21
The attack?
What attack?
And who the fuck are target one and two?
I jump to my feet with attention, Charlie, Nic, and Andres following suit. We’re all narrowed in on the Los Zetas guy standing in the doorway, mentally beckoning him to speak. He shifts from foot to foot, lips parting but closing on instinct to withhold information. He glances at me through deadly, brown eyes, then at Charlie. Me. Charlie. Me. Charlie.
The tension in the room is lung-squeezingly-tight.
“Spit it out, man,” Nic insists, shrugging with anticipation.
“Violating footage has come to our attention, Señor.” The guy turns down his head, speaking to his feet. “We found it on a laptop in Robert’s eldest daughter’s dorm in France.”
“What violating footage?” Andres asks.
The guy looks up at me, and my stomach drops.
“Don’t say another word.” Charlie lifts a finger to hush him and orders his brothers to get all of the Rank Fives in his office immediately. His body language is confident but robotic as he talks with his hands to highlight things. “Ranks Three and Four are to guard the lane at both ends, just in case anyone else attempts another attack. I want the Rank Twos on all major doors to the house plus two in the entrance hall and two in the kitchen. Tell the Bloc crew to get to the guardhouse. Rico”—Charlie addresses the shifty guy in the doorway, making my face kink with hatred at the mention of his name—“keep the captives quiet until I’m there, comprender?”
“Sí, Señor.” He salutes, pivots on his heel, and leaves to fulfill his duties.
He’s the mudak who texted Charlie and told him to just fuck the redhead with or without permission, and now he’s found violating footage of me?
I know it’s of me. I just saw the way he looked at me. I’m not stupid.
“Luna”—Charlie turns to her, working at a million miles per hour—“you’ll hang around here with Blaire until I’m back. Anything she wants or needs, get it for her.”
My face lights up with surprise—and outrage because if he thinks for a second I’m going to stay here while he disappears doing God knows what, then he’s insane.
Luna agrees, wiping under her wet eyes with a single finger. “Por supuesto, Señor.”
“I’ll gather all of the Rank Fives.” Nic gulps to finish off his coffee and starts out of the living room. “Give me five minutes, hermano.”
Charlie tells me to do as I wish around the house, that he will fill me in as soon as he knows something more solid, then he exits the room, too. I chase him out because there’s no way in hell I’m staying here alone.
“Charlie, what’s happening?” I ask, grabbing his arm to stop him in his tracks. “Is it James? Who are target one and two? And what the hell is the violating footage?”
He cocks his head, looking down at me. “You can speak Spanish, then?”
I pull a funny face at him. Who gives a crap if I can speak Spanish right now?
“Don’t divert.” I study him with caution as he glances between his office and me. “Is the violating footage of me?”
“What?” His head whips back to me. “No, of course not—and before you ask, I don’t know what it is. I haven’t even seen it.”
Baffled, I scowl at him, thinking maybe I misread Rico’s signals. It is possible. He didn’t actually say anything.
I reiterate my other questions, demanding to know what’s happening.
Charlie sighs, shutting his eyes in a moment of reluctance. “Robert warned he would attack if I refuse to give back one of his girls.”
“Robert attacked you?” My voice shoots pitch high, and I step back in defense. “But, I-I thought negotiations were starting?”
“That, was this morning.” He points at the space between us. “This, is now. The game can always change. You know that.”
Red flashes in my eyes—red-hot rage! That motherfucker has been warned, yet he still had the balls to attack us?
“So, what about my brother? We’re supposed to be getting him back today. What’s happening—”
The front doors swing open, and a dozen combat-suited men pile into the entrance hall with Nic, each nodding at Charlie and me with respect. Two of them steal past us and spread out in the kitchen, clasping heavy guns. Another two man the main entrance, staring ahead in a blank manner.
“Blaire,” Charlie grips my shoulder, reasoning with me on a level, “I need to go, baby. When I know more, I’ll fill you in, I promise.”
“Charlie, I want in on that meeting!” I call out, but he ignores me. He wanders off into his office with his pack trailing his shadow and shuts me out.
