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Authors: Lolita Lopez

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BOOK: Bad, Bad Things
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There are scales and boxes of various supplies. Raw inventory is stored in the living room. This is obviously the place they break up the big, taped blocks of drugs into smaller parcels for the street market.

Oh fuck this. I have to get Mona and get the hell out of here.

There’s movement upstairs. Footsteps, I think. Even though flashes of every slasher film I’ve ever seen rush through my brain, I climb the stairs.

Clearly I’m an idiot.

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Bad, Bad Things

All the doors are open upstairs. I spot a bathroom and what look to be two bedrooms with bare mattresses tossed on their floors. Piss and vomit stains are easily visible. The stench is overwhelming. Boy, this is one classy place.

I take a left at the top of the stairs toward what I assume is the master bedroom.

There, on the dirty sheets of the only bed in the house sitting on a frame, sits Mona. She wears a filthy pink sundress with dark blotches along the hem. Her greasy, matted hair curls around her pale, gaunt face. I spot cigarette burns and nasty scabs along her arms and legs. Even now she scratches at her arms, tearing the skin as she chases away phantom crack bugs.

“Mona?” I take a guarded step inside the room. When she’s like this, I never know what to expect.

Startled, she jumps to her feet. Her eyes are crazed and glassy. Eventually she recognizes me and sits back down. The craziness reflected in her blue eyes fades only a bit. “You always come.”

“Yeah.” And I do. I’m always the one running around behind her, cleaning up her messes. “I’ve got a car out front. Let’s go.”

“I wish you hadn’t come.” She gazes off into the distance. Her voice is dreamlike.

There’s a strange slackness to her facial expression.

“You’re as high as a fucking kite!” There’s no concealing the accusation and frustration in my voice.

“Of course she is.”

I practically jump out of my skin. With a bone-chilling shriek, I spin around toward the male voice in the doorway. I recognize him immediately. He’s the same brute who knocked me around in my house. The one whose face seemed oddly familiar.

He takes a menacing step forward. “How else could I get her to cooperate?”

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Lolita Lopez

My gaze falls to the machete holstered on his hip. Dried blood cakes his fingers.

Panicked, I look to Mona to see if she’s injured. I notice the stains on her dress again.

Blood—but whose?

I find my answer seeping beneath a door I assume leads to the closet. I couldn’t see it before, the viscous, dark blood pool. I can only guess that it belongs to Carter.

Think, Ofelia, think!

My phone is in my purse in the cab. If I scream, I doubt any of the neighbors will hear. If they do, they probably won’t help. They’d have to be stupid not to know what kind of a house this is. They’ve probably tuned out all the weird noises and comings and goings. If I’m seriously lucky, someone will call the cops and report a disturbance, but who knows how long it will take them to show up. Mona has already passed out in a drug-induced stupor upon the bed.

So I’m on my own.

“I told
el jeffe
you were trouble.” He sneers as he closes the distance between us. “I said you would make problems if we went after you.”

“I know who you are.” My voice trembles but I keep my chin high. “The family resemblance is strong. That nose, those cheekbones—your brother, the mayor, has the same ones.”

His nostrils flare. “You don’t wanna bring my brother into this.”

“It’s too late. I already have. The pictures I took of myself and the video from our security system are probably up on the Web as we speak.” That’s a blatant lie but he doesn’t know it. “You fuck with my family, I fuck with yours.”

His backhand cracks against my cheek, sending me stumbling sideways. I clutch my face and choke back tears. Fuck, that
hurt
.

He’s furious as he strides toward me. There’s no doubt in my mind. I’m going to die.

But I’m not going down without a fight.

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Bad, Bad Things

He grabs my arm and pulls me close so his blows will have maximum impact. I kick and bite at him. I’ve seen enough crime shows. I want his DNA all over me. I throw in a scratch across his face for good measure.

But he’s just so much bigger than me, not even my adrenaline surge levels the playing field. With a quick sweep of my ankles, he drops me. I land with a thud on the dirty carpet. The fall knocks the breath from my lungs. He pins me to the ground and leers in my face. I almost gag at the sour stink coming from his mouth. His nasty hands squeeze my breasts. “You know,
putita
, you might be worth all this trouble.”

With his forearm across my neck, he keeps me in place. His other hand works on his belt buckle and jeans. I want to fight but I can hardly breathe. There’s so much pressure against my windpipe. Blood fills my mouth and drips from my nose. I’m going to black out any time now. Maybe that’s a good thing.

Suddenly, blissfully, the choking pressure disappears.

I choke and sputter. Spots dance in front of my watering eyes. I’m vaguely aware of the sounds of a scuffle. A fist repeatedly slams into a face, the dull thud of skin against skin ringing in my ears.

Dazed and confused, I sit up…

And watch Sergei beat the living shit out my assailant, one Chuy Cardenas, brother of Mayor Conrad Cardenas.

“Ser-sergei,” I croak. “Sergei!”

He pauses mid-swing to look at me. I’m taken aback by the utter rage etched on his handsome face. He releases Chuy, who slumps to the floor, unconscious and oozing blood. Sergei wipes his hands on the front of his expensive white shirt, leaving red smears. Breathing heavily, he walks toward me and crouches down. He dabs at my battered face with the crisp handkerchief he keeps in his suit jacket.

“How?” I wonder, still shocked by his presence. Sergei reaches into his pocket and produces my scribbled note.

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Lolita Lopez

The realization that a forgotten note was all that stood between me and certain rape and death shatters what little control I have left. The floodgates open and I sob uncontrollably.

Sergei sits down and cradles me across his lap. I bury my face in his neck and hold tight. His gentle hands caress my arms. Lips to my forehead, he whispers reassurances.

“Everything okay now. I take care of this. All of this.”

And he does.

76

Bad, Bad Things

Chapter Seven

“You know, Marco, I’m fairly certain we had this discussion about private places three weeks ago.” I send a quick glance in the direction of the paparazzi milling on the sidewalk across the street from the restaurant where we’ve gathered. I gesture toward his toned-down outfit consisting of electric-blue jeans and a banana-yellow t-shirt emblazoned with a pic of David Bowie during his glam phase. “At least you’re not dressed like a little monster today.”

Marco snorts with amusement. “Even my love for Lady Gaga knows its bounds.

And honey, I’m not about to pass up the chance to be photographed with the three of you.” He waves his delicate hand in the direction of Jolie, Fox and me. “We don’t get together all that often.”

“If you ask me,” Fox pauses to sip her Sprite, “this is the perfect place for his
mea
culpa
.”

Marco smiles sheepishly. “About that, Ofelia…”

I reach across the table and clasp his hand. “It’s okay, Marco. You don’t have to apologize.”

“But I do,” he insists. “I told you I hated you. I should have let you explain.”

“Look, I only contacted Rennie to break the Cardenas story because I wanted to keep you out of it.” I swirl the straw in my iced tea. “Publishing photos and video of a cartel enforcer—who just happens to be the mayor’s brother—beating the crap out of some girl is pretty risky. I didn’t want you in the middle of it.”

“And you’re such a doll for thinking like that.” He lifts my hand and kisses it.

“You’re a dummy is what you are,” Jolie grumbles. “You’re just lucky the pics and vid never made it to the ’Net.”

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Lolita Lopez

“I had to do something, Jolie.” I sigh and shrug. “It was the only card I had left to play. If I didn’t get the money in time, I needed to know there would be some kind of pressure on those crazy assholes trying to kill us. Family is important, even to scum like that. There’s no way Chuy would have gone after my mom or Delia once that story went live. He’d want to protect his brother.”

“And now he’s in jail,” Marco says.

“For now,” Jolie points out. “He could get out and then what?”

“Oh, I don’t think she needs to worry about those folks anymore,” Fox comments with a sly grin. “I have a feeling
The Russian’s
taken care of that.”

I blush and glance away from their curious stares. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Oh?” Marco leans forward with interest.

“She hasn’t seen The Russian since
that
day,” Fox explains. “He took her home, gave her a bath, fed her breakfast and tucked her into bed. When she woke up, he was gone.”

“He gave you a bath and tucked you in?” Marco is about to swoon. “What a marshmallow!” He sulks. “Why can’t I find a big, yummy Russian billionaire to pamper me? I am so jealous of your new lover boy.”

“He’s not my lover,” I hurriedly reply.

“You had sex with him,” Jolie says. “Ergo, he is your lover.”

