by LP Lovell
“I won’t.” She swallows heavily, the muscles of her throat contracting against my palm as I force her to sit on the desk. Her legs part around my hips, and I can feel her pulse thrumming against my fingertips. My cock stirs to life as her fingers grip onto my biceps, nails digging in hard enough to leave marks. I touch my forehead to hers, inhaling the subtle floral scent that clings to her. “I won’t,” she whispers.
“I can’t survive a world that doesn’t have you in it, avecita.” I inhale a deep breath and pull back, swiping my thumb over the corner of her lip. Her gaze holds mine for a beat before she pushes off the desk and walks out without another word.
We have to agree to disagree and hope that Dominges doesn’t reap the rewards of her brashness. Either way, I risk losing her, by his hand or my own.
67
Anna
I stare through the night vision binoculars at the green-tinged scene in front of me. There are at least twenty men, all loading stuff into several trucks. This is the base of one of the Sinaloa’s main cocaine distributors. The entire operation is run by a guy they call Scorpion. If we remove him, we land a huge blow to the Sinaloa business. Rafael and his guys are hitting two other big distributors. In theory, we should cripple the Sinaloa drug operation in one night. Of course, this is just one part of their business, but it’s a start. Empires cannot simply be destroyed—they must be picked apart. I’ve learned that much from watching Rafael.
Una slides through a fence, passing by several cows that barely look up from the pile of hay they’re eating. This farm is one of the biggest beef distributors in Texas…but their meat is packing some extra special ingredients. In the cocaine business, a distributor is only as good as his smuggling methods. And Scorpion’s are…inventive.
Una reaches the barn door and my grip on my gun tightens as I get ready to jump into whatever is on the other side of that door. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared. I’m not like my sister. For her, killing is a reflex like drawing oxygen into your lungs. More than that though, I don’t think Una fears death. Maybe she’s killed so many people that she’s just desensitized to it. I do not want to die. But sometimes, it’s moments like these that truly force you to live.
She slips through the door of the barn, and I follow her, carefully closing it so it doesn’t make any noise. The smell of meat and blood hits me so hard I’m practically choking on it. To the left and right of us, rows of cattle carcasses circulate, attached to hooks that are then rigged to a constantly moving pulley system that extends to outside the barn. In the distance, I can hear the desperate braying of what sounds like panicked cows, and it turns my stomach. Una continues forward without hesitation. Staying low and silent, she’s like a shadow in the night, unseen, unheard. So when we spot a sheriff and another man overseeing the packing of cocaine into the carcasses, I’m not surprised when they don’t even notice us. The second man is wearing an impeccable suit that looks out of place in this den of drugs and death. He’s middle-aged and utterly indistinct, except for the huge scorpion tattooed on the side of his neck.
I expect Una to kill them quickly and quietly the same way she always does. Instead, she grabs one of the heavy iron hooks and slams it into the back of Scorpion’s neck. The sheriff scrambles for his gun, but I’m ready. I shoot him in the thigh, and he hits the ground instantly. Moving closer, I take his gun.
A horrible choked gurgling sound is the only noise coming from Scorpions dying form. The hook has gone right through his neck and is now protruding through his throat. I fight back bile as I watch the blood cascade down his suit, soaking the fabric until it can take no more, and it then starts spilling onto the concrete floor beneath him. Unseeing eyes roll back in his head as his body twitches erratically. Una heaves on the thick chain, winching him up onto the merry go round of death. It’s morbid and violent, and not Una’s style at all. She’s usually clean and efficient, in and out. This... this is horrible. I watch as his spasming body drifts from view.
“Time to go. Shoot him,” she says, pointing at the sheriff. He glares at me, clutching his bloody thigh. I lift my gun, and my finger lingers over the trigger, but it doesn’t move. Our eyes lock and something shifts in the air, a silent conversation that passes between us. Maybe it’s the uniform, the idea that this man might not be a completely ‘bad man’? My warped sense of moral compass wavers, and my finger freezes on the trigger. “Anna?”
I glance at Una, and she stares right back at me. I think she sees it and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel disappointed in myself. There’s a small pop, and when I look at the man again, he’s dead. A perfect bullet hole mars his forehead. My sister tucks her gun back into her holster and starts walking, not a care in the world.
The moment Scorpions body rolls out into the loading area, we know about it. And it’s the moment we start running.
When I walk inside the warehouse, all of Rafael’s main guys are missing; Carlos and Samuel, and the men they usually keep around them. I make my way to the office, but a guy steps in front of me, blocking my path.
“You can’t go in there.”
“I need to see Rafael.” I convince myself that I need to tell him how it went, but it’s more than that. These are the lies I tell myself, all in the effort to maintain this perceived strength.
“He isn’t here.”
Stepping away, I decide not to ask any more questions. Rafael will be back soon. I climb the stairs onto the second level and go to the room I stayed in last night. It’s shared with some of the girls who act as mules, and the warehouse beyond is noisy, but I managed to get some sleep. Not like I haven’t lives in far worse conditions. I lay back on the bed and close my eyes, willing away the pounding beat that has taken up residence in my skull. Exhaustion washes over me before I fall asleep.
It’s completely black, and I can hear nothing other than my own ragged breaths entering and leaving my body on a strangled rasp. The sensory deprivation makes me uneasy, and a shiver skates down my spine.
I jump when something wet brushes over my arm, a small scream slipping from my lips.
There’s the low rumble of a laugh. “You can’t escape me, amado.” I shiver at the sound of that voice. Whipping around, I try to find the source of it. A wet finger slides over my cheek, and I flinch away, but there’s nowhere to run, nothing to run to. “You’ll always be mine.”
Suddenly, a blinding white light illuminates everything, a hand slams around my throat, and I’m staring into the glassy, misted eyes of The Master. He’s covered in blood, and his wet, slippery fingers slide over my skin. He smiles, teeth stained red, his expression feral. And then he kisses me.
“Anna!” I jolt awake, a scream on the tip of my tongue as I’m torn from the dream. Rafael’s face comes into focus, and I suck in what feels like my first full breath in a long time. Dark eyes study every inch of my face, his brows knitted together tightly.
“I’m fine,” I say on a choked breath.
I know he doesn’t believe me. “Come on. Come have a drink with me.” He pulls me to my feet, and I allow him to without a word. We pass by a group of women in the hallway who stare at me as if I’m some kind of zoo attraction. Rafe’s wide palm rests on the small of my back over my damp shirt. Once inside his office, he pulls the door shut and rounds on me.
“You don’t sleep there anymore,” he says, going to the corner and taking the decanter of liquor off the small side table. He pours out two glasses and hands me one.
“Where else would you like me to sleep?”
He pauses with the glass halfway to his lips. “Where do you think, little warrior?”
“This isn’t that kind of arrangement, Rafael.”
“When did the nightmares get bad again?” he asks, ignoring me.
I down my drink in one gulp. “They’re always bad.”
He lifts a brow. “Not always.”
No, not when I’m with him. Why is that? I never could quite work that out. “They’re just dreams.” There’s a pause, a beat of t
he kind of silence that only ever seems to exist in the sleepy early hours of a morning. He says nothing, just waits, letting the quiet wrap around the both of us until I start speaking. The words seem to fall from my mouth without permission, as though he possesses my soul so entirely that I’d spill all my darkest secrets just for him. “I thought when I killed him, he’d stop haunting me,” I whisper.
“It doesn’t work that way, avecita. Memories don’t die with their creator.” He leans back against the desk and takes a cigar from a tin. “And that kind of hatred doesn’t end with a bullet.”
“Have you ever hated someone so much that you felt as though it was consuming you?” I fold my arms over my chest, trying to fight off the shiver that has settled into my bones. “He’s dead, and yet it feels like I’m festering from the inside out.”
He lights his cigar and inhales deeply. That familiar, comforting scent wraps around me. “My father,” he says quietly. “Like I said, a bullet sometimes isn’t enough, unfortunately.”
“Is that why you had him killed? Because you hated him?” I ask, genuinely curious. Rafael knows things about me—deep, dark secrets—and I know very little about him really. But I know that he had Nero kill his father because that single action was the catalyst for all that followed. It’s the reason I’m standing here right now.
Those dark eyes lock with mine, the red glow of his cigar reflecting in them demonically. “Yes.”
“Why?”
He seems to deliberate his next words. “My mother was my father’s whore. When she got pregnant, he kicked her onto the street. Only when I started making waves lower down in his cartel did he decide that I was worthy of being called his son. I was fifteen.” He inhales and then exhales a thick cloud of smoke, crossing one ankle over the other, the image of casual power. “He was an asshole who thought himself invincible because he was a cartel boss. But power can always be taken, little warrior. I still hate him, even in death, but I smile knowing that I took everything that was once his and made it stronger. Better.”
“It doesn’t feel like enough,” I whisper.
“And maybe it’s never will be, but you have to try and let it go.” This is what I’ve missed. Una tries to understand and maybe to a degree she does with certain things, but Rafael always just seems to get me. Our paths have been so very different. He’s closer to the men who enslaved me than he is to my situation and yet he always just knows. He puts things in perspective, and it’s as though all the wounded, fragmented parts of me gravitate towards him, begging him to piece them back together again. “You’re still standing, little warrior. And somehow, the depravities of this world haven’t tainted you irrevocably.” He reaches out, grabbing a handful of my tank and tugging me close. “I’m not sure you realize what a feat that is.”
I place my hands on his chest, sliding my palms over the soft, expensive material of his shirt. “Tonight Una asked me to kill a man. I hesitated.” He watches me, waiting for more, but I just shake my head.
“Tell me,” he demands as his thumb strokes soft circles on the side of my neck.
“She rammed an iron abattoir hook through Scorpions throat and hung him up by it.”
“Okay…” He stares at me like he’s waiting for me to explain where the problem is here.
I roll my eyes. “That’s not her, Rafe. Her kills are clean, quick…humane.”
“Yes, but she’s not trying to kill like a master assassin, avecita. She’s killing like the cartel.”
“Is that how you would have killed him?”
“You have to understand, death is more than a punishment or a side effect of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Death is a tool. Kill a man in such a way that it scares others, and his death in actuality will save others.”
“Is that what you tell yourself?”
“That’s the cartel. It’s worked for many years, and it won’t change anytime soon. That’s why you hesitated? The brutality?”
“No. He was a sheriff.”
Rafael lets out a low growl, cursing in Spanish. “Go on…”
“I’d already shot him in the leg. He wasn’t a threat. She told me to kill him, and I just…froze.”
“This is war. Survivors and mercy are a luxury.”
“I know.”
“Don’t feel bad for him, avecita. He sealed his fate the moment he decided to take Scorpion’s money.”
“I don’t feel bad for him. I’m just angry at myself for being weak.”
His lips twitch. “Ah, little warrior. You are many things, but never weak. You are light in the darkness.”
“The light is never infinite, Rafe. Sooner or later the darkness will consume it.”
“And I will forever be fighting that.”
“Is that why you sent me to New York?”
“A man can only try.” His fingers sweep over my cheek and the way he looks at me… it’s like nothing else exists.
“What if…what if I need to become that person? What if you need me to become that person?” I’m confessing my deepest niggling fears, the whispers that plague me in the night when all else is silent.
“I don’t.”
“But you sentme away. You didn’t think I could survive your war.”
“Anna…”
“I don’t want your protection. I need to be able to pull the trigger and not hesitate just because the person on the receiving end might not be so bad.”
Leaning in, his lips touch my forehead, and his exhaled breath stirs my hair. “It’s late. You need to sleep.”
He’s cutting me off, ending the conversation. Honestly, I’m tired. For the last few months, my mind has been a constant minefield of what if’s and maybe’s. I want to just stop thinking, stop planning, stop dreaming.
I feel as though I’m trying to immerse myself in the very darkness he’s tried so hard to save me from, and it’s contradicting everything that comes naturally to me. Perhaps it was always a losing battle, and I was always destined to become this person, constantly at war with myself. Two halves of the whole. And Rafael…the man who should be dragging me deeper is the life raft keeping my head just above those black waters. Where will we be when this war is over? When all the blood has truly soaked into my hands and tainted me? Will he still want me? Will I still recognize myself?
Rafael stubs out his cigar in the ashtray and stands, taking my hand. He pulls me out of the office and leads me to a bedroom. The scent of him surrounds me the moment I step inside, and my muscles relax as though I’ve just taken a shot of hard liquor. There’s a simple double bed in the middle of the room and a chest of drawers. An open door reveals a bathroom. It’s not much better than the room I was staying in, except it’s just us. And that thought has a nervous knot forming in my stomach.
“This is a little different from the villa.” I secretly like the simplicity of it. I never quite managed to feel at home in the lavish surroundings of Rafael’s expensive houses. It was always a stark reminder of the power he had, and the absolute lack that I possessed in turn. This is simple, stripped down, industrial. This is closer to what I’m used to, and I’m comfortable with it in a morbid kind of way.
“In times of war…”
“Sacrifices must be made,” I finish.
“Right now, this doesn’t feel like a sacrifice.” he says as he stalks towards me.
I hold my breath as he reaches out and grabs the hem of my shirt, lifting it. I hesitate before I raise my arms, allowing him to remove it.
“Rafe…”
Turning away, he opens a drawer and takes out one of his shirts, placing it over my head. His eyes never leave mine as I slip my arms, never stray to my bare breasts.
“You stay here, avecita.” He walks into the bathroom. The door closes, and the shower starts.
I stand there for a second, trying to argue with myself all the reasons why I should walk out of here, but my own protests are weak. No part of me really wants to leave this room. Rafael might have sent me away at a point, b
ut I know his reasons. No one could deny that the man loves me, and right now, I need that love. So, I shimmy out of my jeans and get under the comforter. I fight sleep, but eventually, I give up and allow exhaustion to pull me under.
I wake to the tingling sensation of Rafael’s lips brushing over the back of my neck. Rolling over, I blink my eyes open. He’s already showered and dressed.
“I have to go handle some stuff, avecita.”
“Okay.”
“Stay here. You look tired.” His thumb swipes beneath my eye before he kisses my forehead.
The bed shifts and I hear the door close before I fall back into unconsciousness.
I jerk awake at the sound of the bedroom door slamming open. Sitting upright, I clutch the blanket to my chest and glare at my sister who is now standing in the open doorway.
“Get dressed,” she says, picking my shirt up off the floor and tossing it at me.
I get out of bed. “Why? What’s happening?” I turn my back to her, tugging Rafe’s shirt off and replacing it with my own.
“It’s nearly noon, Anna.”
“Shit, sorry.”
“One of my contacts finally came through. I have a location on Dominges.”
My pulse instantly ticks up in anticipation. “Where is he?”
“An hour outside of Juarez.”
“Have you told Rafael?”
She frowns. “The less people who know the better. Dominges could have people in here.”
“You can’t not tell Rafe, Una.”
She places her hands on her hips. “Your cartel boss draws too much attention. There are eyes on him, and Dominges is expecting him to come. Better that it’s just you, me, and Sasha. Their security is prepped for a mass attack, not a stealth one.”
I drag a hand down my face. This is his war, his territory. I made an agreement with him.
She tilts her head to the side. “Does he own you, Anna?”
“No, of course not.”
