10
Eating and talking to Charlie wipes me out, and I fall asleep sitting against the headboard.
Strong hands slip off my dressing gown and set me down in bed properly, pulling up the blanket to my chin. I cuddle up to a pillow, curling over on my side, and moan in contentment when warm lips kiss my cheek.
I don’t know if it’s because my comfort level is at one hundred percent, but I’m certain a tsunami couldn’t wake me. My time of rest is long and tranquil, blissful when I feel a large, hot body press up behind me.
The paradise doesn’t last, though.
When I open my eyes, my head is pounding. My throat is dry like the Sahara, and my limbs ache like I’ve been working out, hard.
Grumbling, I lift my head off the pillow and immediately notice I’m alone. The day is still, no presence in the bedroom. Birds chirp through the open balcony doors while electric pink sunshine peeks through cracks in the curtains. It feels like morning, but I must be wrong. I could not have slept an entire day away.
“Charlie?” I attempt to call but cough in the pillow, croaky and raw. Turning up my head, I see on the bedside cabinet—next to a plate of chocolate muffins and a bowl of chopped fruit—there’s a fresh glass of water. I shift to sit up and have a drink, chugging past the dryness in my throat. I try a muffin, too, knowing food can only make me feel better. When James and I used to train, particularly with Demetrius, we would test ourselves in extreme circumstances. Starvation was one of them. It often caused headaches to come on strong.
The muffin is still warm in the center with a creamy burst of caramel, so moist my mouth waters. For a moment, I forget about everything and live on the high of chocolate, moaning in delight. But then I swallow and my mouth rushes with acidic, watery saliva. I heave, folding the muffin in the paper cup to put it back on the plate. Pushing the blanket aside, I slug my ass across the bedroom, entering the bathroom to use the toilet. I also brush my teeth and splash my face with cold water, grimacing at my pale, withdrawn reflection in the ceiling high mirror. There are deep, gray circles under my sunken eyes, evidence of my malnourishment. Leaning over the sink edge, I stare up close. I look rough. My red hair is wiry and hanging heavy around my freckly face. I almost want to cut it off to reduce the weight on my head, to help with the headaches.
“Blaire?” Charlie calls from the bedroom as the main door clicks shut after him. “I’ll ring you back,” he says to someone else, and I assume he’s on the phone. “Blaire?!”
“I’m in here,” I say, patting my face dry with a towel. “I’m just coming.” I wander out to him, swamped in my hair to hide my nakedness. The curtains are pulled open now, half-blinding me. I hold a hand shielded over my eyes.
Charlie’s standing near one of the balcony doors in a pair of gray joggers, dominating the view. The sun burns pink on his tan, muscled torso, darkening the hair there. It also catches the glass face of his silver watch, making my eyes sting.
“You not feeling good?” he asks as I crawl back in bed, moaning with discomfort.
I shake my head, shutting my eyes. I sigh when he touches my forehead, using the backs of his fingers. “Hmm, you are a little warm. Do you have a headache again?”
“A little,” I say, covering my eyes with one arm. “It’s super bright in here.”
The second I mention the light, I hear the scraping sound of the curtains being drawn, then I hear the rustling of a paper bag. I spy over my arm to see Charlie emptying a prescription bag, subconsciously scanning for needles. That’s when I spot two steaming cups on the bedside cabinet.
Coffee. I could use a coffee.
“The prescriptions came yesterday,” Charlie states, popping open lids, “but you were asleep, and the doctor said not to wake you. You’ll start taking the medications today, every day, until—”
“I’ve slept a whole day away?” My voice hits ceiling high, making me wince under the pounding in my skull.
“You did,” Charlie nods. “But you need to recover. Sleeping is good, baby.”
“Have you got any news on James?” He’s the first thing on my mind when I realize a whole fucking day has passed.
Charlie shakes his head, causing my stomach to sink with dread. My entire body sinks when he doesn’t elaborate, forcing me to accept that I will likely be returning to Robert soon. If Charlie can’t find and retrieve James in time, there’s nothing I can do to change that.