———
I stand here gaping at Charlie’s office door, stupefied, processing everything from what the violating footage could be to who the targets possibly are.
A hand brushes mine and I flinch, spinning around to face Luna.
“Would you like more coffee?” she asks with a smile, eyes glittering in her teary aftermath.
“Eh...no.” I force a smile and edge past her for the staircase, stuttering to say I’ll be in Charlie’s room if she needs me or anything. I sound like a stammering idiot, but I don’t know what else to tell her. I don’t want to be rude, but I also don’t want to stand around chitchatting.
Her smile loads on full beam, and she offers a minute head-bow before swaying off in the direction of the kitchen.
I grip the banister rail and turn to sprint upstairs, acting before thinking. I rummage through all of Charlie’s bedroom drawers looking for intelligence, certain I’ll find something naming who target one and two are. I do trust Charlie will fill me in, but at the same time, my instincts are screaming that he will withhold any intelligence that could cause me unnecessary stress.
I find nothing in the cabinets on either side of the closet archway. Nothing in the bookcase shelves. I hunt through my bedside cabinet next, then Charlie’s, finding a few heavy guns, silencers, bullet cases—and a bunch of pictures of me.
They knock the air right out of my lungs, rendering everything else irrelevant.
I rest on the edge of the bed, pull the bundle from the drawer, and flicker through them with slow concentration, paying each one individual attention. It’s the three months I spent with Charlie catalogued in imagery, when I was meditating in the rain; when I was standing at the kitchen back doors staring out over the same rainy day; when I was laughing at Charlie bested on the gym floor after I kicked his feet out from under him; when I was high on desire, rub-fucking his cock at the dining table. All of those times and so many more are here on film, a promise of a better life—a life we had.
If only you never left to go back to Maksim. It aches my heart to know I fucked it all up. If I hadn’t left, none of this trouble with James would be happening.
I put the photos back in the drawer in a neat pile, with a huge lump in my throat, and an even bigger lump in my stomach. Don’t think about what ifs. Think about now.
Training my focus, I remind myself that I’m here snooping for intelligence. I get up from the bed and hunt through the walk-in closet, certain there’s a vault in here. I dig through the vanity unit, wardrobe drawers, and pull racks of clothes aside.
Bingo.
There in the wall on Charlie’s side is a huge black vault, mounted in brickwork. Crouching on my hands and knees, I punch in Decena In Numbers on the alphabet keypad, and the door beeps and clicks open.
My belly goes all funny, flipping like crazy. I feel like I’m intruding. But this is Charlie...he won’t mind if I snoop around, will he?
He should have let me in on that meeting, then I wouldn’t have had to do this.
Cool air touches my hand as I feel about inside the suede lined vault. It’s temperature controlled, like his office. I grab at a small, square box and pull it out, sitting back with crossed legs. It fits nicely in the palm of my hand. De Beer is written in silver across the top, against royal blue leather. Flipping up the lid, I find a giant, solitaire diamond ring inside with a delicate platinum band, sparkling with blues and pinks against the lights in the closet. Tossing it aside, I feel about inside the vault again. Stacks of files. I pull them out, flicking through each one.
WAR STRATEGIES.
I toss that aside.
UPCOMING ELECTION: AMERICAN PRESIDENT AND FIXED POLING. Charlie and I were talking about this the other night, how one of the men running for president wants Charlie on his side, so he’s been flattering my lover as business men do when they want something.
I toss it aside.
TARGETS. Relief swamps me. I split the pages searching for targets one and two, but it’s a political list of leaders Charlie has been hired to assassinate. Total bust.
I toss it aside.
MAKSIM-MARKOV.
Blood freezes in my veins. Seeing his name so vivid is...chilling.
I glance into the bedroom to be sure I’m alone, then I peel open the first page. There’s a blueprint layout of Maksim’s house, underneath photos of the living room, kitchen, his bedroom, and other rooms in his house. A shiver runs through me when I see my old cell, where Maksim raised me. The single bed is a flimsy metal frame with a blanket and a dirty pillow. The toilet is a rusty can hidden in the shadows. The shots focus mostly on the concrete walls, all the codes I wrote out in white chalk. There’s a report from the Irish government stating that the codes were for encrypted bank accounts spread across the world.