“Was,” I counter. “Maybe. Ugh! I don’t know.” I rest my forehead in my hands. “I really just don’t know what’s going on with us.”

The group grows quiet. Fox steers the conversation to a different place. “What about your sister?”

I pick up my head. “She’s starting her third week of treatment tomorrow. It’s too soon to know one way or another.”

“Is she really at one of those Mormon places in Utah?” Marco’s eyes are wide.

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Bad, Bad Things

“I don’t know about the Latter Day Saints thing but, yes, it’s in Utah.” I play with my silverware. “Whatever their methodology, it seems to be working this time. I actually believe her when she says she’s going to stay clean. I think she believes it too.”

“Dude,” Fox says with all seriousness, “she saw some machete-wielding bastard hack up her boyfriend and then try to kill her sister. If I were a junkie, that would be all the motivation I’d need.”

“Is that why you’re chugging Sprite instead of nursing vodka on the rocks?” Jolie gestures toward Fox’s glass. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen Fox drink alcohol in weeks.

She waves her hand. “Let’s just say Mona’s ordeal persuaded me to practice a little temperance.”

“I’m impressed. I really am, Fox.” I pat her hand encouragingly. “I’ve had a similar change of heart. It’s time for me to leave behind all the schemes and even my acting dreams. It’s time to move forward.”

“So you’re really selling the house then?” Jolie rubs her finger around the rim of her glass. “Quitting acting I fully support. It was going nowhere fast. You’re better than straight-to-DVD crap. But the house?” She shakes her head. “You’ve lived there your entire life.”

“And that’s a really long time,” I say, feeling eons older than my twenty-three years. “It’s time to let it go. Mom agrees. We need to be realistic. We have to downsize.”

Fox grins. “I know a good realtor.”

We laugh at that little joke. Yeah. I
bet
she knows a good realtor. Her mother runs the most successful real estate agency in the state.

“Did I tell you guys Cruz has been trying to hook up with me again?”

I gape at Fox. “You’re joking.”

She’s just as amused. “Nope. He seems to think he had some smokin’-hot sex. He’s sure that’s what helped them win their expo games.”

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Lolita Lopez

“There’s a sideline for you, Fox.” Marco sips his mojito. “You can rent out your magic pussy to all those athletes who can’t juice anymore.”

Our raucous laughter garners quite a few annoyed looks from the other patrons on the patio. We take that as our cue to leave. Jolie has to get back to the hotel and Fox needs to pack for a Tokyo trip. Marco and I start to make plans but the sight of a familiar face under the awning at the front of the restaurant interrupts us.

“I’ll have to rain check.”

Marco follows my gaze and smiles knowingly. “Sure thing, kiddo.” He gives me a pair of air kisses and flits out the front door to greet the waiting paparazzi.

As the South African bodyguard whose name I still don’t know saunters toward me, I’m struck by the memories of that morning three weeks ago. He stops just in front of me and smiles. “Mr. Alexandrov will see you in his car.”

It’s all I can do not to smile one of those goofy smiles of relief and excitement and utter giddiness. I hold my emotions in check and follow him out a private door in the back. Sergei’s sleek black car idles in the alley. Immediately my tummy flips and flops.

The smell of his spicy cologne fills my nose, the scent imprinted in my mind so clearly it fires any time I think of Sergei.

The bodyguard opens the car door and gestures for me to get inside. I hesitate and touch the sleeve of his very well tailored black jacket. “What’s your name?”

He seems a bit discomfited and reluctant to answer. “Gerhardus.”

“Gerhardus?”

Well. How do you like that?

“My mates call me Kitch.”

I can’t help myself. I just have to know. “Am I your mate?”

“You’d have to ask Mr. Alexandrov.”

“Very diplomatic,” I say with a teasing smile and climb into the backseat. Just like the last time, it’s frigidly cold. I rub my arms and wish I’d worn something a bit more 80

Bad, Bad Things

substantial than my whimsical sundress. “Jesus, Sergei! I know you’re probably homesick but do you have to keep it as cold as Siberia in here?”

“Hello would be nice,” Sergei playfully admonishes as he shrugs out of his jacket.

“Not from Siberia. Moscow is home.” He drapes it over my shoulders and brushes his fingers through my loose hair. He plays with the ruched fabric at my bust. “What is this color?”

BOOK: Bad, Bad Things
2.97Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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