I suddenly feel so miserable.
“Don’t worry about James. That’s my job,” Charlie says softly, reading my depression. “All you need to concern yourself with is getting better.”
I nearly snort at him.
“I can’t just do nothing,” I say while rubbing my eyes, wishing away this motherfucking headache. “Perhaps I should get out there and track him, too. I could call Tatiana and some of Maksim’s old—”
“No way in hell!” Charlie slams the pill pots down on the side, making me shudder against the sound. “If something was to happen to you, James would be the least of my concerns.” He waves for me to sit up and take the pills. “I’ll find your brother, and I want you to trust that I will.”
I want to trust that he will, too, but I think sitting about on my ass waiting for things to happen is a waste of reserves. I should be doing something since I know who has my brother. I should be hacking anything online even remotely related to Robert. Then I should be setting up meetings with allies to do more digging, forming a proper plan.
“Hey, stop that!” Charlie seizes my hand, twisting it around to check my wrist. Thin, red lines streak my skin, and I realize I’ve been itching the bite mark.
“I’m fine,” I say, pulling out of his hold as I shimmy to sit up in bed. Extending a hesitant hand, I take the mountain of pills he gives me. On no level do I want to take any more drugs, but I can’t deny I’m dying to feel half-alive again. Even if the medication will only get rid of the headaches, I’ll be happy with that.
“What are these?” I ask, rolling the pills about in my palm.
“Vitamins, Folate, that kinda thing.”
Folate? What’s that for?
“I am gonna find him, Blaire,” Charlie promises, highly aware of my doubts that he’ll rescue my brother. “You know that, don’t you?”
I shrug while tossing the pills down my throat, swallowing double hard on the larger ones.
A light vibrating sound goes off in his jogger pocket, and he checks his watch, giving off the impression he’s meant to be somewhere. I tell him to leave if he needs to leave, unable to hide the sarcasm in my voice. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”
“I’m only downstairs having a meeting with my men,” he says, ignoring my mockery, and he notes where his office is in the house. “I brought you up some scrambled eggs for lunch”—he nods in the direction of the coffee table—“so eat, take a shower, and if you’re feeling up to it, come down. Otherwise, I’ll be back for dinner.”
“Charlie,” I look up at him, pleading, clasping the blanket to my naked chest, “I want to help with tracking James. I don’t want to sit around doing nothing. If Maksim were here—’
Charlie’s eyes flash, turning dark the second I mention my old master’s name. He crosses his arms, causing the muscles in his chest to bunch. “If you would just tell me who’s commanding you, I could find James a lot easier. But you won’t, so I suggest you stay here where I know you’re safe, otherwise my mind will be solely on you, and James will be royally fucked.”
I try to protest, sick of his determination to keep me safe or whatever, but he swoops down on me. His prickly mouth smothers mine, turning my body inside out with a deeply passionate kiss that I didn’t see coming for a mile. His large hands grip my jawline and turn back my head, giving him all the access he needs. I watch him, stunned, unsure of how to react. I fist handfuls of the sheets on either side of my waist as his tongue massages savagely across mine, tasting me with long, dirty licks. I feel it everywhere, especially between my legs, a heavy throb of desire.
More. I want more.
“Please do as I ask,” he rasps in my mouth, pupils dilating to the shade of black onyx. “The last thing we need is to be fighting with each other over issues that are currently out of our control.”
I nod, casted under his spell. Right now, with his lips on mine, I’d possibly do anything he wanted.
And I hate it.
———
Being so powerless to save the people I care about isn’t a position I’m comfortable sitting in.
Once Charlie leaves the room, once I come down from that hot rush of lust, I lie in bed for a few hours to let my headache fade to black. I try to doze off and forget about what’s happening, but find I’m fidgety and agitated, constantly thinking of James. Is he hurt? Has Robert punished him for my disobedience? The fact that I don’t know either bothers me on another level.