How odd. I told Maksim this, but he said I was wrong.
I keep reading the report.
Tatiana somehow found out about the accounts and hijacked them. Then she kidnapped me for the same reason the Irish government BOUGHT ME FROM MY PARENTS!
My jaw drops.
I re-read that line, flabbergasted, but my eyes haven’t deceived me. It says here in black and white, when I was seven years old I completed a bunch of cryptic puzzles—which I knew, since Maksim told me—and I became the only person in the world able to decipher the codes. The Irish government submitted an offer to buy me, and my parents sold me for a measly three-hundred-thousand Irish pounds, signing over my guardianship. My parents even signed a medical certificate deeming me a legitimate sociopath, testifying that someone should govern me at all times.
I can’t fucking believe it. I mean, I don’t really know how to feel about my parents selling me off, but deeming me crazy? I’m offended. And I don’t even understand why I’m offended.
I try not to think about it because it doesn’t matter anymore. Charlie wants me, and I know I’ll always have him. That’s what is important.
I go back to the file on Maksim’s house, learning that Charlie had an analysis done on the cell, and my DNA was found throughout. Must be from my blood or something from when Maksim used to whip me. It must’ve splattered about on the walls.
Moving on, I glance over the information on Maksim’s daily routine—or, lack of. He never did the same thing twice. A young redhead girl always accompanies the subject. There’s a list of Maksim’s close acquaintances, too. I turn another page and the corner of a photo catches my eye. I instantly recognize his shoulder length, golden-brown hair, and I slap the file shut.
I don’t want to see his eyes. I do NOT want to see his eyes.
I squeeze my own eyes shut a few times, centering my mind.
Don’t think about him.
I ram the folder back inside the vault to avoid looking at it some more and focus on the other files to level my emotions, searching for intelligence on my brother or Robert—any-fucking-thing at this point.
There’s a file on Arjana, the Albanian girl Charlie saved from the Prince’s party. I glance over it but find nothing other than where she’s from, so I toss it.
Something dark—yet curious—comes over me when I spot a file that reads, BLAIRE-MARKOV. I flip open the first page, finding more photos of me. I pick them up and trickle them out of my hands, visually snapping shots as they pool in my lap. They’re all taken from afar. None capture my face. I always knew to stay hidden. In one picture, I’m helping Maksim out of his car at the club. Another is of me jogging across the road, heading into the club.
Maksim had likely summoned me for work.
There’s a full, handwritten report on who I am underneath all the pictures. It doesn’t read much: fighter, blah, blah, blah. Doesn’t talk. Doesn’t physically respond to direct questions.
Under the file, I spot the medical report Charlie threw at me a few weeks back. I peel it open, and my eyes immediately zero in on a blood match: Charlie Guzmán Decena and Blaire-Markov.
I scan every word, eyes zooming back and forth. When I had the operation to fix up the bullet wound in my stomach and the lashes on my back, Charlie donated his blood to me, more than was medically suggested. His doctor used a practice called, Apheresis. It separates certain components from blood. Those components are filtered back into the host, so their recovery is rapid, and then they can donate again mere hours after their initial donation, if necessary. A few days after my operation, Charlie donated more because the septicemia I had wasn’t improving with antibiotics alone. A week later, after another operation, more blood. He was hospitalized for it.
He was fighting to save my life.
I stare ahead at the open vault, hairs pricking all over my body.
He actually risked his life to save me, and I’m here snooping for intelligence, unable to trust that he will fill me in when he knows more?
What the hell is wrong with me?
Maksim. Maksim, Maksim, Maksim. A voice in my head torments me with his name. The voice is right. Maksim’s influence over me is causing me to question all the wrong things. Trust no one. Trust no word. Maksim’s influence is wrong. Charlie might’ve had an alternate agenda with me at the beginning, but it’s different now. He’s different. He loves me. And he wouldn’t sell me for any amount of money, unlike my parents. Even Maksim had a price: fifty duffle bags full of cash and my virginity.
