Dirty Angels

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Luisa

I woke up in incredible pain, my back feeling like it was on fire. Memories from the night before came flooding into my brain, first a trickle, then a dam unleashed. My attempted escape from Esteban, the Taser shocking me, waking up with Javier watching over me with an unpredictable look in his eyes, Esteban’s half-hearted apology with dinner, then Javier coming back with The Doctor and filming his branding for Salvador.

Javier had hurt me, really hurt me this time, but I did whatever I could to keep that hurt buried. That was until my parents were brought into it and the whole reality came smashing down on me. This was no longer about me—my parents’ lives were at stake. It was a cold desolate feeling knowing that what I wanted—freedom—I could never have. When I was with Salvador, my parents were safe. When I wasn’t with him … they would be cut off or worse. As much as every instinct in my body was telling me to never go back, to be glad that Salvador wasn’t giving in to their demands, I knew that my selfishness would cost everything.

So when Javier told me to react for the camera, I was reacting to more than just the brutal, deep cut he carved into my back. I was reacting to the fact that I would never ever win, no matter what I did. I was reacting to the unfairness of it all, of my very existence.

And somewhere on that bed, as a drug lord knifed his name into my back, I found the thread of anger that I’d hidden from for so long. It was starting to unravel, slowly, like a snake. I nearly welcomed it. I almost invited it to stay. I suppose it was enough to just know it was there, to know I had a wicked part of me that was mad, that wanted more than what was given to me and everything that was taken away.

That morning, I spent the hours locked in my head. Every time there was a knock at the door, I was both relieved and disappointed that it wasn’t Javier. In some ways, I wanted to talk to him. He had made me open up about my family, about my life, and now I was itching to get the same kind of information from him. There was something so traumatic about the night before that I felt even he was affected by it. That was a silly thing to think, of course. He was a man used to torture on a much worse, much larger scale. But even so, some part of me felt like last night was a first for him, in whatever way that was. Maybe because as he dug that blade in on the side of my spine, I could feel the hesitation in it, like he didn’t want to hurt me to that extreme. I wanted to know why.

Why would this man hesitate for even a second when he had so much at stake?

I know what my mind wanted to think. It wanted to think that perhaps this man found me special, that he would change his ways because he saw me for me. But I knew that wasn’t true, and every time the thought entered my head, I felt sick because of it, because something in me wanted to entertain it. But I’d given up those fantastical notions a very long time ago. Fantasies were for young girls who had no idea how the real world worked.

The last time I remember thinking that perhaps I was special and interesting and would one day capture the attention of a man was right after I had won my first pageant. There was a boy who worked at the restaurant, a line cook, who was only there for a few months. I could tell he liked and wanted me, and I wanted the same, but I was too afraid. So I locked myself in my mind, in daydreams about a better life, and I did that until he left. After that, there was no one else. There was nothing else. Because the truth was, as beautiful as some people said I was, it had done nothing for me but bring me pain. It didn’t end the threat of poverty and the constant struggle, and it didn’t prevent my father from losing himself.

You’re an idiot, I told myself after Esteban left, the lunch tray lying on the floor. Get your head back in the game, this is about survival.

And I was right. But even though it was a game, I wondered if I was playing it right. Javier was drawn to me in some form, and though I couldn’t figure out what form that was, he still seemed to take special interest in me. I needed to figure out how to make that work to my advantage. Javier was my only way out of here, I knew that much. Forget Esteban, his power seemed weak at best, and the others seemed ready to throw me to the dogs at first chance. As much as I hated to think it, Javier was the one person who could save me.

I just didn’t know how.

Javier

“Good news,” Este said, limping into the makeshift office I had at the safe house. The door didn’t close properly, which cut my privacy down to zero and apparently other people’s manners as well.

I sighed and snapped my laptop shut, looking up at him with dry interest. I’d been having a hard time believing in good news lately. Luisa had become this ticking time bomb in my life, her presence and predicament penetrating my thoughts, whether I was away from her or not. No matter where I was in this house, I couldn’t escape her.

“Don’t look so happy,” Este said, and flashed me that cheesy dumbfuck grin of his.

“Give me a reason to be happy, then,” I said, gesturing to the worn office chair on the other side of the desk. It didn’t help me get into the right frame of mind when I felt like I was setting up camp in a derelict’s house. Este had assured me the furnishings in the safe house were classy, but then again, he wouldn’t know classy if it took a shit right in front of him.

