Dirty Angels 01 (11 page)

I heard a small moan escape from his lips and finally realized what he was doing—he was pleasuring himself.

I felt a jolt of revulsion mingled with perverse curiosity. A part of me wanted a better look, wanted to see him in the act. Another part of me—the better part—wanted to pretend none of this was happening.

So I closed my eyes again and tried to pretend I wasn’t there, but I could hear his palm sliding up and down on himself, skin on skin, his breath as it hitched in pleasure. I couldn’t shut it out of my mind. The more worked up he got, the more it teased me, taunting me to look. I could barely imagine a man like Javier wrapped up in the vulnerability of release, and yet it was happening right behind me. It was happening because of me.

And yet he hadn’t laid a finger on me, not yet. He was getting off on just the sight of me, the bare sight of me before him. I didn’t know whether to feel humiliated or flattered.

He is only making fun of you
, I told myself.
Just because he’s not forcing himself on you doesn’t make him any different from Salvador.

Then how come I was tricking myself into thinking this was
… better?

“You’re so complicit,” I heard him moan from behind me, his voice low, rough, caught up in his own passion. “So good. Why do I feel there’s a bad girl in you that needs to come out?”

I didn’t say anything. The sound of his breathing, his stroking, intensified.

“Perhaps if I come all over your beautiful back,” he whispered, pausing to catch his breath. “Come onto my letters. Rub myself into your skin, into your blood. Will the bad girl come out? Will I awaken the true Luisa?” He let out a deep groan that reverberated into my bones. “We’ll see, won’t we, my darling?”

At that he sucked in his breath and groaned even louder. “Fuck,” he cried out, gasping over the words. “Fuck.”

Hot fluid spurted onto my back, making me flinch, catching me by surprise. For a moment I could only hear his heavy breathing and I waited, not knowing how literal he was going to be.

I heard his zipper go back up and felt his shadow looming over me.

“I look good on your skin,” he murmured. He pressed his hands on my back and began to rub the sticky fluid into my back, into the wound. I bit my lip and held back a cry as it stung like crazy, making my eyes water.

“Finally,” he whispered, and I could feel his yellow eyes observing me closely. But he didn’t say anything else. He kept rubbing until my skin had absorbed all of him, just as he wanted. He then undid the rope around my wrists and stepped back.

I put my hands on the ground, and he walked around so I was facing his leather boots. He crouched down until we were almost eye to eye and he held up my dress in his hands.

“Thank you,” he said with a small smile, his eyes glazed with lazy exaltation. Then he grabbed me by my arms and hoisted me to my feet. Quickly, he slipped the dress on over my head and pulled it down until I was covered again. “You’re free to go,” he said.

I stared at him in surprise which brought out another smile from him.

“To your room, of course,” he said. Suddenly, he was turning around and snapping his fingers. “Tito,” he barked, and the guard who had winked at me earlier appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Take her to her room.”

I felt my cheeks flare from embarrassment—had the man seen the whole thing? If he had, Javier definitely didn’t care who saw him come all over me.

Javier reached down to the table and handed me the plate of uneaten food that had been for Esteban. “Almost forgot your breakfast.”

And at that he turned around and walked down the hall, disappearing into one of the rooms.

I stared at him, bewildered, clutching the plate of food in my hand.

Tito pointed the way toward the staircase, gesturing as if he were being polite. I barely took in his youthful but menacing appearance before I walked numbly up the stairs and back into my room. He shut the door behind me, locking it, and I was left alone again, with food that I didn’t want but needed, and thoughts that I didn’t need but wanted.

Luisa

W
hen the sun rose the next morning, I was so tired I felt like I’d been drugged. I hadn’t been—I just hadn’t slept at all. The fact that I couldn’t be on my back, on the fresh V that Javier had carved on it late last night, didn’t help either. But mainly it was the nightmares that plagued me at every turn.

I’d never been the type of girl to fear the dark—when I was young, I loved for my father to tell me scary and thrilling stories. But now they were no longer stories, they were real, and every time I woke up from a nightmare, I was faced with a reality that was no better.

In some strange way, being alone made it worse. It’s not that I wanted Javier’s company, but I had to admit that when he was in the room with me, even when he was branding me and inflicting pain, it took my thoughts away from their darkest places. He distracted me. Even when he asked me questions about my past, questions I tried to dance around, it was still a distraction.

I would have thought that having someone nightmare-inducing with me would have made things worse, but it didn’t. Because my nightmares weren’t about Javier. They weren’t about what he was going to do to me. They weren’t about the fact that I could die in a few days at his hands.

My nightmares were about Salvador. They were about not what happened if he told Javier they had no deal—they were about what happened if he traded for me back.

What would happen to me if at the end of the week, I was set free and picked up by Salvador’s men? If I was brought back to the house? If Salvador saw how Javier had claimed me as his? I knew what the man was capable of, and it scared me to think of what else could happen—not only to me, but to my parents. Salvador was sick beyond comprehension, and I had a feeling that I had only seen the tip of the iceberg.

