Dirty Angels 01 (21 page)

For a moment I was so stunned by their beauty and elegance, how tenderly cultivated and cared for they were, how seamlessly they seemed to thrive, that I forgot why we were outside. But beyond the dazzling blooms and shining heat of the morning sun, there were cries of pain and a man being tortured, and I was yanked back into reality.

I wanted to say something to Javier, ask about the garden, tell him how gorgeous it was, but now was not the time. As usual, I was caught between beauty and depravity.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a bit fearful as we approached the cottage, the door wide open, beckoning us into the darkest places. Javier put his hand at my elbow and gently pulled me to a stop just outside.

“Are you sure you can handle this?” he asked, his eyes focusing on my bruises.

I raised my chin. “Yes. Don’t worry about me.”

He squinted at that, studying me, perhaps worrying after all.

“Very well,” he said. “Come on in.”

The first thing I noticed when we stepped inside was the strong smell of ammonia that burned the inside of my nostrils.

The second thing was how spotlessly clean the room was, considering the messy state Javier was in.

The third thing was what made me fall ever so slightly into Javier. His hands went to my shoulders, and he held me up, and I willed myself to stay conscious, to take it all in, even though it was all too horrible to take.

On a metal table in the middle of the doctor’s office, lay Franco. He was completely naked—but he wasn’t
complete
. His feet and hands were gone, bloody, cauterized stumps in their wake. His genitals had also been removed in a choppy, ragged manner. His torso was covered in hundreds of festering burn marks. Remarkably, he was alive. His head was propped up in a vise-like clamp that pressed down on his head and up on his jaw, his eyes staring at me, dull and milky.

The doctor was standing over him with a syringe poised at his heart, ready to inject him with the drug that would prevent him from losing consciousness. Judging from the amount of needle marks on his chest, this had been done many, many times.

The closest thing I had seen of torture myself was when Salvador was about to perform the “double saw” on an informant. It was enough to see the man, hung naked from his feet, upside down, with the saw positioned between his legs. I knew that was one of the most gruesome torture techniques, and I thanked my lucky stars I had gotten out of there before I saw any blood spill.

What Javier did didn’t seem that much better. And because Franco was still alive, I knew it wasn’t over yet.

“Take a good look at him,” Javier said in my ear. “Look at his face. Look at the monster that he is.”

I did. And I didn’t just see Franco. I saw Salvador too. I saw Salvador’s men. I saw Bruno. I saw all the men who ever wronged me, all the faceless cartel men out there who were wronging women left and right.

And I tried to imagine seeing Javier there, too. After all, he had kidnapped me, tortured me, humiliated me, and in the end, broke his promise to protect me.

But I just couldn’t. The man had a hold on me that I couldn’t even begin to understand.

“Franco,” the doctor said to him. “That over there is Luisa. Do you remember what you did to her? What you wanted to do to her? Javier warned you, did he not? You were a dumb fool for breaking the rules—all along you knew this was the price you’d have to pay.” The doctor looked at me, his voice chillingly glib. “Luisa, if you can perhaps give him a smile. It will be the last thing he sees.”

I wasn’t sure how it was possible, but I managed to plaster a smile on my face. It might have even reached my eyes.

“How beautiful,” the doctor commented. Then he reached over, and with two quick twists of a lever on top of the clamp, it tightened around his head. There was a crunch as all the teeth in Franco’s jaw shattered, blood pooling out of his mouth and onto his throat, then a faint, wet pop as his eyeballs fell out of his sockets, dangling by their optic nerves.

That was all I needed to see. I turned around, glancing up at Javier who was watching me with an unreadable expression.

“I’m ready to go now,” I said quietly.

Javier nodded and looked over me at the doctor. “Keep him alive for a bit longer. Then remove his head. With the knife, not the saw.”

“Yes, Javier,” the doctor said, a trace of awe in his voice.

I stepped out back into the sunshine and heat and the birds that called out their beautiful song from the nearby trees. Had all that just happened? How did so much ugliness co-exist with this?

