by LP Lovell
“Why should we help you?” I’m so angry with her, but as soon as the words leave my mouth, I feel guilty. I’m only with Rafael because of her, but she betrayed me when I needed her. And that’s the root of it. She had my trust. I have survived so much without her because I had to, and I don’t blame her for that. But the one time she could have helped me, she became the very abuser I prayed for her to save me from. Una is no longer a savior in my eyes but an oppressor. How many other people has she maimed or killed? How many innocent sisters caught in the crossfire?
“This will help us all. Just have him ring Nero. Please. For my son.” And then she hangs up. Of course, she would mention her child. It’s the one thing that can cut through my rage and pain because he is just an innocent. He knows nothing of the cruelty this world can offer, and I would do everything in my power to shelter my nephew from it.
When I step into the kitchen Rafael and Samuel are absent, which is normal these days. Lucas offers me a wide smile from the breakfast bar as he chews on a mouthful of eggs. Carlos sits beside him and jerks his chin at me before turning his attention back to his newspaper. As I walk past him, I catch sight of the open page. There’s an image of several bodies hanging from a bridge by their feet, blood streaming down their arms from the carved message on their stomachs. All of them say the same thing: War.
I start to skim the article about the Sinaloa cartel members and a suspected war brewing between the Juarez and Sinaloa cartel but Carlos closes the paper.
“So now you’re going to stop me reading the paper?”
He folds his arms in front of him on the table. “You don’t need to see this shit.”
I laugh. “Are you serious?”
“Deadly.”
“You know that I’m with Rafael, right?”
He says nothing.
“Carlos, I’m no stranger to the most barbaric practices of the cartels.” I snatch the paper, and he glares at me.
“The cartels are not Rafael.”
“It’s one and the same. He’s the boss. He is the cartel.”
“He is, but not to you.” He gets up, taking his mug to the sink before standing toe-to-toe with me. There was a time when Carlos terrified me, but not now. “You might not like what you see when you look too closely.” He nods toward the paper in my hand and leaves the room.
I drop into his vacated chair with a huff and open the paper back to the page I was reading.
“He’s right, you know?” Lucas says.
I roll my eyes. “You too?”
“I used to see my brother a certain way. I knew he was in the cartel, but I guess I never really understood the full extent of that. And then I started working with him… I love him. He’s my brother. But I don’t see him the way I used to. The things he does…sometimes it’s hard not to be disgusted.” He shrugs.
“Lucas, you can’t judge when you’re in the cartel.”
“Yeah, but I’ve always said I could never torture and kill people.”
“What kind of bodyguard are you if you wouldn’t kill someone for me?” I tease.
“That’s different. I couldn’t just chain someone up and torture them.” He shakes his head, and my mind drifts to a basement, to a chained man, and me…with a gun in my hand and Rafael at my back.
“If someone wrongs you badly enough you can,” I say quietly.
“And what if they haven’t wronged you?”
“In this world, everyone is a bad guy, Lucas. They’ve all got something to atone for.”
“Even Rafael?”
I inhale a deep breath and reluctantly meet his gaze. “Yes.” Especially Rafael. But in my mind, he already atoned for anything he’d done when he saved me.
“Even me?”
“No, of course not.”
He taps his finger over the side of his coffee mug. “It’s not our place to be judge, jury, and executioner.”
I look at him, really look. His dark hair falls over his forehead, and chocolate eyes lock with mine, full of a kind of innocence I can barely remember ever possessing. I always thought that Lucas and I were similar; lambs living in the den of wolves, but the truth is, I’m far closer to being like Rafe and Carlos than I would ever dare to admit. Rafael once said that I was the angriest person he’d ever met. Maybe that’s true because when I think of that chained man in that basement, all I feel is anger. All I want to do is go back and shoot him again. When I think of his lifeless body with that neat little bullet hole between his eyes, I feel nothing.
I look down at the paper, at the images plastered across the page. Maybe I should be disgusted, but I’m not. When you’ve watched awful men rape and kill innocent girls, seeing them kill each other is of little consequence.