As a distraction, I get up to take a shower, moisturize with that seriously potent ointment, then I dress in baggy, green joggers and a matching hoodie. I go downstairs without eating the scrambled eggs, partly because I’m not hungry, and partly to defy Charlie. It infuriates me that he’s aware of what I can do—he knows I could help find James—yet he’d rather I do nothing? He’d rather subdue my strength with his wicked charm and have me lounge around in his bed like some dumb bimbo?
I can’t even dare to mull over the way he thwarted my will. It makes me angry. A single kiss, a single touch, and I’m putty in his hands? How stupid am I?
Coming down the sweeping staircase, I notice the house is a fortress of quiet. I poke my head in the living room, seeing it’s empty. Kitchen. Empty. The back doors are open, allowing the inside to pour out to the backyard. I can smell the lawns have recently been cut, leaving a damp, earthy fragrance of fresh grass to linger in the air. I take a stroll out to the patio and stand with crossed arms, watching a group of Los Zetas jogging around the land boundaries. They’re a butch bunch, each one as big as the next. I wonder if Charlie’s recruitment requirement is that his men must pack as much meat as they punch.
I’d like to train with them, get myself back in shape and ready for war. Because war is coming. I can sense it.
“¿Estás bien, Blaire?”
I jump a clear mile at the sound of someone asking if I’m all right, swinging around and coming face to face with Nic Decena. He’s dripping in sweat, trails of it snaking down his muscled, tattooed neck. The paleness in his eyes is brooding and heavy as he searches every inch of my face.
I don’t know what to say. My lips part to speak but nothing comes out. He makes me feel...naked to the bone, just like Charlie did when I first met him.
Turning on my heel, I walk back inside the kitchen, leaving him out there on the porch. He watches me leave, gripping each end of a towel hanging around his large shoulders.
He’s so...creepy. I wish he wouldn’t talk to me when Charlie isn’t around.
Charlie’s office is across the entrance hall, through an ID controlled, reinforced door. On a whim, I press my thumb on the glass scanner and it pops open, letting out a gust of cool air as if the room is temperature controlled. Charlie’s inside on the phone, sitting behind a huge, central desk. It’s piled high in paperwork and a military style laptop—the one he let me use before when I lived with him.
“Come in, baby,” he says, gesturing for me. He then continues his phone call, talking Mexican taxes and politics with God knows who.
I stroll in gazing around, fiddling with the strings on my hoodie while Charlie observes me.
The office is huge with high, ashen colored paneled walls, and the ceiling is covered in bright down-lighters. No windows. It feels like a large, secret bunker. It smells like musky male bodies and tangy gunpowder, which I assume is due to the wooden crates with CAUTION written in red on the sides, stacked up in the far, left corner behind the desk. One crate is open, overflowing with guns, bullet cases, and hand grenades. The dark wooden floors are old and scuffed with curving scratches that make me think those crates were dragged in. There’s a red rug in the middle and for some reason, I imagine there’s a hatch under it. If Charlie got cornered in here by an unexpected attack, how else would he get out?
“What did Nic want?” Charlie’s voice cuts through my silence. I shrug. How should I know?
I wonder how he’s aware I even saw Nic until I spot his CCTV setup. Directly opposite a massive, black leather couch, a section in the paneled walls is slid open, revealing a partition of cameras. They’re flickering between rooms in this house and another, full color and high definition. There’s a big flat screen in the center, focused on Charlie’s bed—where I was resting. I don’t see my old bedroom on any of the screens, so I assume Charlie wasn’t watching me when I was living with him before.
“Blaire”—Charlie presses the phone speaker to his shoulder, nodding at the couch—“some of your books are there, and I got you a bunch of crosswords and some chocolate. Take a load off.”
I search about for my books, finding a whole stack of them on a side table next to a brass lamp. There’s also a stack of crossword magazines, and a blue carrier bag overflowing in chocolate.