“You must be tired,” Javier said to me, gently leading me back the way we came, down the groomed gravel path that took us past the pond and gardens and back to the house.

“I’m okay,” I said. Truth was, I felt like a million tons of caffeine was moving through me. It must have been the adrenaline. I was amazed I wasn’t throwing up.

As we passed by the pond, Javier nodded at the lotus blossoms.

“Those are my favorite, you know,” he commented. It was as if everything in the cottage had been a dream.

“The lotus?” I asked. Despite everything, I couldn’t help but admire them again. “They are beautiful.”

“Yes, they are.” He stopped and stared at the flowers for a few moments. “I love the lotus because while growing from mud, it is unstained,” he said, as if he were reading something aloud. He glanced at me. “A Chinese scholar once said that. I agree. It represents everything that I am not.”

We started walking again. We were almost at the house when I said, “You must feel your soul is dirty then.”

He gave me a wry smile. “Oh, my darling. No,” he said, opening the French doors for me. “I don’t even have a soul.”

Luisa

F
or the rest of the day, I was given free rein of the house. I wasn’t sure why—maybe Javier was extra confident in his security, or perhaps with Franco gone, he believed I had nothing to fear. I didn’t know, but I did take every moment to explore what I could.

Downstairs was a game room with leather couches and a bar. There was a dart board on the wall and a billiard table in the middle. It was styled to look like one of those gentlemen’s clubs: lots of dark mahogany, green-glass lamps, and gold fixtures. I stayed in that room for a long time. It was quiet in there, and the heavy curtains blocked out all the light from the outside. I wondered how often Javier used the room, if he came here to escape, have a drink, pull a limited edition hardcover book from the shelves and immerse himself in it. I wondered what kind of a life he had day to day, when he didn’t have a hostage in his house.

Hostage. The word was starting to sound foreign. I was still a hostage, his captive, and yet when the word ran through my head, it had no meaning. I wasn’t anything anymore … I was just me and I was just here.

After some time, I went to investigate the other rooms on the main floor. There was a small but state-of-the-art gym, some guest bathrooms and bedrooms, a large, immaculate dining room that housed a table that could fit at least twenty people, an open living room with a flatscreen TV built into the wall, and the kitchen.

Upstairs there were more bedrooms, as well as a few doors that didn’t open, and one door that I didn’t even try.

From that door I could hear Javier’s voice on the other side, talking to Esteban. I couldn’t make out what they were saying—the door was thick and their voices were muddled—but I knew it must have been Javier’s office.

I kept walking past it, not caring what they were saying. They were probably discussing me, about what was to be done with me when the week was over. I wondered if Javier was at all having a dilemma over Salvador’s upcoming deal, if he was still planning to shoot me in the head, or if torturing Franco had awakened some kind of appetite.

I wondered if it was scaring him. When I asked him to stay with me last night, I wasn’t the only one who had been afraid. For one quick moment, like a burst of lightning, I saw fear in his eyes.

I made sure not to forget it.

Later, I ended up falling asleep on my bed, a science magazine I had snatched from downstairs open on my lap. It was dark out and my stomach was growling. I vaguely remembered Esteban coming into my room and telling me there was dinner for me, but I was so out of it he must have let me keep sleeping. I suppose I had been more exhausted by everything than I thought.

I glanced at my bedside clock. It was eleven p.m. I’d crashed for hours.

I groaned, trying to shake the grogginess out of my head. For a moment I thought about my parents, wondering where they were, if they were still being taken care of. The caretaker made them go to sleep at ten every night, but I knew sometimes my mom stayed up later, listening to her audiobooks.

My heart clenched at the thoughts and I had to willfully force them away, otherwise, I would weaken. There was no time for weakness anymore.

I got up slowly and changed out of my rumpled clothes, and into a camisole and boy shorts that had magically appeared in my dresser drawers. They were lilac and made of the finest silk, fitting my body like they were made for me. I used the washroom, splashed water onto my face and combed back my hair, then opened the door to the hall. To my surprise it opened, which meant I was still allowed to be free. I smiled to myself and quietly padded down the hall. The house was still, and I wondered if I could raid the kitchen for something to eat without waking anybody. Obviously there was a security system set up and cameras everywhere which relayed to a guard somewhere, but I didn’t care if they saw me getting a late night snack.

