The rhythmic breathing of her lover was comforting to Valentina. And freeing. With Victor fast asleep, she was free to go for her usual late-night walk. Victor didn’t like this particular habit of hers but what Victor didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
She’d learned how to sneak out of the house and avoid the cameras that surveilled the property. Years of thwarting the paparazzi had taught her all she needed to know about avoiding prying eyes. She acknowledged the restrictions that were a fact of life in the cartel – bodyguards, tracking devices. But she wouldn’t be caged.
The night sounds soothed her and gave her a chance to digest the atrocities she’d witnessed at the warehouse. Even though she’d known she was marrying into a family of killers, nothing could have prepared her for the brutality of the night’s events. Even the women had seemed different somehow, as if they had flipped a switch and deadened all signs of emotion. They weren’t the same women she always laughed with.
If nothing else, she had a newfound respect for the family she was marrying into. She was smart enough to know they had deliberately brought her to the warehouse to witness what happened there. It would serve two purposes: it had been a test of sorts to give them the opportunity to gauge her reaction, and it would also imbed her so deeply into the cartel as an accessory to murder she would have no way out. Only time would tell if she passed the test.
The look on Victor’s face and the dark energy that had hovered over them as he threatened her wasn’t something that could be faked. Shit had gotten real so fast that she hadn’t had time to prepare.
As she strolled toward a wrought iron bench she was fond of at the edge of the woods, the rustling of leaves followed by the sound of a twig snapping caused her to whip her head around. Her chest tightened and any fresh air she had been enjoying was knocked out of her lungs, leaving only terror as she looked into the mask of the one thing she was terrified of. It was a fucking clown. The mask was white with a ghastly smile. Fake blood ran from the mouth and from the eyes, which were just pinholes that hid the identity of whoever was behind the mask.
Before she had a chance to change her mind, she stepped in and jabbed his nose with an upward thrust of the palm of her hand. When he howled and reached up to grab his face through the mask, blood gushed from under the mask. She kicked him as hard as she could in the balls and screamed for help. Bright spotlights came on, searching the grounds until they landed on her and her assailant. That could only mean one thing: the cavalry was coming – and that, no doubt, meant Victor was wide awake and gunning for her.
With the spotlights shining down on her, she ran blindly toward the sounds of shouts and gunfire coming from the house. Her lungs burned and her muscles ached as she ran faster than she’d ever run before, fueled by the images of the intruder beating her or worse yet, shooting her.
Victor appeared at the center of her fear-fueled tunnel vision, rage pumping off him as he barreled toward her, stark naked and clutching a gun. At the sight of his primitive display of protectiveness, she stopped short.
Paralyzed with fear, she burst into shuddering sobs, her body quaking so violently that the ground seemed to tilt beneath her feet. Victor stood before her, his chest heaving, unconcerned with his nakedness as he quickly assessed the health of the only thing that mattered in his life.
Recognizing the early signs of shock, he handed his gun off to the nearest guard, whisked Valentina up into his arms like she was feather lite, and carried her to the safety of the house and the warmth of their bed.
He knew the guards would handle the situation. A glance over his shoulder confirmed his thoughts as the guards dispersed onto the grounds with military precision. As Victor ran up the stairs carrying his precious cargo, a door at the end of the long hallway opened and his mother stepped out into the hall, abruptly squealing and covering her eyes. Ricardo appeared and somewhat impatiently guided her back into their suite of rooms, but remained standing by the door.
“You’ve got her then?” Ricardo asked, his frowning eyes on Valentina’s quivering form. Victor paused in the doorway and nodded curtly at his father. Ricardo didn’t bother commenting on his son’s state of undress and he didn’t bother asking how the guards had responded to the situation. He was amused by the former and utterly confident in the latter. But he did want to make a point. “Does she venture outside on her own in the middle of the night often?” he asked, his voice far too quiet for Victor’s liking.
“Not any-fucking-more,” Victor snarled, his dark eyes narrowing in warning as the caveman deep within him stood up and cracked his knuckles. Silence ensued, the unprecedented stand-off between the two men making the air around them crackle with unspoken ultimatums and an unmistakable hint of danger.
“Good,” his father said at last, his deep voice so quiet that Victor almost didn’t hear him. “I trust you’ll address this security breach with her appropriately. Ensure it doesn’t happen again. If it does, it will be handled as a cartel matter, so whatever you plan on doing, make it count. I’ll handle things from here. You just handle her.”
Ricardo’s door slammed shut and Valentina jerked in Victor’s arms. She clawed at his shoulders as she clung to him, her grip not lessening even after he had them settled on the bed.
The prospect of losing her left him feeling unsettled and he wanted blood. But that would have to wait; she needed him. Victor stepped away to the window long enough to confer briefly with his men on his cell, then he slipped back into bed. He held his Valentina until her tears stopped and they both fell drifted off. His last thought before sleep took him was that there would be no more late-night walks alone.