I knead my temples, knowing I can’t live like this anymore. If Charlie and I are going to stand united, I must trust him explicitly, more than I trusted my master. And I will. I have to.
I shove everything back in the vault, the ring box and then the files, convincing myself I can do this. I can trust Charlie. He hasn’t let me down yet.
“Blaire?” he calls out from in the bedroom and I cringe, clicking the vault door shut in hope that he doesn’t hear.
I must tell him I’ve been rummaging through his stuff but, fuck, I’m so nervous. I hope he doesn’t get mad. I don’t want to fight with him.
He pokes his head around the closet archway, scanning my position as I stand.
“You all right, baby?”
“Sure I am.” I force a smile, folding my hands behind my back. “Did the meeting go okay?”
Without answering, he strolls in, projecting shifty glances. He reaches around my body to unfold my hands, tugging them at my sides. “What you doing in here, hmm?”
“Erm...” My eyes cast a wide berth of the place. “I was sort of snooping through your stuff.” I don’t bother trying to lie or butter up my actions. I don’t want to lie to him, ever.
He flicks up his eyebrows. “I know you were snooping. Saw you on the CCTV cameras.”
Shit.
My cheeks are scorching, but I plaster on my best, apologetic smile.
“How did you get in it?” Charlie nods at the vault.
“The Decena In Numbers code you gave me when I lived with you before, to use your laptop, it worked.”
“My, my,” he teases, crossing his arms, “you don’t forget a thing, do you?”
I know he’s toying with me, but I still feel ashamed. Maksim would have beat my ass black and blue if I hunted through his things.
“You saw the ring,” Charlie says, like it means something.
I lift my shoulders in an innocent shrug. “I put it back. I wasn’t looking for jewelry or anything,” I explain, in case he thinks I was scavenging for money. “I wanted to check your files—I mean, I didn’t know you had files or anything. I was just searching for intelligence.” I’m rambling, but I’m nervous. He’s not really giving anything away.
“Did you like the ring? Did you see the inscription?”
I shake my head and focus on my hands knotted over my lap, to confess, “I know you donated your blood to me, far beyond what you should have.”
I feel his eyes on my downturned face, but I can’t sense what he’s thinking.
“You shouldn’t risk your life for me, Charlie.”
“I love you, Blaire”—I glance up at him as he says that, at the devotion glowing in his eyes—“you’re my family now. I will always ensure your life, even above my own.”
“Why though?”
Tipping his head, he whispers to me, “Tis’ what love is, baby.”
It is?
We gaze at each other in our own silence, oddly on the same page. Charlie would die for me as I would die for him. Does that mean I’m in love with him, too?
I blink away to break his spell, to divert my thought process. I can’t think about my emotions right now. Too much stuff is happening.
“Blaire, listen”—I immediately prepare myself for the worst, heeding to the sympathizing undertone of Charlie’s voice—“I need something from you,” he says, chewing the corner of his mouth, “something I know you’re gonna struggle with, but I need it.”
“Okay,” I say with a frown.
“I need you to give me two weeks.”
“Two weeks?” I cross my arms with curiosity, mirroring his pose. “Two weeks of what?”
“No questions asked.” He leans against the wall on his shoulder, watching me. “No questions about James or Robert. Can you do that for me?”
I almost laugh at the irony of his request. If there was ever a time to test my trust in him, it’s now.
“Is James still alive?” I have to know for sure before I commit to such a promise.
“He is,” Charlie says, sounding certain. “I’ve seen it for myself.”
That’s good enough for me.
Here goes nothing.
“Well, all right then.” I nod, proving that I can trust him wholeheartedly. Otherwise, what’s the point in us? With Maksim, it was about loyalty. With Charlie, it’s about trust. “I can do that,” I whisper. “I trust you more than anyone.”
He shuts his eyes, exhaling a long, relieved breath. “Gracias,” he says, like I’m doing him a favor.
“Charlie, I won’t go back on my word—I won’t question you—but, if you need help with anything, you know I’m here, right?” