I watch her as she looks around my bedroom, a quick assessing glance, before she lets out a shallow breath, squeezes her eyes shut, and rolls to her side. She folds in on herself, exposing her back and ass. The livid crisscross of marks from my belt stand as my accuser, my inability to manage my anger. I wonder at the regret that sits hard in my chest, an unusual emotion for me.In the stark light of my bedroom I see she's not perfect, not flawless. She has a body well-used. Cigarette burns on the back of her bicep and both her thighs, several scars from whipping or belting on her back, her ass and her legs. Faint lines on her wrists and her ankles where she'd been restrained in past. The pucker of a bullet hole in her shoulder and another further down, just below her rib cage. And three deep scars down her right side. Clean slashes, the first a long one, then a shorter one, then a small one. Deliberate. To mark her as property.Anger burns in me as I clench my hands, but not at her
I watch warily as he opens the door. I wonder if he's going to let someone in. My brain, dulled by exhaustion, tries to understand what's happening. Why am I in his bedroom? Why is he taking care of me? All I can come up with is that he's playing me. He wants something and he's going to be nice until he gets it. Then he'll kill me.He doesn't let anyone in. Instead, he picks something up, closes the door and brings it toward the bed. He sets a tray on the night table. The scent of chicken broth washes over me and my mouth instantly grows watery with anticipation. He's brought food.He turns, reaches for me. I flinch. It's an automatic response, though I'm not sure if it's because I fear the pain or the pleasure that those hands can give. He rests his fingers on the belt tying me to the bed."Promise you won't attack me, Lena."I open my mouth to promise, to tell him what he wants to hear. Then I close my mouth. I've lied before, many times in the past. Either telling people what th
The funeral is well attended. I expected nothing less given Manuel's standing in both the legitimate community and the underworld. I'm standing in the graveyard, watching as they lower my father's body into the ground. Arturo stands beside me, a hand on my shoulder. I feel grief, anger, sadness, betrayal. But I stay impassive, the heir to the throne. The priest says a last few words and then it's over. People are walking up to me, shaking my hand, shaking Arturo's, murmuring their condolences.My father's good friend, Tom Garcia, snags my shoulders with his arm. "Walk with me, Luis."He turns me and we take a few steps. Then he stops, gazes hard at Arturo who's following. "Just Luis." Arturo stops, his face a rock, his dark eyes holding lethal promises.As we walk away from the group, he looks around. "Where's the bodyguard?"His question seems odd. "You mean Lena? She's home.""Alive?"I nod. I have the need to defend Lena. "She killed five men trying to save my father. She save
On the return to my home, I reflect on Tom's words. His doubts about Arturo, his offer of safety.Arturo is in the car with me and we are drinking tequila, but not talking. Arturo seems to understand that silence is what I need right now.Once we're inside the gates, he says, "What did the old bastard want?"I shrug as I reach for the door handle. "He has some thoughts about who killed Manuel."Arturo snorts his laughter. "That old fraud? He can barely get out of bed in the morning, let alone put two decent thoughts together."I inhale as I look back at Arturo. He's right, even if he is a prick. "We should let him die in peace, Arturo. His sons will take exception if we do anything else." I offer a small smile and Arturo grins back. "Go away for a day or two. I want to be alone." I should talk to him about that night, ask about his timing, ask him what he thinks, but I'm tired, overwhelmed, full of grief.Arturo scowls, flips me off and gets back in the car. I hear him tell the d
I'm tucked against his side and he's cradling me, one arm wrapped underneath me, curving over my shoulder. Like lovers. I want to touch him, lift my hand to lay it on his chest. But I hesitate. I haven't been given permission. Feel like I should ask, but I don't think he'll mind.He grasps my hand and presses it flat against his chest, his on top. "Touch me, Lena."I hear the longing in his voice. Maybe he needs the human contact as much as I do. He always seems so strong, so in control. But I know Manuel rarely touched him, was not a demonstrative man. Luis has probably fucked plenty of women. I wasn't his bodyguard and though I share the same house, I wasn't privy to his private life before now. I can't imagine him cuddling with any of those women though.I snuggle closer into his side, burying my nose against his ribs and running my hand from his chest down to his abs, tracing the ridges. I've seen Luis working out, seen him without a shirt before. Knew what he looked like. But t
I take a moment to just breathe, to take stock of my body and the play we're engaging in. I'm not hurt, not even a little. The arm he's holding is immobile but not strained. The only part of me that's in need is my pussy, which is dripping with anticipation, hoping this will end the way I think it will."I'm fucking awesome, Luis," I tell him honestly, a grin spreading across my face."Good." His breathing is harsh against the side of my head. "Because I'm about to fuck you rough. You can claw, bite, fight me, whatever you want. You tell me if you're not okay." I nod, and then bite my lip. He senses my hesitation. He reaches around and takes my chin in hand, tilting my head until I'm looking up at him. "Talk to me, Lena. I don't want to hurt you.""Please," I say breathlessly, trying to screw up the courage. I know my face must be a beacon of red. "I don't like anal." It comes out in a rush and I wonder if he understood. His arms tighten around me."No anal," he says reassuringly.