I lower onto the couch, pull a checkered blanket across my legs, and blatantly listen in on Charlie’s phone call. Over the week, I do this a lot. I also sit in on all the meetings he has with his men and his brother—twenty in total. Nearly all of them have a different agenda. In fact, he handles so much business that I start to wonder how he has any time to find James. At the end of the week, when we’re taking a shower before bed, I ask if he has the time, and he insists my brother is top priority. I want to believe him. I really do. But I have my doubts. James kidnapped me, causing all this trouble, so I would understand if Charlie confessed he’s no longer looking for him. I wouldn’t be very happy, but I would understand.
My doubts increase tenfold when I discover they had a physical fight. It’s by luck I even figure it out.
Charlie’s scrubbing from head to toe under a steamy shower, and I’m watching him with obvious longing, fiddling with a silly blue sponge to hide my staring. I notice tiny, pinkish scars on his lower abdomen, in the rough hair there. I bend at the knees to get a better look, prodding the muscled flesh even while he laughs, wondering what I’m doing. They’re definitely scars.
Standing up straight, I demand to know where they came from, scowling at him in concern and curiosity.
“Tis’ nothing, Blaire,” he says, still laughing all nonchalant while lifting his arms to clean his sides.
“It is something.” I point at him, at the area of concern. “They weren’t there before. I remember seeing your body, and I know they were not there, so how did you get them?”
“Blaire...” he sighs my name.
My eyes taper as I hiss, “Tell me, Charlie, or I’ll think you’re hiding something from me.”
That does the trick. He doesn’t hold back this time. Blasé, he reminds me of the video I watched when he and James were fighting over me. “After I head-butted him, we brawled, and he came at me with a weapon.”
I go cold on the spot, gawking at him in a state of disbelief. He continues washing as if this isn’t a big deal, and I grab his wrist to stop him. I stutter to speak, but my brain is scrambling in a million different directions of defense. If Charlie was Maksim, I’d kill James, no thought needed. But James is my brother and my teammate. Does that matter, though? I’m not sure. Charlie is my lover...I care about him, so I should defend him, shouldn’t I?
But I can’t hurt James, can I?
I’m so fucking confused with the two voices in my head going at each other.
“Hey, s’all right.” Charlie leans down to meet me at eye level, glittering in diamonds of water. “Was just men fighting because we’re both in love with you. Nothing to worry about, silly chica.”
Nothing to worry about? I glare at him, decisive. I swear to myself that if James ever comes at him again, he will have something serious to worry about. I will hurt him, badly. How dare he attack Charlie when Charlie saved us—he fought for us when no one else would—and my brother paid him back by attacking him?
I finally let go of Charlie’s wrist, and the sight of his blood under my nails causes a weird tightness to form in my chest. My vision gets fuzzy. I gulp down mouthfuls of air but I can’t seem to breathe properly.
“Blaire?”
“I...I’m sorry,” I wheeze. I shove my hands under the shower flow and scrub, picking and scratching at my nails. “I-I didn’t mean to grab you like that. I-I don’t know what happened!” I snatch for the soap and scour my nails, tearing the bar to shreds. “James shouldn’t have done that... I-I shouldn’t have grabbed you...”
“Whoa, calm down.” Charlie reaches around either side of my waist to take my trembling hands. He gently lathers them with soap, washing away his blood. I watch it swirling down the drain at my feet, engrossed by his slow motions and his warm breath on my shoulder.
“That’s it. Just relax,” he says, running his fingers through mine. “Everything’s all right.”
I take deep, easy breaths, still focused on his touch. I look up over my shoulder at him through wet, scraps of my hair, wordless but desperate to apologize for hurting him. Desperate to apologize for what James did.
“S’all right,” he says again, glancing between my eyes. He wraps around me and squeezes me in an intense hug, his unshaven cheek pressed to mine. “You’re gonna have moments like this, but you’ll get through them. I’ll help you get through them.”
“But, James...” I practically gulp his name. An unwelcomed feeling of anxiety is sitting heavy in my tummy. “He attacked you... I grabbed you, Charlie... What if something bad happens?” I don’t even know what I’m asking, making no sense. I fist my hands at my sides, so I don’t grab him again, desperate to find myself.
“Nothing bad is gonna happen,” Charlie whispers promises in my ear, kissing me there. “I won’t let it.”