I know this was Rafael, and if I didn’t before, then Carlos’ behavior would have confirmed it. “It’s business, Lucas.” He watches me for a second as though he’s not really sure who I am. “Trust me, there are worse travesties in this world than cartel members being strung up.”
He drops his gaze to the table quickly. “Of course. You’re right.”
I don’t have the time or inclination for any kind of pity. “Where’s Rafael?”
“Office, I think.”
“Thanks.”
I get up and head toward the office, but Rafael isn’t there. I’m on my way back to the kitchen when I catch sight of Samuel leaving through the front door. It closes behind him, but through one of the living room windows I see him cutting around the side of the house to the gardens. Where is he going?
Slipping through the front door, I ignore the guards posted there, hoping they don’t try and stop me. They don’t. I jog through the gardens until I see Samuel entering a small outbuilding. It’s nestled against the surrounding property wall and is barely visible beneath all the vines that have grown up the walls and over the roof.
What is he doing in a shed? Curiosity has me following him, stepping up to the front door and pressing my ear to the heavy wood. I can’t hear anything. Instinct tells me to hurry away so I don’t get caught, but what is he going to do? None of them will hurt me. It’s not like he didn’t walk right out the front door for anyone to see. After a few moments of deliberation, curiosity gets the better of me. Lifting my hand, I knock on the door. It opens, and I’m staring down the barrel of a gun, attached to Samuel’s hand.
He releases a long breath and tucks the gun into the back of his pants. “What the fuck are you doing out here?”
“Following you.” He raises a brow. “I’m looking for Rafe. Obviously.”
“Let her in, Sam,” Rafael’s deep, distinctive voice comes from within the shed.
Samuel hesitates for a moment before reluctantly opening the door wider. The second I step into the dingy building, the scent of mildew and the coppery tang of blood assault me. My eyes adjust to the dim light, and I see Rafael standing in the shadows of the far wall. He’s shirtless, his thick arms folded over his chest. Streaks of blood taint the black ink of his tattoos in large smudges. A low groan has me tearing my attention from Rafael to the man in the middle of the room. He’s on his side in the fetal position, blood pooling beneath him. I can feel Rafe’s gaze on me as though assessing my reaction. Am I supposed to have one? I know deep down I should, but I don’t. The room is so small that it’s difficult to move around the guy, so I step over his legs, avoiding any blood. A smile ghosts over Rafael’s face as I go to him.
“Avecita.”
I place a hand against his bare stomach, feeling the burning heat of his skin against my palm. “I need to talk to you.”
“Can it wait?” I can see the bloodlust in his eyes—the beast is unleashed. It should probably scare me, but I identify with this side of Rafael just as much as the man who holds me and tells me he loves me.
“Well, I didn’t come into your little death hut to discuss the weather.”
“Okay, then talk.” He reaches out, almost absentmindedly and wraps a strand of my hair around his bloodstained finger.
> “Um, maybe privately.” I eye the beaten man who seems to be in a semi-conscious state.
“No matter. He’ll be dead soon.” Okay then.
“Una called,” I say. He stills, his eyes snapping to mine, that bloodlust rages to the surface until he looks positively murderous.
“What did she want?”
“I’m not really sure. I didn’t want to speak to her. But she asked that you contact Nero. Apparently, he’s been trying to get hold of you.”
“I’ve been busy,” he mumbles under his breath.
“Well, call him.”
His hand wraps around the back of my neck, and I can feel the stickiness of the blood on his fingers. “Is that what you want?”
I stare into those near black eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Una must be working with him again if she called you on his behalf.” He takes my hand, brushing his thumb over the spot where my little finger once was. I don’t bother covering it anymore. I have to come to terms with it at some point, though I’m not there yet.
“I don’t want you to be forced to deal with her.”
“It’s just business,” Of course, it’s not just business. It’s so much more complicated and deeply engrained than that.