Lena and I have our first fight as a couple. It's two days after we talk, start laying out a plan. We're in the kitchen eating warm tortillas with scrambled eggs and pico de gallo. It's all I know how to cook. Lena can't cook at all. She says cold cereal counts as cooking and I disagree. Cold cereal does not count as cooking.But that's not what the fight is about.The staff are gone – a paid week off. All told to leave. No one is in the house but the two of us. Lena is naked except for a T-shirt of mine. It swamps her, but I think it makes her feel safe and I'm fine with that. It's a stamp of ownership for me that she's dressed in my clothes, even if it's for my eyes only or maybe because. Maybe it's her subtle way of submitting to me.Right now, Lena and I are at a crossroads. She's in the kitchen because the staff are away. She rarely leaves the bedroom and only for short periods of time when the house is empty. She's uncomfortable with her new status as my woman and I haven't ye
Next, I call Tom. "Arturo is coming back. We have a meeting tomorrow to discuss his role in my father's death. I think he's aware he is being accused so there's no point in him being coy anymore. Word is that he will attempt an assault tonight rather than face me tomorrow. It hasn't been easy to ferret the information out, but I can be persuasive."Tom is excited. "Good, I hope that shit gets what's coming to him."I smile as I stare into Lena's eyes. "He will. The men loyal to me will take him alive. Leave him for me, when the time is right. He doesn't know that I know about the planned assault. He thinks it'll be a cakewalk."Then Tom says the words I've been waiting for. "How can I help?""I might need to take you up on your generous offer to shelter me. We're ready but things sometimes go sideways. I might need to run for my life." I pause as I think. "And if you can spare some manpower, to lend a hand in the house, to fend off the assault, that would be appreciated."Tom does
"Mama!" Cristo and Sola throw themselves into Luna's arms as she hits her knees in the dirt outside our home at The Site, heedless of the damage she's doing to her silk trousers. I think she said they were Valentino or something. I don't usually pay attention to the brands unless they're sexy enough that I want her to do a little extra shopping.I chuckle as she lands kisses all over their faces, tries to answer the questions they're peppering her with while pulling gifts from the bags she's carrying. I know they will notice me in a few minutes once they get over their initial mama obsession. Though we passed off that late night mad dash Miami boat ride as a vacation, the children know better. They felt the tension, the fear. They remember Luna's tears, her cries as they were being hauled away. Cristo is particularly protective of Luna now. He watches her like a hawk and becomes grumpy when she needs to leave for more than a day. He was unbearable the days leading up to this recent va
I can hear something beeping and it annoys me. I hear voices talking in hushed tones, then a man's voice raised in anger. I hear sneakers squeaking on the floor. Cool hands touch my arm, poke and prod me. These things all annoy me. I'm pretty sure death shouldn't be so fucking annoying. The beeping, the hushed voices, everything, they all suck balls.I want to say something. Open my mouth and tell them all to fuck off. To bring me my sun chair and margarita. I earned some tasty booze, I earned heaven. I tried to be a good mother and wife. I tried to be the best! Maybe I was a failure, but it wasn't for lack of trying. I died trying to be the best I could be. I earned better than this annoying bullshit, whatever this is.It takes me a few hours… or maybe a few days, I'm really not sure since I can't seem to open either my mouth or my eyes, to figure out that this isn't heaven. Thank God! I'm probably not even dead. Death shouldn't suck this much. Awareness comes to me in flashes, some
Buzz, buzz, buzz…I wake up, instantly alert, my hand hitting the bed next to me. Fuck, she's gone. I know exactly what's happened, though I pray that we aren't under attack, that Luna hasn't been taken somehow. Impossible. No one knows about this place. She's left, trying to get back to our children on her own. If she manages to get off the property she could easily be taken by an enemy if she makes a wrong move, if she's detected in a place she shouldn't be. All of us Decenas have targets on our backs. Luna knows this, but she's desperate, exhausted, hurt. She might make a mistake.And once she's home, if she says the wrong thing to the wrong person, her life will be taken. She's too emotional to think clearly, she needs me by her side, tempering her reactive nature. I should have tied her to the bed. Shouldn't have slept so hard. Shouldn't have had that tequila. I should have known she'd run the first moment she had a chance. Our children mean everything to her.All this runs thr
I wake up feeling warm, surrounded by the familiar scent of my husband. For a moment, just a single moment, I think we're back home at The Site, our children just down the hall in their rooms, the nanny in hers, the cook about to prepare breakfast. As realization hits, a spike of pain pierces me and it's everything I can do not to throw Andres' arms from my body. I try to keep my breathing even so I don't wake him up.My mind is racing. He intends to keep me here, forever. He wants to take me away from our children. I understand why. Or at least I'm trying to, but it hurts so much. He thinks giving me a new child, one that his family doesn't know about, will solve everything. I don't want a secret child. I want Cristo and Sola. I want my babies. They fill my mind until they're all I can think about; their sound, their smell, everything about them. I lay next to Andres obsessing about my babies until I become consumed by my thoughts.I think hard, trying to figure out what to do. I'm
I look down at my sleeping wife where her head rests next to my hip and take another sip of my tequila. I skipped the shot glass and poured myself a nice big tumbler after Luna cried herself to sleep. She refused to allow me to hold her, offer her comfort. Only after she fell asleep did I cover her with a blanket and sit next to her, smoothing my hand over her lush curves. She's so exhausted she doesn't even notice my touch as she slumbers.I wish there was another way, but I know there isn't. She's too much of a loose cannon. She can't be trusted. She's fucked up too many times. If she does anything else stupid, does it around Charlie, Nic or the Los Zetas, her life really will be forfeit. Which means my life would be forfeit as well. Because this moment in our lives, this desperate snapshot, has taught me that Luna really is my anchor to this life. I am nothing without her. If she dies, then so do I. I'll go to my brother, tell him she betrayed me, stole my children, fucked me ove
It's morning and we've been here for a full day. I still don't know where here is. Andres has left to pick up groceries and other supplies. While he's away I decide to go for a walk. I pull on a fuchsia tank top and a pair of white shorts that show off my tanned legs. I find a pair of cheap floppy sandals in the bottom of the duffel bag and pull them out. They have those plastic things that go between the toes. I make a face, deciding grimly that Andres really must have been planning on killing me because no way would I have worn these unless I had no other choice except death.I smile and stretch my arms wide, welcoming the sun as I step out the front door. My problems feel as though they melt away in the warmth that touches my bare skin. Most of our family and friends think that we named our daughter Sola because my name is Luna, because she is the sun to my moon. This is only partly true. We named her this way because I have always been a worshipper of the sun, because she lights u
"You've been here before, haven't you," she murmurs, her voice a husky whisper against my throat.We've been sitting together in silence for nearly a quarter of an hour, naked in each other's arms. I have an excellent internal clock so I can usually tell the time, even when there is no clock available. It doesn't surprise me that Luna is the first to break our silence. What does surprise me is how long it took for her to speak. I stroke the hair from her face in gentle swipes, sifting my fingers through the silky strands. Despite the topic of conversation we are about to discuss I feel completely relaxed, still basking in the afterglow of great sex."Yes, I've been here several times," I tell her. "I own this house and the land it sits on."She nods and I know this revelation doesn't shock her. She's a smart woman, she probably figured out who owned the land as soon as we arrived. Decena men like to be in control of their surroundings. I wouldn't have brought my wife, in such a deli
He drags me toward him until our faces are almost touching, my lips grazing the bristly hairs of his chin where he hasn't shaved in days. His elbows are braced on his knees. "Look at me," he growls. With extreme difficulty I lift my eyes, past his wide jaw and perfect, sharp features to his blue eyes. They are blazing at me like a wounded animal. A wolf who has been cornered and doesn't know a way out except to fight. My throat catches in sympathy. I know how much he hates the darkness, the terrible side of his job. I despise the idea that I crossed over from being his comfort to another thing that draws him toward the darkness.I lift a shaking hand and touch the edge of his jaw, running my fingers along the length toward his lips. I savour the feel of his roughness against my skin. This is real, this is my husband. The man that has cherished me for five years. Held me in his arms countless times, given me the gift of his children.I reach up with my other hand and cup his other c
I wake up alone surrounded by shadows. I bolt upright, clutching a blanket against my chest because I don't recognize anything. Remembrance returns slowly along with aching pain throughout my body, particularly my arm. I'm thirsty but the terrible swollen pain in my throat tells me that a drink will be agony. I push a hand through my hair, fingering the knots from the long strands. I wonder what time it is. Normally I would check my phone, but that's definitely not an option since I left my phone in Mexico and the burner phone in Cuba. I don't feel very rested or refreshed so I know I haven't slept for long. A shudder runs through me as I think about what Andres did to me. I understand why he did it, but the pain of it is so overwhelming I can feel my mind trying to fold. My husband tried to kill me. He wrapped his hand around my throat, held me down and squeezed the breath from my body. For those few moments he put his cartel, his brothers, his birthright above me. He put me in my