by Karina Halle
“Do you have interest in boxing?” he asked. “Or just in me?”
I quickly looked away, ashamed that he caught me ogling him so blatantly. He must have thought I was quite the fool. Still, my eyes went back to him, this time focused on the tattoos he had on the inside of his biceps. One said Maria. The other said Beatriz and Violetta.
“Who are those women?” I asked cautiously.
His eyes became vindictive slits. “No business of yours.”
I ignored him. “People you killed? People you know? Ex-wives?”
He sucked in a deep breath before he sat on the edge of the bed, hands clasped between his thighs, and stared down at the floor with a dreamy look in his eyes. “You know, once I went fishing with my father.”
Okay. This was unexpected.
“We were in La Cruz, just north of Nuevo Vallarta. Nice town, you know? Marlin fishing was really big there, still is, I’m sure. My father was a marine mechanic, so we had free use of his clients’ boats whenever we wanted. Well, I’d always wanted to go fishing. Hell, I suppose I just wanted to spend time with him since we never ever saw him. Occasionally, he’d give me and my sisters money to get ice cream and candy, but other than that, he was never around. I always questioned that, you see. Even at a young age.”
He cleared his throat. I didn’t dare move or make a sound in case he stopped talking. I needed to know more.
With a shake of his head, he went on. “I was an idiot when I was a boy. Ignorant. Anyway, we went out. It was a stunning day, calm seas. We didn’t go quite far enough to get the big fish—my father said he wanted to be close to shore in case he was needed for something. But it didn’t matter, I enjoyed being out there more than anything on earth. He was even kinder to me than normal. I remember he wiped sunscreen on my nose, tousled my hair, you know, like a real father would do. It was the best day that I could ever remember, better than when my neighbor, Simone, showed me her tits. Better than that. And then I ruined everything.”
“How?” I found myself asking.
“I asked too many questions,” he said, giving me a poignant look. “I asked why my father worked so hard for being a marine mechanic. I asked why he was never home, what he was really doing, if this was really his job. I got a whack across the face. He had never hit me before and he never hit me again, but I’ll always remember that feeling. The shock. Then he turned the boat around and we went back home, empty-handed. He didn’t say a single word to me for days. Whatever closeness, love, I had felt for that brief time on the water, that was gone forever.” He sighed and stared up at the ceiling. “Years later, when I was sixteen, he was shot. See, I had always suspected on some level that my father worked for a cartel. I just never had the proof until he was killed. I figured perhaps he asked too many questions, too.”
I felt my heart throb with compassion. He probably didn’t deserve it, but my heart knew no different. “What about the rest of your family? You said you had sisters? How many?”
He gave me a sad smile. “I had four sisters, Alana, Marguerite, Violetta and Beatriz. Now I have two. I also had a mother, Maria. Now I have none.”
“All related to the cartels?”
“To live and die in Mexico,” he said, getting to his feet. “That is the way.”
“Violetta, Beatriz, and Maria…” I stated.
“They are the reasons why family gets you killed,” he finished, his voice hard. “As does love. And as does asking too many questions. Do you understand?”
I swallowed thickly but nodded.
“Good,” he said, flashing me an insincere grin. “Now, since this is your last day in our beautiful safe house, I figured I’d ask you what you wanted to do today.”
“Do today?” I repeated incredulously. “Are my choices eat food, get Tasered, or become a human carving board?”
“I was thinking maybe you wanted to do something else for a change.”
As strange as it was to think it, the idea of change scared me. Things were bad for me, but I always knew they could be worse. In fact, tomorrow they would most definitely be worse and I was in no hurry to experience that already.
The look in his eyes softened as he held out his hand for mine. “Come with me,” he said. “You have nothing to be afraid of.”
“Only you,” I pointed out.
“Only me.”
I wasn’t sure why that made me smile, but it did. I was starting to fear I was becoming as sick and twisted as he was. Then I realized that perhaps that was nothing to fear.
I put my hand out and he grasped it, his palm warm and soft, his fingers strong. He pulled me up to my feet, and I realized I was only wearing a long t-shirt and no underwear. I don’t know why I was suddenly self-conscious, considering the way I was yesterday, considering I’d had my ass in his face a few days ago, but I was.
“I need to get changed,” I said, looking away. He had brought me close to him and I could feel those eyes of his tracing my skin, from my toes to my lips.
“Do you want me to give you a minute?” he asked. “Because I’m afraid I’ve already seen everything. In every way possible.”
I ignored that and pulled away from him, reaching for a pair of shorts, the shorts I had been captured in. I slipped them on, revelling in their familiarity, then knotted the t-shirt above my waist. Like hell I was going to bother with a bra.
“Low maintenance,” Javier commented.
“It’s easy when you’re held hostage. I’m surprised I’m still brushing my teeth.”
“Well, you don’t want to turn into a savage.”
I gave him a funny look. It was times like this that I could almost pretend I wasn’t his captive at all, like my fate didn’t hang in the balance of tomorrow.
I put on a hard face. “So, where are you taking me? Aren’t you going to, well, look more appropriate?”
He shrugged. “We’re just going for a ride. Tomorrow is a day for suits. Today is a day to … relax.” I tapped my foot and he went on. “I’ve heard there’s a beautiful waterfall here at the end of the road. Apparently you can see the Pacific from the heights. I thought we could go there.”
I couldn’t figure out just how sincere he was. “You’re just going to take me on a car ride?”
“Don’t look so concerned,” he said. “You won’t be able to escape.”
I figured that much. He opened the door and we stepped out into the hall. Immediately, the repulsive pig that was Franco was at our side. Javier seemed on edge around him, his eyes burning into him like a warning, while Franco handed over a pair of handcuffs.
Franco then went down the stairs, and Javier slipped one cuff over my wrist and held on to the other one before taking me outside into the sunshine. There was a black SUV—the narcos’ car of choice—running in the driveway. Franco climbed into the driver’s seat and Javier put us both in the back, making sure the other end of the handcuff was fastened to the handle above the door. There would be no escaping from this vehicle, not unless I wanted to be dragged to my death.
We rode in silence for the first bit, the only sounds the crunch of rock beneath the wheels and my heart pounding loudly in my chest. It was jarring being out in the real world, so much so that I had a hard time taking it all in. It wasn’t until Javier put down my window and the fresh mountain air came pouring into my lungs, that I remembered I was alive, even if only a short time. Lush, tropical foliage covered the road on both sides, and birds squawked happily from the trees. It was beautiful outside, and I realized that this was indeed a gift for me.
Yet, I had to wonder who all of this was for. Me? Or for the tiny speck of a conscience I knew he had.
I shifted in my seat and studied him for a moment, sitting there still dressed down in his top and lounge pants, looking more like an ordinary—albeit handsome—man.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked.
He stared out the window for a moment, as if he didn’t hear me. “Because it is your last day here, your last day in my presence. I
wanted to make it memorable.”
“My last day on earth,” I said grimly.
He gave me a lopsided smile. “Well, tomorrow you will either be gone…”
“Or I will be dead. It’s pretty much the same thing.”
He frowned. “I feel like Salvador knows how very precious you are. If I were him, I wouldn’t let you go.”
“But you’re not him.”
“No,” he said with finality. “I’m not.”
“So how are you going to kill me?”
His dark brows shot straight up. “Excuse me?” he asked incredulously.
“I said, how are you going to kill me? I know how most sicarios kill women. Through strangulation. Are you going to choke me?”
He rubbed at his chin, his eyes still bewildered. “Choking belongs in the bedroom, Luisa, and if you stayed around me long enough, you’d find that out for yourself.”
I shrugged and looked at the trees rushing past, the way the road climbed and climbed. The air was turning cooler by the moment, the land smelling sweet and earthy. I felt like every sense was turned on, heightened, perhaps because this really was the last day.
“Choking is a horrible way to kill someone,” Javier went on, his voice heavy. He placed his hand on mine, and I looked to him in surprise at the gesture. His expression was grave, his lips set in a hard line. “To feel someone’s life slip out of your hands is not enjoyable.”
“Is any killing enjoyable?” I asked coldly.
He raised his chin. “Yes. Some are.”
“So how are you going to kill me?”
His grip tightened on my hand. “Why are you talking about such things?”
“Because it is the truth. Is it Franco here?” I asked, jerking my chin to the monkey driving the SUV. “Will he do it? Lower me into boiling water until the little parts of me burn, until you cut those bits off, until I pass out and you revive me and you do it all over? Will you sprinkle me with acid? Gouge my eyes out, rape me with a burning hot tire iron and leave me in a room to die? Don’t think I haven’t learned a thing or two about being a narco-wife. I know how your business is conducted.” My voice had become higher at the end and I realized how heated I was getting. I needed to calm down.
I took a deep breath and looked away from his face, his face that was still searching mine, seemingly in disbelief.
After a few thick moments passed, the tension in the car mounting, he removed his hand from mine and said, “You will be shot in the head.”
A stone dropped into my stomach. The truth.
“I see,” I managed to say.
“It is fast and painless. You won’t feel a thing. Just hear a loud noise, perhaps some pressure. And then it will all be over.”
“Are you going to do it?”
“No,” Javier said. “That is not my job.”
“I would like you to,” I said, looking back at him. “I would like you to pull the trigger.”
He frowned, shaking his head slightly. “Why?”
“Because I am your responsibility. And you are the boss. Don’t become like Salvador, letting the people below you do your dirty work. Own up to the problems you created. Handle them yourself, like a man.” I leaned in closer, close enough that I could see my reflection in his eyes. “I am yours. Act like it.”
A faint wash of panic came across his face. “I am not finished with my name.”
“Then take me back home and finish me.”
Now he was really taken aback. He gestured to Franco and the world outside. “But we haven’t reached the waterfall. The view is breathtaking, I—”
“You wanted to make my last day memorable.” I cut him off. “Then you should do what I want. I want to go back to the safe house. I want you to finish your job. I want to be done with all of this. I want to be done with you.”
I could see Franco eying him in the rearview mirror, unimpressed that I was ordering around his boss. But I didn’t care.
Javier watched me for a few beats, a darkness swirling in his eyes. Finally he said to Franco, “Turn around, we’ve seen enough.”
“Yes, boss,” he said, now glaring at me. I turned and stared out the window, taking in the sights that I would possibly never see again.
It didn’t take long before we were back at the safe house and Javier was taking me up to my room. He practically shoved me in there and quickly locked the door, acting almost like he was mad at me.
I was alone again. But I knew not for long. He wouldn’t stand me up, not after what I said to him. He had too much pride.
So I sat down on the bed and waited.
Javier came just after nightfall. Perhaps he was a vampire. His shining knife, caught in the moonlight, acted as his dutiful fangs.
He came in the room and flicked on the bedside light, which gave off a dull glow. He was wielding the blade in one hand, still dressed down, but in jeans and a tight white t-shirt. He didn’t say anything to me, just stared down at my body. There was a strange emptiness in his eyes, and I had to wonder if he was really here or somewhere else in that peculiar head of his.
We both knew what he was here to do; there was no point discussing it anymore. I no longer feared his knife; I’d grown accustomed to it, just as I’d grown somewhat accustomed to him. I unknotted my shirt and pulled it right over my head, not caring that I was bare-breasted in front of him.
He bit his lip and I could see his chest rise and fall, as if he was trying to catch his breath. But he still motioned for me to turn over. I did as he asked, feeling as if we were doing a well-choreographed dance and this was our final performance.
Javier climbed on the bed, straddling my thighs, his groin pressed against my ass, and I felt that familiar yet still foreign hardness. I wondered why he never tried to have sex with me, particularly since I seemed to turn him on so much. Pleasuring himself onto my back was one thing, but there was a distance to it. I wondered why he had never forced himself on me, why he never tried to get inside me.
I wondered what would happen if he suddenly did. A growing part of me realized that I kind of wanted him to try. I wouldn’t fight him off. I wanted to participate, to be involved for once. I wanted to know if it was possible for sex to be different than the cruel, painful game I’d always had to play.
These were dirty thoughts. And yet I couldn’t push them away.
I heard him breathing heavily and felt a finger trace the previous letters in his name. He traced them over and over again, as if in a trance, and the knife never once pressed into my back.
“Why are you hesitating?” I asked him softly.
His finger paused. I heard him swallow. Finally he said, his voice sounding rough in the dark, “Because I don’t think I can.”
My breath caught in my throat. “Why?”
“Because I think your last night should bring you no pain.”
“There is no pain, Javier,” I assured him. “Not anymore. I want you to finish your name. I am more yours than I am Salvador’s.”
Silence thickened the room. His erection grew harder, and finally he shifted against me.
“What did you say?” he asked.
“I said I am more yours than I am Salvador’s,” I repeated, as truthful and sad as it was. “So finish branding me. I want the knife. I want your name.”
I think I might want you. You, the man who might pull the trigger.
I felt him lean over me, and the tip of the blade pressed in slightly, not enough to break skin. “Tell me again,” he said, “that you want my name on you.”
“I want your name. I want it to say Javier. I will wear those scars proudly.” And I will show the world that I survived it all, to the end.
“Tell me you want me,” he said huskily.
I stiffened, wondering if he had somehow learned my thoughts.
“Tell me you want me,” he said again, “and I’ll do it.”
I decided to shed my self-consciousness. “I want you,” I whispered. Then I said it again, until it sounded righ
t, until I knew it was true.
Javier dug the blade in one sharp motion. I sucked in my breath, feeling a mix of pleasure with the tingle of pain. He finished the final sections of the R with gusto, his work quick and seamless. I felt the blood begin to pour from the wound. In seconds, he was kissing it, soothing it with his lips and tongue, absorbing the blood. He was so unbelievably tender, even after such an act of cruelty.
I closed my eyes, not wanting him to stop.
He slowly moved his lips away from the wound and began kissing down my spine, his tongue zig-zagging over it. I arched my back toward his mouth, an involuntary reaction from my body, wanting more contact, the wet heat of his lips.
“Do you like that?” he whispered as he paused at the small of my back.
I decided to be honest this time. “Yes,” I murmured.
“Tell me you want me again,” he said.
“I want you.”
His hands slipped around my waist and under my pelvis and began undoing my shorts. “Tell me you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” I told him, suddenly feeling both turned on and afraid of what was to come, afraid of the unknown, of the change between us. But I didn’t want to fear anymore, not tonight.
“Good girl,” he said throatily. “Such a good girl.” He grabbed the hem of my shorts and quickly yanked them off so my bare ass was exposed. I heard him groan at the sight of me. “A very, very good girl,” he whispered. “And I’m about to do very, very bad things to you.”
He ran his hands up my calves, my thighs, my ass, up the sides of my back all the way to my shoulders where he kissed the wound one more time. Then he reached under me and flipped me over until I was on my back. I winced from the pressure of the bed on my cuts, but he took no notice and pinned my hands above my head with one hand.
He placed his other hand on my neck, squeezing delicately. My eyes widened in surprise.
“The thing about choking,” he said slowly, his voice dripping with lust, his eyes glazed with passion, “is both parties have to be ready for it. You, my beauty queen, are not. But I do know what you are ready for. Something to erase all your pain. Something … memorable.”
He lifted his hand off my neck and leaned in so close, I was sure he was going to kiss me. My lips parted, wanting it. But instead he went for my ear, licking the lobe, and said gently, “I want you to relax and lie there. When it feels good, you grab my hair and pull hard until you’re sure you’re hurting me. I look forward to it.”