’s real after what feels like an eternity of trying to get her back. Golden lashes cast a shadow over her cheekbones, and she looks almost peaceful in her deep sleep. I wonder if she’ll be so peaceful when she’s awake? What did they do to her in there? Two months is a long time. I press my lips to her forehead, waiting for the raspberry scent of her shampoo to hit me, but it’s absent.
“Sir?”
I glance over my shoulder at the man who brought her in. “We need to move. They know where we are.”
I frown. They dropped her off here. Nicholai has known exactly where we were this entire time?
“Pack everything up. We leave immediately.” I look at Anna. “We’re going back to Mexico.” Back where I can keep her safe. I might never let Anna Vasiliev out of my sight ever again.
42
Anna
I can hear voices. Low murmurings coming from somewhere in the room. Warmth dances along my skin, and it’s been so long since I felt anything but cold. My body feels weighted down, or perhaps it’s just my mind, unwilling to rise to consciousness and greet whatever awaits me.
“She’s been out for twenty-four hours. There must be something wrong.” I recognize the deep timbre of that voice.
“The doc says she’s fine. They probably just dosed her too high.”
I blink my eyes open and instantly wince against the bright sunlight streaming through a nearby window.
“Anna?”
The mattress dips next to me, and I glance at the man now looking at me. Rafael. There’s this little tug in my chest, but it quickly dissipates.
His face breaks into a smile, relief crossing his features. “You’re okay.” I say nothing and his smile slowly falls. “Aren’t you?”
Okay. It’s such a non-descript word. Am I okay? I’m alive. “Yes.”
His brows pull together, and he reaches for my hand, but I snatch it away. I don’t want to be touched. Ever. Pain morphs his features, and there’s that little pull in my chest again as though something is trying to get out, but it can’t because it’s so buried. I know that I once wanted his touch. I know that I loved him, but that feeling…it’s distanced, as though I once read it in a book and can imagine what it’s like, but not actually identify with. I know I should feel something, but I just…can’t.
I’m in my safe place, and nothing can touch me here. Not even him.
43
Rafael
I walk out of the room, closing the door quietly behind me. As soon as I’m outside, I drop to a crouch, dragging my hands through my hair. I thought when I got her back, this unbearable fucking pain would ease, but it’s worse than ever.
They didn’t just break her. They destroyed every last vestige of what she was. Rage and heartbreak blend together until I’m fighting back tears and wanting to tear everything apart. When I close my eyes, I can still picture that completely devoid look in her eye. I didn’t get to her fast enough. I didn’t do enough, and I couldn’t save her.
“Rafe.” Sucking in a sharp breath, I try and pull myself together before I stand and face Samuel.
“Yeah?”
“You okay?”
“Honestly? I’ve never been this far from okay.”
“She’ll pull through. She always does.”
I shake my head. “This is different. It’s like…like she barely recognizes me.”
“Give it time.” He places a hand on my shoulder and guides me towards the stairs. “Come on. You look like you need a drink.” I do. An entire bottle of the stuff.
I never could stay away from Anna for long. Sitting in the corner of my room, I watch her sleep as I tip back brandy. She’s on her side, curled into a tight ball, her bandaged hand pulled against her chest. She always used to look so peaceful in sleep like the years of bad memories had been wiped. Now though…she looks tense and haunted, even at rest.
A small whimper slips from her, and then she flips on her back and lets out a single cry. “No.”
I’m up and crossing the room in a heartbeat, sitting on the mattress beside her. I stroke my fingers over her face and she settles, leaning into my touch slightly. After a few moments she wakes up, and for a second, just a second, I see my Anna. But then her expression shutters, as though something is pulling her away from me. Her eyes grow cold, and she shifts away.
“You were having a nightmare,” I say.
“I’m fine.”
Fuck, I can’t take this. How am I supposed to fix this? She’s worse than when I first got her from the Sinaloa. Or maybe she’s not, and it’s simply that I didn’t love her then. Her pain didn’t hurt me then. I need to know what’s made her this way.
I clo
se my eyes, bracing for what’s next. “Anna, I need you to tell me what happened to you…in that place.”
She looks at me blankly. “Why?”
“So I can help you.”
“You can’t help me.”
I fear more than anything that she’s right. “Please. Just…let me try. I need to know.”
Her gaze pulls from mine, and she focuses on the ceiling. “They tried to get me pregnant,” she says, completely emotionless. Bile rises in my throat, and my fists tighten. “And then Una cut off my finger.” There’s the slightest waver, the tiniest hitch in her voice.
“I’m sorry.” I drop my chin to my chest, feeling like I’m literally buckling under the weight of everything. “I promised to protect you, and I failed.”
“You can’t protect me. You can’t save me.” I fucking hate this. I hate the resignation in her voice. I hate that she’s given up. My little warrior has laid down her weapons and surrendered.
Pushing to my feet, I swipe the bottle of brandy from the side table where I left it. “I love you, avecita.” And then I leave the room because I need a minute.
Maria walks into my office, her hands clasped in front of her and a grim expression on her face.
“How is she?” I ask.