Pulling me closer, he presses his lips to my forehead, and I close my eyes, inhaling the scent of cigar smoke and blood. I absorb his warmth, that impregnable feeling of safety that only he can provide.
“She’s your sister, little warrior. She’s not just business.”
“She chose her side, Rafe.”
“So ruthless, avecita.” He places his lips against mine. As the months have passed, his kisses have become far more than warm and comforting. Even the most innocent of brushes is like a drug to me: addictive, calming, exciting. He makes me feel things and want things that I never thought I would desire, and I don’t think I ever could from anyone but him. For a moment, the world disappears, and it’s just him and I in our little bubble. The blood, the danger, business, and family…it all becomes meaningless for just a few seconds.
He pulls away and once again, reality filters back in.
“Call him.” I step back and glance down at my white tank top now covered in faded red and brown smudges. “And put a shirt on.”
He grins. “Why would you want that?”
“I’m just thinking of Samuel. You’ll make him jealous.”
I turn around and step over the now fully conscious beaten man. “Please.” He makes a grab for my ankle until Rafael steps on his wrist, pulling the gun from the back of his waist. I hurry to the door, slipping outside before I hear the bang.
I like that Rafael doesn’t hide what he is from me, but I equally, my mind still grapples with the basic morality of coldly shooting a man. Not because it bothers me, but because it doesn’t.
What does that make me?
Lucas and I are side-by-side, jogging on the treadmills. He’s so much better, although sometimes he has weakness in his left leg. When I spot Rafael’s large form propped against the doorframe, I press the stop button. His arms are folded over his chest again, making them look even thicker and him even more imposing. At least he’s wearing a shirt this time.
“You okay?” I ask as I approach him.
“I called Nero.”
“And?”
He jerks his head toward the door. “I’m about to have a meeting with Carlos and Samuel. Come on.”
I glance down at myself. “Can I grab a shower first?”
“No. I like you sweaty.”
“You have a problem.”
Taking my hand, he leads me into the hallway. “I do, she’s about five foot two, blonde, hot.” He suddenly slams me up against the wall. My breath leaves my lungs in a rush, and my heart skips in anticipation. I used to hate the want I saw in his eyes, now I crave it because I know he wants me, he loves me, and he’ll protect me against everything and anything. It’s a heady feeling, that depth of loyalty, of love. And I know all of this from just a look.
His hands grip my thighs, and then he lifts me, imprisoning me with his hips and caging me with his arms either side of my head.
His lips slam over mine, stealing not just my breath, but everything. It doesn’t matter how many times he kisses me, it always feels earth-shattering, as though he’s realigning the stars just for me. Sparks ignite between us like static electricity powering up before a storm. That’s what he always feels like to me, being thrown into a storm. He’s wild and fierce and utterly chaotic. His lips skim down my throat and he swipes his tongue over my skin. “You always taste so good, avecita.” He always gets like this if I’m sweaty. I should probably find it gross, but there’s something fundamentally primal about it, which makes it so very Rafael.
Teeth pinch my jaw, and I tilt my head to the side, still struggling to catch a full breath. He chuckles, the deep rumbling sound reverberating through me.
“So responsive, avecita.”
I place my lips against his and kiss him slowly, teasing my tongue over his bottom lip. He groans and rolls his hips against me. “I thought you had a meeting.”
“I do. But you and I will finish this later.” He kisses me once more before allowing me to slide to the ground.
As soon as we’re in the office, he rushes behind his desk and sits down. I drop my chin to hide a smile.
“I spoke to Nero earlier,” Rafael starts. Samuel shifts uneasily. “He and Una have a plan to take down Nicholai Ivanov.”
I narrow my eyes. “Why would Una take down her beloved Nicholai?”
His gaze swings to me, cold and hard, every inch the cartel boss. Gone is my playful man. “It would seem Una is playing both sides. She’s trying to take him down from the inside.”
“Don’t trust her.”
“I’m with Anna,” Carlos pipes up from beneath the shadow of his hood.
