Cartel (22 page)

He’d beaten Bella almost to death, but the bitch was stubborn. She was still protesting her innocence, even after Emilio had had Mariana’s figures checked and double-checked by his associates. The girl had done well. She’d picked up in three hours what Emilio had been trying to figure out for months: where his money was going. And there had been a lot of fucking money going.

He stood above the thieving little cunt, watching her bleed from her latest wound, a jagged slice in her forehead that was dripping blood into her eyes.

He’d already sliced a pretty patchwork of designs over her naked form, but she was strong-willed. She still hadn’t broken down. The little bitch blinked rapidly, her eyelashes fluttering as blood pooled under her eyes. She was a brunette, but her pretty brown locks were almost entirely red now, coated in her own blood.

‘Tell me why,’ Emilio asked, holding the knife close to her eyeball, so close the metal was almost scratching at the white of her eye.

She gulped, trying to pull back, but her head was locked tight in his other hand, his fist gripping a handful of hair at the base of her skull.

‘Why does anyone steal?’ she’d answered him finally, after a day of torture and starvation. A day of being fed nothing but cock and straight liquor and being beaten black and blue. In a sick way, he admired her ability to hold out. ‘Because I wanted pretty things. Because I wanted a better life.’

The bitch was strong.

Bitch was a thief, too. He reminded himself of that when he was cutting into her skin while she screamed. She had been diabolical, manipulative, and all the diamonds in the world couldn’t save her now.

That gave him pause. Yes. She could choke on her own greed. He wanted to watch her struggle as she fought to breathe, as sharp, precious rocks crowded her airway. It would be a fitting death, and afterwards he would cut her open and extract the jewels, and hope to recoup at least some of the funds she’d channelled into fake accounts over the two years she’d been cooking their books.

But she hadn’t quite suffered enough yet.

‘If you let me go, I’ll tell you where the money is,’ she pleaded.

He grinned.

‘If you tell me where the money is, I’ll let you go.’

The last shred of hope died in her eyes. Emilio Ross didn’t let people go once they’d crossed him, no matter how slight their mis-step. Bella had witnessed enough deaths in the few short years she’d worked for them to understand her fate.

He sauntered over to the small table he’d had Jimmy drag into the dank little room. On it were a variety of makeshift torture devices, but there was one that he hadn’t used yet, but wanted to. The bite gag. He smiled, selected the crude device from the pile, and set the long butcher’s knife down.

He approached Bella, who was hanging from the ceiling naked, secured by her wrists, covered in blood and blooming bruises that had painted her skin various shades of black and blue and purple. Emilio noticed new bruises where he’d dug his fingers into her tits. Her pink nipples were hard from the cold and he pinched one, making her groan painfully. She was only a few colours short of a fucking rainbow, he surmised as he released her nipple and used both hands to wrap the contraption around her face.

She attempted to whip her head from side to side, but screamed as soon as she did. Emilio smiled, taking the opportunity to shove the rubber gag bit into her mouth and press it into her cheeks, forcing her mouth open into a perfect O. One clip at the back, and it was secured. Now, if she tried to bite down, she’d bite through her own cheeks before anything else.

He smiled as fear replaced the dazed look on her face.

‘I knew you’d be hard to break,’ Emilio said, sticking his finger into the perfect open hole that went all the way down to her throat. She gagged as he hit the back of her throat, and he withdrew before she vomited. He didn’t want her stomach contents anywhere near him.

‘You know what happens next, don’t you, Bella?’

She screamed. It sounded strange with her mouth prised open in such a fashion, but it still made his chest puff out with pride.

She had tried to steal his power when she stole his money, and now he would show her who was truly in control.

There was a short rap at the door, and then Jimmy and Viper were there. Two of the sickest fucks he’d ever met, and that was saying a lot. Viper was holding a bottle of bourbon and a hose, and they both looked ready for anything. That was the thing with these fucking bikers. At first, he’d been horrified that his son had decided to form his own motorcycle club, but the things they could do, the depravity these men nursed within their own souls — it was very handy, indeed. It made Il Sangue more than just a cartel. They owned the entire west coast, from San Francisco deep down into South America. In short, they were untouchable.

Emilio backed away from Bella with a wry smile. ‘Go for it, boys.’

As he closed the door behind him, Emilio heard an unmistakable gagging noise and figured the boys would give the bitch exactly what she deserved.