When I passed by Javier’s office, I saw his door was open a crack. The light inside was on, spilling faintly into the hall. I thought this odd since everything Javier did seemed to happen behind closed doors.

I paused, listening, and heard the clink of glass. Taking a deep breath, I gently pushed the door open.

There was a click and I saw Javier sitting behind his desk, a gun pointed straight at me.

I froze.

“Oh,” he said, his voice sounding odd, “it’s just you.”

He quickly put the gun away and picked up the glass beside him. Ice cubes rattled in smooth, brown liquid. An antique bar globe was open, a half-empty bottle of scotch taking prominence.

“Sorry,” I said breathlessly. My heart was still going a mile a minute from the image of the gun aimed at my head.

He nodded, not looking at me, and waved his glass at the room, scotch spilling over the rim. “Come in then, come into my office. Close the door.”

I did so and took two steps into the middle of the room. I pretended to admire how tastefully it was all decorated, but instead I was studying him. Was Javier … drunk?

“I see you’ve found your new clothes,” he said, his eyes feasting on my body, drinking me in like the booze at his lips. “You’re gorgeous.” He tossed the rest of his swill back and then wiped his hand across his mouth.

Yes. He was drunk.

I swallowed, feeling slightly nervous. I wasn’t sure what Javier was like when he was drunk. Bruno became bold and disgusting when he had too much, while all of Salvador’s vile actions were magnified. Javier was always so cool, calm and collected. To see him slightly unhinged threw me off.

That said, it was also intriguing. When one was drunk and the other sober, the sober one held all the cards and all the power.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

He tore his eyes from my body and poured himself another glass, nearly getting scotch on his elegant desk. “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m not,” he said as his brows furrowed. “I’m just having scotch.”

“Half a bottle of it.”

He looked back at the bottle absently. “Oh. I already went through a full one earlier. Men like me must know how to control their liquor.”

“Men like you,” I mused. I walked over to the desk, completely conscious of the fragile garments I was wearing. I placed my hands on the desk and leaned down, staring at him. “Tell me more about men like you.”

He must have caught the cynical tone of my voice because he looked at me sharply. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” I said carefully, wanting to push his buttons but needing to be cautious at the same time, “tell me why a man like you is sitting alone in his office, getting drunk. Don’t you have body parts to clean up in your torture chamber? Or is that the hired help’s job? You seem to get them to do all your dirty work.”

His mouth set firmly, and a muscle ticked along his jaw. “I don’t enjoy telling a lady to shut up. But I’m not above it.”

“And how do you do that?” I asked, unfazed and unwilling to break away from his simmering stare. “How would you shut me up?”

He ignored that. “Why are you here?” he asked in a measured voice.

“I was just curious as to how my captor was doing. You had such a busy morning, chopping off limbs and such.”

Suddenly he was out of his chair and leaning across the desk, his glass of scotch sloshing over. His face was inches from mine. I could see the flecks of brown in his amber irises. If I looked hard enough, I wondered if I could find that soul that he pretended he didn’t have.

“Do you think I enjoyed that?” he growled, grinding his teeth. The smell of alcohol and tobacco wafted toward me.

I didn’t move. “Yes. I think you did.”

“I did it for you.”

A smile tugged at my lips. “I think you also did it for you. I think you enjoyed giving Franco what he deserved.”

He frowned but didn’t back off. “So what if I did? He deserved everything he got. I told him that, I warned him what would happen if he ever touched you again. I never make empty threats.”

“Why did you care so much if he touched me?”

He blinked, swallowing hard. “Because you’re mine,” he said, as if this was common knowledge.

“Because you carved your name in my back?”

He looked at a loss for words. He shook his head briefly. “No.”

“Then why?”

He broke away and flopped down in his chair, staring off at a painting on the wall. “You should go back to bed.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I told him. I walked around the desk so I was blocking his view. “If you think I’m yours, then you have to deal with me.”