He sat down and I exhaled hard through my nose. He was complying, which was good. It meant there were no hard feelings about the knife. Well, I’m sure he hated me as he usually did, but at least he was showing respect now. Sometimes subtle violence is all you needed to keep a man in line.

“I just heard from Juanito. He says that though everything is being kept from the media, Salvador knows we have Luisa, has seen both videos, and is currently thinking of a strategy.”

I raised my brow. “Strategy?” I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. A year ago we had tried to strike a deal with an informant for the Tijuana Cartel. He tried to strategize. We turned our assassin—sicario—on him instead of the narco we were after. That’s what happened to people who tried to outthink us.

Unfortunately, I was no longer so sure that we were holding all the cards. We only had one, a queen, and I was starting to think she was worth more to me than to Salvador.

Este shrugged. “I wasn’t sure. My call with him was brief. But it seems to me like Salvador is ready to make a deal. Perhaps we can’t get the Ephedra coming in from China, but maybe he’ll give us coke from Colombia.”

A pang of anger ran through me. “We already have that. We want more.”

He didn’t look too concerned when he tried to cross his legs; instead he winced from the pain in his shin. Good. “Well then we’ll have more coke. It’s better than nothing.”

He was right, but it did nothing to make me happy. If I wanted more coke shipments, we could have easily gone east, after the Gulf Cartel in Veracruz. I just didn’t like the idea of returning to that city, what used to be the disputed territory of Travis Raines, a city that held filthy memories. I took Luisa because I wanted something I never had—an opportunity for new power from a new source.

“Come on, Javi,” Este said. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m in a lot of pain.”

I frowned. “You don’t seem like it.”

“Well, what good is The Doctor if he can’t get you high all the time? Poppies, Javi, from the very mountains we’re in, possibly from the very farms owned by Salvador. When in Rome…”

I could tell Este wasn’t that high on morphine, otherwise he’d be floating, but I made a note to speak with The Doctor after this. Pain was a lesson, and besides that, we all needed to have clear heads. That was why I had such a low tolerance for drug use. I’m sure it was ironic to many, considering my empire was built on the drug trade, but I’d been burned too many times by past employees whose addiction not only fucked them up but made them mutinous.

As for me, I almost never partook in it. After prison there was a period where I understood how drugs made a preferable reality for some people. It was one of my few moments of weakness, but even then I found strength in it. Discovering how dependent people got, how the right drugs could bury every broken heart and heal shattered pride, made me realize that in some ways, the cartels were doing the world a favor. We were giving people an escape from their sorry existences.

I tapped my fingers on the desk, my gaze directed out the window and at the sunlight trying to break through the clouds. “I suppose the bright side is that we’ll hear from him in two days.”

“How many letters do you have left?” Este asked.

“Today is E. Tomorrow is R.”

“And then we say goodbye.”

“Yes.” I cleared my throat. “Then this is all over.”

“I can’t tell if you’re sad it’s ending because you’re enjoying the torture, or … other reasons.”

I shot him a sharp look. “What do you think?”

He smiled and got up carefully. “I don’t think anything. You could say I’ve learned.”

“Keep it that way.”

I glared, and he nodded his head, leaving the room while trying to stifle his limp. Once he was gone and I was left in peace, I flipped my laptop open and stared at it. It was a picture of Luisa, the ones that Martin had taken at the wedding. It felt so much safer for me now to admire her from afar, even though I knew she was in the room above my head, even though I knew I would have to return tonight, knife in hand and face her once again.

After dinner, I decided to be the one to take up Luisa’s food. I told The Doctor to ease up on the morphine for Este, and I volunteered to make dinner. I’d always been somewhat of a good cook, and was curious to see if Luisa would notice. Franco had even been sent into the local village to buy tomatillos, lime, and corn.

I paused at her door, taking in a deep breath. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the guard down by the stairs trying not to watch me, and I automatically stood up straighter. I quickly knocked and waited but a few seconds before I knocked again.

I heard nothing from her, not a “fuck off” or a cry to go away. It was dark out, evening, and she must have known it was me and what I was there to do. Her silence compelled me to open the door.

The room was dark, and from what I could see, she wasn’t in the bed. I quickly shut the door behind me and switched on the light, ready to be ambushed. She wasn’t anywhere, but the bathroom door was closed. I couldn’t hear her which made my heart pulse with worry. I racked my brain, trying to think if there was anything around here that she could hurt herself with.

But there was only me.

I slowly placed the tray on the bedside table. “Luisa?” I asked softly.

No answer.

I walked over to the bathroom door and rapped on it with my knuckles, saying her name again, hiding the urgency in my voice. Knowing the door had no lock, I turned the knob and slowly opened it.

The bathroom mirror was fogged up with steam, obscuring my reflection. Luisa’s clothes were scattered on the ground. She was in the bathtub, lying there, fully naked and exposed. Her hair pooled around her like octopus ink.

I expected her to cover up, to glare at me, but she did nothing but stare forward, her eyes fixed on the beads of condensation that ran down the edge of the tub. I could do nothing but stare at her naked form, the way her nipples poked above the still water, how beautifully vulnerable she looked. I liked that. Naturally, so did my dick. It strained against my zipper, and for once I tried to ignore it.

“I brought you dinner,” I said, once I was able to gather some of my wits.

“You sounded concerned,” she said, her voice chilled on ice, her eyes avoiding mine.

“I was,” I admitted as I stepped closer to her. I crouched down so I was at her level, one of my hands on the rim of the bathtub. “I was afraid something had happened to my greatest asset. Without you, I have nothing to trade.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Right. Well I’m alive, as you can see.”

I noticed the way she was laying there, her head taking off most of the pressure from her back. “Are you in pain?”

The smile vanished but she said nothing. I knew she was.

“Lean forward,” I told her.

“Why?”

“I want to admire my handiwork.”

She finally looked over at me and my eyes locked with hers. “You’d rather admire your handiwork than admire my body?”

I swallowed hard but managed to give her an easy smile. “I can do both. Your back is just as beautiful as the rest of you. Perhaps even more so.”

But that was a lie. I knew it as soon as she leaned forward. I reached over and lifted her dark, heavy wet hair from her back, placing it over one shoulder. Her back looked ugly now, the Taser wounds plus that deep gash of the I all ragged and crude, her flesh flayed and puffy from the water.

She looked so small and pure and helpless in the bath, those letters such a contrast, that I was hit with an unwelcome jolt of shame. It nearly knocked me off balance and I found myself gripping the edge of the bathtub harder than I wanted to.

Unfortunately, she noticed that too. Her eyes flew to my hand.

I had to remedy this right away. She was just a woman, a woman of no consequence. I didn’t know her and she didn’t know me. She never would know me. She’d be dead or gone in two days’ time—having feelings of shame or remorse over what I’d done and was about to do was useless, ridiculous, and dangerous. So fucking dangerous.

“You almost took my breath away,” I told her, giving her my most leering smile. “Such beauty in such pain.”

“I am in no pain,” she said. “If you’ve come to give me another letter, shoot another video, then do it. Don’t pretend you’re here under the guise of giving me dinner.”

I took a long, sweet look at her body and let the sight of her cause a spike in my cravings. “Perhaps I am here for other things.”

I waited to see fear in her eyes but there was none. There was something else though, something I’d only seen once or twice in her face, hovering around the surface. It was curiosity. For good or for bad, it was as if she was interested in seeing just what else I could do to her. Or perhaps, for her.

She looked away, breaking our heated gaze, and hugged her knees tighter to her chest. “Well, if you are here for other things, then do them.”

I clucked my tongue. “You are a strange one, Luisa. You should know better by now than to tempt the devil.” I reached forward and traced an invisible E on her back with my finger. She flinched at my touch but still let me do it. I wondered now what else she would let me do. I wondered if I reached my hands into the bath and stroked her breasts, if she’d surrender like last time. Or would she fight back? Or would she welcome it, want it?

I could bet she’d never come before, never had an orgasm. I found myself savoring the thought of giving her both pain and pleasure.

I traced an invisible R, imagining the finished product, telling myself it would look beautiful. Then I trailed my fingers over to her shoulder and down her arm into the warm bathwater. I gently caressed her nipple, as if by accident, and watched her closely for her reaction. Her nipple reacted exquisitely.

She closed her eyes, and in turn I closed mine, taking in the rich, sweet smell of her wet skin, listening to her breath catch and release.

“Did you like that?” I whispered.

I could hear her swallow hard. “I’m just waiting for the knife,” she said softly.

My eyes snapped open and I stared at her. Of course she couldn’t find anything pleasurable when there was blood to be drawn.

“And you shall get it,” I said quickly. I retracted my hand and waved the bathwater away while I got to my feet. “Especially now since Salvador is working out a strategy to get you back.”

She jolted, as if suddenly shocked, the water splashing around her. She stared up at me with horror, horror that wasn’t meant for me. “You heard from Sal?”

“In a manner of speaking,” I said slowly. I reached for the bath towel and held it out for her. “Come on out of the bath.”