Nobody thieved from Emilio Ross and lived to enjoy it
.

Murphy pressed against me, trapping me against the counter as he grinned like a son of a bitch.

‘What do you want?’ I snapped.

His shit-eating grin said ‘fuck you’ as clearly as if he’d spoken the words. My back was screaming as he bent me backwards, using his body weight to trap me as he pinned my wrists to my sides. He was hard against my hip, and I wanted to be sick, knowing exactly what he wanted already.

‘I want to know if you’re a moaner …’ he drawled, ‘or a screamer.’

I gathered all of my strength, every bit of my anger and sadness, and directed it into my forehead. Then, praying that I wouldn’t pass out from the impact, I drove my head forward and barrelled my forehead into his mouth. He let go of me and staggered back, and I straightened, holding my forehead in one hand as it buzzed angrily.

He took a handkerchief from his top suit pocket and dabbed at the blood that was coming from his split lip. Huh. I’d gotten so used to Dornan’s fascination with blood, I’d forgotten other people didn’t appreciate it so much. The thought that I’d hurt Murphy made me smile.

He didn’t seem to like that.

‘Come here,’ he ordered, tucking the bloodied handkerchief away. ‘You can try and fight me all you want, but I’ve got all day, honey.’

He had that glint in his eye, and I didn’t trust him one inch. But Dornan was gone, and Emilio with him, and I was backed into a corner with nothing to protect myself. Not even shoes on my feet to kick him with.

Murphy reached into his pocket again and withdrew the photo of Luis.

‘You don’t want the boss to find out about this, right?’

My heart sank.

‘No.’

‘Well,’ he said, ‘let’s make a deal.’

I swallowed, my eyes fixed on the photo. ‘I’m listening.’

He smirked. ‘You do whatever I want for today, and I’ll give this back to you and pretend like I never saw it.’

I chewed on the inside of my lip and looked between his crazy blue eyes and the photo. My baby. I missed him more than anything. It frightened me that I’d already started to forget little things, like the exact shape of his face and whether his hair in the photo had been dark brown or completely black. I felt shame at such things, and wondered if my mind was simply blocking out things that were too painful for me to deal with.

‘How do I know you’ll keep your end of the bargain?’ I whispered.

He sneered, and the shift in his expression made his lip weep fresh blood. ‘Here’s the thing,’ he said, crowding me against the counter so that I was trapped once more. He tucked a hair behind my ear and the gesture revolted me. ‘Either way, I’m getting what I want. So you can either cooperate,’ he pulled my hair, exposing my neck, ‘or you can fight. Both would be a lot of fun for me.’ He snaked out his tongue and licked my neck, making me shudder.

‘Do we have a deal?’

My shoulders slumped. He had the photo that I desperately wanted, and I had nothing to lose except my mind. I couldn’t let Dornan and Emilio know about the son Este and I shared. Luis deserved better than that. I wouldn’t pile my sins on him the way my father had piled his on me.

Did it really matter? This was my existence now. Owned by powerful men, used and abused until I would become a rotting, hollow shell. It was exactly as I’d expected when I’d signed on, but somehow, the reality was still shocking enough to take my breath away. I couldn’t give in.

‘No,’ I said blankly.

I would never say yes to a man like Murphy.

But as he grabbed something behind me and held it to my throat, I stilled. A knife. He had a knife at my throat.

‘Then I guess we do this the hard way,’ he sneered.

‘You want to rape me on the kitchen floor?’ I asked, throwing him a look of disbelief.

He tutted. ‘We’ll start in the kitchen,’ he said, ‘but honey, we’ve got an entire apartment to work with here.’

I swallowed down my disgust and eyed the sharp butcher’s knife in his hand, the one I’d been silly enough to think I had a chance of using on him.

He flashed a wide smile and pointed to his pants. ‘Well then,’ he said, tipping his head to one side and fixing those weird blue eyes on me, ‘I suggest you get on the floor and get naked.’

I gritted my teeth and stared as he squeezed his cock through his pants, then started to stroke it slowly, as much as the material would allow. He didn’t take his eyes from mine the entire time.

He looked at me in mock despair, using his free hand to gesture down to his hard-on. ‘Well, come on,’ he said. ‘I don’t think it’s going to suck itself, Annie.’