“You’re becoming a pain in the ass.”

“But you like my ass
so
much.”

He glared at me. “What are you doing? What do you want from me?”

I went right up to him and hunched over so I was at eye level. He wasn’t going to escape me that easily. He was drunk and he was close to breaking.

“I want to know why you’re drunk.” I cocked my head. “Is it because of me?”

He looked away from my gaze and didn’t say anything.

“Is it?” I prodded, my voice rising. “Is it because of me?” I shoved at his shoulders. “Answer me, dammit!”

His eyes widened and I saw that fear in them again as he looked at me. “Yes,” he said, barely audible.

“What?”

“I said yes!” he bellowed, grabbing me roughly by my arms as he shot up out of his chair. “Yes, fucking yes, it’s all because of you!”

Even though his eyes were enraged, there was a vein pulsing along his throat, and his hold on my arms was tight, I wasn’t afraid.

But he was.

“Why?” I asked.

His brows knit together in confusion. “Because I broke a promise. I never break those. That’s not
me
.”

I stepped closer into him so my chest was nearly against his. His perplexed look deepened. “I don’t think you know yourself quite as well as you think you do.”

His voice lowered. “Is that right? Well, then you tell me who I am, since you know me so well,” he said tauntingly.

I rubbed my lips together, and I saw the way he focused on them hungrily. His breathing was heavy now, like he was fighting to keep himself together. I didn’t want him together. I wanted to undo him.

“You’re afraid,” I whispered.

“Afraid of what?” he asked incredulously.

“Afraid of me.”

He snorted in open disbelief. “Ridiculous. You?”

I looked at him more closely, until he was all I could see, and I was all he could see. “Yes. Me. You were afraid to stay with me last night, you’re afraid of what you’ll have to do at the end of the week, you’re afraid to see me as a human fucking being. Afraid, afraid, afraid!” I angrily jabbed my finger into his chest. “You’re nothing but a coward!”

His nostrils flared, and for one small breath I worried I made a mistake, that the beast would be unleashed and he would hurt me.

But a different beast was unleashed altogether.

He grabbed my face, his fingers pressing into my jaw, and kissed me so hard that it stole my breath. It was quick and violent and his lips were soft only for a second before he pulled away, breathing hard. He stared at me in thinly veiled shock, as if he couldn’t believe he had done that.

My lips tingled from his absence and I tried to regain my footing in our battle.

But I couldn’t think and there was no time.

His eyes sharpened with intensity, and suddenly he grabbed me again, this time one hand behind the back of my head and the other around my waist, jerking me toward him. My chest pressed up against his so tightly I could feel the rapid beating of his heart through his shirt and tie.

His lips engulfed mine, hungry, eager and wild. He kissed me deeply, thoroughly. Luxuriously wet. I felt like my feelings were sediment at the bottom of the sea, and he was shaking me loose, stirring me free, until it was swirling around both of us, clouding everything. I kissed him back, my pace easily matching his frenzied one, an appetite unleashed. Our tongues and lips melded like satin and sparks, and the more I got, the more I wanted.

My hands found their way into his hair, and I gripped his thick, silky strands, tugging on them until he whimpered softly into my mouth. He spun me around so I was leaning back against the desk, and I found myself writhing against him, trying to alleviate some of the pressure that was building between my legs.

He pulled away briefly, his eyes heavy-lidded, his mouth wet and parted, and quickly lifted me up in the air, placing me on the edge of the desk. He pulled down my camisole so my breasts were free and tended to them while he started ripping off his tie.

I grabbed the back of his head and yanked him closer to me as his lips encircled my nipple, sucking deeply at one then the other. I felt like I wasn’t even myself, or maybe I was myself and I was just waking up. But I wanted things more dearly than I’d ever wanted them before. I didn’t even ask for them, I made them happen. Javier was awakening me.

He worked my nipples into hard peaks, flicking them until I was gasping with need. Then he stopped and looked up at me, that wonderful mouth of his grinning at me while he ripped off his shirt. “Is this what you want?” he asked hoarsely before continuing.