I think Javier even sensed that I didn’t want him to leave. When he was done carving the V, I started asking him questions. About his family, about his own past. He waited in the dark, thinking, perhaps about my angle. Why I was curious. Then he told me that I could have answers at another time.

Then he left, locking me in the room, locking me in with the nightmares that would never end.

I suppose the lack of sleep showed on my face, because when Esteban came into the room in the morning, he did a double take as I lay there on the bed, staring dumbly at the wall.

“Rough night?” he asked, a careful tone to his voice.

I didn’t have the energy to be amused at his apparent concern.

He put the breakfast tray down beside him and walked to the end of the bed. He playfully grabbed my foot. It made me jump, withdrawing my knees to my chest as my attention snapped to him.

“So you are alive,” he said, taking his hand back. “Glad to see it. I brought you breakfast.”

I glared at him. I’d refused dinner last night and thought I could pretend not to be hungry, but my stomach growled in protest.

“Tell you what,” Esteban said, noting my expression. “How about we make today a little bit better for you?”

“Better for me,” I spat out. “How about you stop pretending that you’re doing me favors? Don’t think for one second that I haven’t forgotten why I’m here.”

“Just eat your breakfast. I’ll come back with some new clothes for you. I think you’ve earned it. Then we’ll go for a walk. Doesn’t that sound nice, hey.” He grinned at me and then left the room, locking the door behind him.

I waited a bit, trying to ignore the food, but my resolve could not overpower my stomach. I scarfed down the tortilla and eggs and a large cup of coffee. I never knew when I’d need my strength.

I’d just finished when Esteban came back into the room, carrying a woven bag full of clothes. He tossed it on the bed. “For you,” he said, bending down to pick up the empty plate. “Take a shower, get dressed. I’ll be back here in thirty minutes whether you’re ready or not.”

I eyed the clothes spilling out of the bag. “Where did these come from?”

“Long story,” he said. “Let’s just say Javier can be sentimental.”

I wanted to hear this story—I had no idea that someone like Javier could possess that emotion. When he’d gone again, I pulled out an aqua skirt that was so long on my short frame it would fit me as a dress instead. I went into the bathroom and ran the shower. As the room filled up with steam, I couldn’t remember the last time I had been clean. It had to have been at Salvador’s, the night I ran away, yet I never felt clean when I was his wife. He filled my life with dirt.

Of course, I technically still was his wife. But the word had never meant anything to me.

I stayed in the shower for so long, letting the hot water strip me down, wishing for my worries and nightmares to be carried down the drain, that I was surprised when there was a knock at my door. I could hear Esteban in my room, and I quickly dried myself and slipped into the dress, my wet hair cascading down my back.

I paused in the doorway of the bathroom as Esteban looked at me and smiled.

“You look ravishing,” he said.

His compliment bounced right off me. I didn’t understand how I could look ravishing with no makeup and wet hair and a bruised face, and I wasn’t falling for it. Men thought women were so easy, that they could tell us how beautiful and thin we were, and we’d excuse them for whatever they’d done or were about to do. Until I met a man that saw past all of that, saw me for me, compliments meant nothing.

I nearly smirked to myself. There was no chance of that happening anymore. I’d either die here, surrounded by drug lords, or live with Salvador. All my chances of love and happiness with a man had gone out the window the moment Salvador stepped into Cabo Cocktails.

“Care to join me?” he asked, holding his arm out, as if he were some gentleman.

I stared at it and then at him. “Where?”

He shrugged. “I told you. A walk. I thought it might be good for you to get some fresh air.”

“Oh, and you’re so concerned about my well-being?”

Another shrug. “I’m not a monster,” he said.

“No. Just a chump.”

He frowned and I knew I was pushing my luck with him. I stifled a wave of apprehension that coursed through me.

“You know,” he said slowly, his gaze intensifying, “I may be the only friend you have here. I might be the difference between life and death for you
… or losing your little toe or your whole leg.”

I wasn’t sure if I believed that. Even though Esteban was Javier’s right-hand man and business partner, I don’t think he had the power he thought he did. It seemed that he constantly wanted to call the shots with Javier but wasn’t quite there. If I were Javier, I’d keep a close eye on him.

“Friends don’t threaten each other,” I told him.

The darkness on his brow eased up. “I guess not. Well. Come on then.”

He gestured for me to grab his arm again. I ignored him but slipped on my running shoes just the same. The truth was, I wanted, needed, to get outside and breathe fresh air and feel the world again. I felt like I was losing perspective of the value of life.

We walked out into the hallway, me in front of him, and were just about to head down the stairs when the guard who was stationed at the end of the hall stepped out in front of us. At least, I thought he was a guard, at first. But from the way he blocked the stairs, arms crossed, with a menacing twitch to his face, I could tell he was more than just a guard.

He leered at me in a way that made my skin feel sick.

This was Franco, the man responsible for the bruise on my face. I could just tell.

“Where are you going?” Franco asked Esteban, though he was staring at me.

“None of your business, Franco,” he said. He gestured for him to get out of the way but Franco wouldn’t budge.

“Planning on running away with the hostage?” he asked. He had a stupid look in his eyes, but in this world, it was the stupid people you had to fear. Too much testosterone and too little brains were a dangerous combination. I had no doubt that if Esteban wasn’t there, I would be in big trouble. It didn’t help that Franco was a huge guy with muscles that pulsed grotesquely.

“I just want to feel her hair,” he said, licking his lips as if I was a steak. “The whores have such rough hair.”

He reached out and made a fist in it. I gasped but couldn’t move or else his grip would yank a huge chunk out.

“So you’ve felt it now,” Esteban said, sounding tired. “Kindly move out of the way. We’re just going for a walk.”

Franco gave my hair a small tug, enough to make me gasp again. Then he grinned and let go.

“Sure thing,” he said, chuckling to himself and moved aside to let us pass.

Esteban quickly led me past him. We were halfway down the stairs when I heard Franco whisper after me, “Much better than a whore’s.”

I shivered even as Esteban took me out of the house and into the bright sunshine.

“Don’t pay any attention to Franco,” he said to me. “He’s a bit messed up in the head.”

“I can see that,” I said, my heart rate returning to normal as the fresh air filled my lungs and the heat hit my skin. The house was located at the end of a rocky road. There was a simple dirt driveway leading out and long, overgrown grass that stretched toward a decrepit wooden fence and miles of forest beyond that. No neighbors, no nothing.

“You shouldn’t be afraid of him,” he went on as we walked together. “Or maybe you should.”

I swallowed. “I’m not afraid.”

“You know, I met a girl like you once,” he told me as we walked down the driveway, ochre dirt rising up in the still air. I was barely listening to him. I was taking in every sight, every opportunity. There were no guards out here which I thought was curious. Franco, thank god, had decided not to trail us, and all the rest of the guards seemed to be inside the house, perhaps with Javier.

“You met a girl like me once,” I repeated absently. “How nice.”

“Yes,” he said. “About a year ago. I was in Hawaii. I saved her from drowning. I saved her from a lot of things, including herself.”

“What a hero,” I said dryly. “You must think you’re such a nice guy.”

He nodded. “I do. For the most part. But she was like you because she no longer cared about life. She was more or less suicidal.”

I stopped and glared at him. “I am not suicidal,” I hissed.

He shrugged. “You don’t seem to care much about anything. Javier is right … he thinks you’re unbreakable.”

“Just because he can’t break me doesn’t mean I’m suicidal,” I told him. “What kind of sick man wants to break a woman anyway?”

“I don’t know. You married one of them, didn’t you?”

“I married a demon, not a man.”

“Well, I guess Javier’s not exactly a demon.”

“No such thing as a sentimental demon?” I asked. “Tell me about the clothes. This skirt, this dress
… whose is it?”

He gave me an inquisitive look. Our path continued down the rough road, birds calling from the towering lush trees. “Why are you so interested?”

Now it was my turn to shrug. I didn’t know why. I guess I felt that the little bit of information I could get about Javier, the more I’d have to work with, to use against him when needed.

“I’m making conversation,” I said.

“Right. Well, if you care so much, the clothes belong to an ex-girlfriend of his.”

I snorted lightly out my nose. “Girlfriend? I would have thought Javier only used whores. Who else could be interested in him?”

I felt Esteban studying me closely. Of course on the outside I could see why any woman would be interested in Javier Bernal. He was beautiful to look at, and I was sure he could be charming when he wanted to be. He also had money and power. But any woman worth her salt would run once she realized what kind of a depraved psychopath he was. The idea of him having an ex-girlfriend, one to get sentimental over, confused me.

“
She
was interested in him,” he said, “a very long time ago. When they were young and stupid, I guess. But she was also a con artist.”

I nodded. “I see.” She was just as bad as he was, then. That explained some. “What was her name?”

He frowned. “Ellie. Why?”

“Just curious. Mexican?”

“American.”

“And she broke his heart? Or did he break hers?”

He pursed his lips. “Both. He broke hers and she broke his. And then she broke his again.”

“So she won.”

“Something like that.”

I smiled to myself. “Good.” I hoped the bastard suffered.

“It was good,” Esteban admitted. “I liked the woman, but she never would have joined his side, never would have had the confidence you need in this business.”

We slowed and he turned me around so we were walking back to the house again.

“You need confidence to be a good torturer, kidnapper, murderer?”

“You need confidence in yourself, to never question who you are.”

I nodded. “Maybe you all need to question yourselves more often.”

He gave me a funny look, as if I were the one who was crazy.