“I’d rather you do it here.”

I frowned. “Your flesh is extra tender. It may hurt more.”

“And I’d rather sit in a pool of my own blood.” Though she said this with a hardened voice, her chest was rising and falling rapidly and she was nearly shaking. The night before I had seen how she reacted to going back to Salvador, but I hadn’t quite realized it was that bad. I had to wonder what the fuck had been done to her.

And then I had to stop myself. It would only make this harder.

“Very well,” I said. I folded the towel and placed it neatly on the sink, then whisked the knife out of my boot. “You sure you don’t want to have your dinner first? I made it. Fresh produce from town and everything.”

“I prefer the blade,” she said. Then she leaned forward even further, gathering her hair tight to her side, making sure her back was completely clear. What I was doing had no effect on her, it was as if she wanted it. I was getting further and further away from breaking her and deeper and deeper into something else, something more troubling.

I leaned over her, and with one hand at her small, delicate neck to steady myself, I began to cut the E. I didn’t do it nearly as deep as the I and it took much longer. I kept hesitating, something I knew she was recognizing, but it couldn’t be helped. When it was finally over and the last cut was made, I watched the blood run down her back, like it was crying crimson tears, and the water around her waist became tinged with pink.

Before I knew what I was doing, I placed my lips on the wound, tasting the salt of her blood, the purity of her veins. I wanted to soothe the damage I had just created and feel the vitality of her existence pulse beneath my skin.

To her credit, she didn’t flinch. She let me kiss her back and take my time doing so. She let me be a vampire, high on her blood and after her soul.

“I wanted to break you,” I murmured against the blood. “I wanted to destroy you, ruin you. But you would not break. You will not break. Why won’t you?” My last words were barely a whisper.

She pulled away from me and looked at me over her shoulder, her eyes expressionless even as they gazed at my red-stained lips.

“Give me back to Salvador,” she said, looking deeply at me, “and I promise you, you’ll never be able to piece me together again.”

I could see that she was right. The truth felt like a tiny sliver in my heart.

I swallowed the feeling down and straightened up. I gestured to the towel. “Dry yourself off. Your dinner is getting cold. I’ll be waiting out there to make sure it doesn’t go to waste.”

I left her in the bathroom and closed the door behind me. Once I was alone in the room, I put my hands over my face and breathed in deeply, trying to get a grip. Things were happening and unravelling at a breakneck pace and I had absolutely everything on the line. Whatever fucked up … feelings I was having for Luisa weren’t real; they couldn’t be. Feelings never got you anywhere, only instinct did. And my instinct was telling me to run, to distance myself, to get ready to pull the plug on her because either way, even with my name on her back, she wasn’t mine. She was either Salvador’s or she was dead, and in the end, they were the same thing.

It didn’t take long for Luisa to emerge from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, looking angelic and breathtaking. She stared at me curiously, and I wondered what she could see on my face, if anything. I couldn’t let her see anymore.

She walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge of it, eyeing her cold food with little interest. I knew better than to try and make her eat it. In fact, the best course of action was just for me to go.

“I’ll be seeing you tomorrow,” I told her brusquely as I turned on my heel and headed for the door. I wondered what she’d think about my hasty departure, then I had to remind myself that I couldn’t care.

“Why do you want to break me so badly?” she asked quietly, just as my hand went to the doorknob.

I paused and thought about the truth. Without looking back at her I said, “Because I want to destroy beautiful things before they can destroy me.”

There was silence to that. But when I opened the door, she let out a low chuckle. I paused and turned around to look at her.

“Wow,” she said dryly, her mouth quirked up in an amused smile. “She really did a number on you. Ellie,” she added, as if I didn’t know who she was talking about. As if there would ever be another she.

I slammed the door shut in front of me, wincing at the discomfort that radiated out from my chest. I turned to face her and managed to keep my expression still, my voice flat and cool. “Don’t say her name.”

Luisa frowned. It felt like a kick to my gut.

“Don’t look at me like that either,” I added.

“Like what?” she asked.

“Like you pity me.” It shamed me to say it.

“But I do pity you, Javier Bernal,” she said, her voice dripping with superiority. “I pity you a great deal. Such a cruel, tough man still licking his wounds.”

I was across the room and at her bedside in one second. I grabbed her arm and yanked her close to me until my lips were grazing her earlobe. “The only wounds I’ve licked,” I whispered harshly, “are yours.”

Then I released her from my grip and got the fuck out of there before further damage could be done.