My skin crawled as he used that name again. Swallowing back tears and screams, I took one tiny step back.

‘I’m not putting my mouth anywhere near that,’ I said emphatically. He grinned, placing a hand on my chest, between my breasts.

‘You think you’re too good for me, you little Mexican bitch?’

I looked at the ceiling momentarily, trying to bite my tongue. ‘Colombia,’ I said, taking a deep breath.

‘What?’ he responded, running a hand over my breasts.

My veins began to sizzle as anger poured through them. I stared at him, so fucking angry at Emilio, at Dornan, at my father. Because of them, I was here, trying to save myself from a man I despised. I pictured my father at a blackjack table, gambling away my future, and it made me want to put a gun to his head and pull the trigger myself.

‘I said, I’m from Colombia,’ I repeated, louder and more pissed off this time. Murphy stopped stroking my breasts and turned his full attention to my face.

‘My apologies,’ he said gleefully, not apologetic at all. ‘But time’s a wasting, and this photo seems to be burning a hole in my pocket, so I suggest you
lay down now
.’

I set my jaw stubbornly and shook my head. He looked angry, suddenly pressing the knife to my throat again, hard enough that I felt my skin break apart. I stayed as still as possible, imagining what would happen if he slipped and I drowned to death in a pool of my own blood.

Once I was still, he circled around me slowly, pressing himself into my back as he hiked my dress up roughly with his free hand. The other still held the knife at my throat, the little serrations on the blade pulled at my skin every time I shivered.

I squeezed my eyes shut as he reached between my legs and pushed my panties aside roughly, sliding his bare hand over me. Shame and rage rose hot and red in my cheeks as he chuckled. ‘Looks like you’re already ready for me,’ he exclaimed.

Motherfucker.

Before he could pull me closer, I balled my hand into a fist and brought it up over my shoulder, slamming it into the side of Murphy’s smug face. His head snapped back and to the side, and I gritted my teeth, ducking down and away before he had a chance to draw the blade across my neck.

It had been a daring move, but I couldn’t just stand there while he violated me.

He looked pissed, bringing the knife up as if to stab me in the face. I drew my own throbbing fist back again and waited, my expression a silent challenge.

Before I could swing, he feinted to the left, before changing direction and coming at me like a freight train. As he tackled me we fell together, landing hard on the tiles. Stars swam in my vision and I groaned, reaching up to see if my throbbing head was bleeding.

Murphy’s blue eyes glimmered as he hovered above me, taunting me silently as I was pinned by his weight.

‘I knew you’d like this,’ he said, pinching my nipple through thin cotton. ‘All this banter. All this tension. It’s fun.’ He widened his eyes for effect when he said ‘fun’, drawing his fist back and slamming it into my cheek. My eyes watered and the side of my face throbbed.
What a fucking life
, I thought.
I’m finally here in the goddamn land of the free
.

But I was not free. I was just a possession. Not even a treasured one.

‘You have to rape me because you know I’d never choose someone like you,’ I said, keenly aware that his hardness was still pressed up against my stomach. ‘And that kills you inside, you pathetic bastard.’

His smile was instantly replaced by a look of utter scorn. He was about to reply when I spied something out of the corner of my eye. He’d emptied his pants pockets onto the counter when he’d first arrived and taunted me with the photograph, but I’d been too busy keeping him in my line of sight to look at what he’d put on the counter besides the photo. But now, I saw. And it terrified me.

A syringe. It was capped and half-full with something clear.
Oh, Jesus
, I thought as he thrust his hips, dry humping me through the thin cotton that separated us
. This is going to happen. This man is going to rape me.

‘You were going to drug me?’ I whispered shakily.

I was about to say something more when a fist caught me hard on the mouth, stunning me. I brought my hand up to my face and my fingers came away wet and red. I slowly turned my gaze to Murphy’s.

He tutted, grabbing my wrists and squeezing until I thought they would snap in two. ‘Shut up and lie still,’ he said.

Screw that. I wasn’t lying still. I struggled and fought as he continued to pin me down; my strength no match for his.

‘You’re a firecracker,’ Murphy hissed, choking me with one hand as he rolled one of my nipples between his thumb and forefinger with the other. The knife now lay beside his knee, out of my immediate reach. ‘And right now I’m going to fu—’

He was cut off by the front door crashing open. His eyes grew wide for a brief second and when I tried to push him away, he held my hips tightly.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’ he asked me, ignoring whoever was standing at the door.