Rafael leans back in his chair and takes a cigar from his inside jacket pocket, lighting it. Smoke billows around him, making him look almost demonic.
“The Russians are a problem. And they are virtually untouchable. It’s possible that the only way to take them down is from the inside.”
“What’s their plan?” Samuel asks.
“Nicholai wants their child. It seems he sent Una to New York to retrieve him as a test of loyalty. She wants to go back to Nicholai and tell him that Nero sent the child here, to Anna, for protection.”
Samuel swipes a hand over his face. “That would bring half of his Elite army here.”
“Yes, but Una believes that Nicholai doesn’t fully trust her. She thinks he will insist on coming.” His gaze locks with mine. “She is his weakness, and so she blinds him to the risk. With him away from Russia, he’ll be at his weakest. It’s our best shot.”
“That doesn’t help us with the army of Elite he will no doubt bring with him,” Carlos says, pushing away from the bookcase. “Do we have the men to handle this? We’ll need three of ours to every one of theirs. They’re like damn terminators.”
“I can sort men, but I’m asking you,” he looks at each of us, “as my family, if you want to get into this. I won’t drag you into a war, but I also have to remind you of the fact that this is the rock, and Nicholai having our port and causing a cartel war is the hard place.”
Samuel drags in a heavy breath, and he looks suddenly worn, tired, his usually put together self, fraying. The war with the Sinaloa, the Russians, the issues with Ricardo…it’s taken its toll on everyone, but Samuel is Rafael’s right hand. He’s the guy that has to shoulder the consequences of the decisions Rafael makes, and in Rafael’s absence, that’s surely been a heavy burden to bear. I’m all too aware of the fact that Rafe has probably made some unfavorable decisions for me. I’m scared that just as Nicholai may walk into a trap because he is blinded by Una, Rafael has led his cartel to destruction for me.
“Okay. I’m in,” Carlos says.
“We don’t have much choice, do we?” Samuel adds.
Rafael snaps his gaze to me.
“Anna?”
“Why are you asking me?”
“It means working with Una.”
There’s that little pang of hurt in my chest again. I take it and force it down, reaching for the cool indifference that I’m so used to wearing. “Like I said, its just business, Rafe.”
His gaze holds mine for a beat longer. “Fine. Dismissed.” Samuel and Carlos leave the room, but just as I reach the door, Rafael’s hand wraps around my wrist, stopping me. “Not you.”
“If you want to talk about Una, I don’t want to talk about it.”
He kisses the back of my head. “Fine.”
I walk out of the room. It seems we’re about to dive into a fight with the Russians, and I honestly don’t know whether my own sister will be instrumental in our victory or our destruction.
50
Rafael
After calling Nero and going over his insane plan, I leave the office and make my way upstairs. The house is quiet aside from the guards silently standing at every exterior doorway. Ever since the Sinaloa upped their levels of violence, we’ve been on high alert with doubled guard rotations.
The bedroom is dark when I step inside, with only a slice of moonlight cutting through the room. Anna always sleeps with the balcony doors open. I think she likes the fresh air after so many years without it. I love when she wakes up in the morning, the sun dancing over her skin and that small smile on her lips. I go to the balcony doorway and take out a cigar, lighting it. The smoke sinks deep into my lungs, emitting that sweet, toxic burn. There I stand, smoking as I watch my little warrior sleep—my favorite pastime.
The sheets are tossed to the side, revealing her long, toned legs and the white lace underwear she wears. The moonlight plays through the golden strands of her hair, turning them silver, and for a second, she could be her sister. Except she’s not. On a sigh, I pinch the bridge of my nose. I need to get her away from here before Una brings the Russian down on my head. Literally. Nero’s plan is insane and if it goes wrong, we could all die. But not her. I can’t let her die. The thought of being separated from her has an icy cold fear settling into my gut, eating away at any sense of selflessness. It terrifies me. Losing her terrifies me. If I send her away, I might lose her. If I keep her here, I’m every bit as likely to seal her fate.