‘Let me go,’ I whispered urgently, turning my head to see who had arrived.

Dornan wasn’t alone. I didn’t know whether to be relieved, or horrified.

I was a little of both.

‘Gypsy Brothers,’ Murphy said, as he forced his thumb into my mouth. My eyes watered as I looked to John and Dornan with a pleading stare.

Dornan’s eyes locked with mine, that unmistakable current passing between us once more. He looked like he was ready to beat Murphy to death with his bare hands. ‘Motherfucker!’ he roared, charging towards us.

‘Uh-uh,’ Murphy tutted, grabbing my chin and forcing me to look at him. The knife was back in his hand, back at my throat. I hadn’t even seen him pick it up.

‘It’s rude to interrupt, guys,’ Murphy drawled, seemingly delighted at the disgust written all over my face. ‘You should probably wait outside. I don’t want to slip and cut her pretty little head off by accident.’

‘Let go of her,’ John ordered, one hand behind his back. He was going for his gun, I realised.
Jesus Christ.
I hoped he was a good aim.

A vein was pulsing in Dornan’s forehead.
He was going to explode.

‘I’m not raping her,’ Murphy said, looking to me. ‘Tell him. Tell him how much you want it.’

‘Go fuck yourself,’ I said through gritted teeth.

‘Tell him who you want to be with,’ he said, reaching with one hand for the photograph that sat above him on the counter. Fuck! If he took that back, he’d hold it over me and do something worse next time.

‘Let go of her,’ John said. Murphy sneered at him, still gripping me tightly, and then his smile vanished as John aimed his gun at Murphy’s head.

‘You don’t want me to ask a third time,’ John warned. Murphy dropped my wrist and the knife, and held his hands in the air in surrender. ‘John,’ he hastened, ‘you don’t want to shoot a federal marshal. We were just having some fun. It’s not my fault the girl’s crazy.’

‘Get up,’ John ordered. Before Murphy was even on his feet, Dornan had him in a chokehold, dragging him into the living room.

I shuddered as a strong arm scooped me up and set me on shaky feet. I pulled my dress down, humiliated and sickened.

John crossed his arms and leaned against the counter. He looked impressively scary in his full leathers. He rocked the prez patch on the back of his leather cut, and the gun he held so casually in one of his hands, with two intertwined snakes engraved down the silver barrel, looked different from the rest I’d seen.

‘What’s the photo of, sweetheart,’ he asked me. I froze, opening my mouth to speak, but no words came out. My son.
My son.

John saw that I was having some kind of emotional seizure and looked over to the living room, where Dornan was beating the shit out of Murphy. He looked like he was going to kill him. Without missing a beat, Dornan drew his gun and cocked it. Inside the apartment, the sound of the metal click was as foreboding as it was terrifying.

‘D,’ John said slowly.

Dornan pressed the tip of his gun to Murphy’s forehead and applied pressure to the trigger.

‘Did he hurt you, Ana?’ Dornan asked, his voice dangerously calm. ‘Did he rape you?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘No. He punched me. He didn’t get to — I mean, you guys stopped him before …
that
.’

‘D, do not shoot that motherfucker,’ John urged. ‘I want to, you want to, we all want him dead. But killing a cop is gonna rain down a whole world of trouble on us. Think, brother.’

Dornan flexed his jaw angrily, every muscle in his body poised and ready to destroy the worthless piece of shit in front of him. And, scarily enough, part of me wanted him to shoot Murphy in the face.

John approached Dornan, his hand out. ‘Give me your gun,’ he said.

Dornan turned and looked at John as if to say, are you fucking kidding me? He raised his gun above Murphy’s head, bringing it down onto his skull with such force that he was knocked out cold. John huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

‘Tie him up,’ John said. ‘I’ll get Viper to pick his sorry ass up.’

John came back to stand by me, his eyes landing on the photograph. I snatched it up in my hand and curled my fist tightly shut, glancing over at Dornan, who was lost in a world of his own as he threw rope around Murphy’s limbs and pulled tight.

When John looked at me, his eyes were kind. He suddenly seemed so different from anyone else I’d encountered since the night I’d left my father’s house. His smile was genuine, and it reached all the way up to his hazel eyes.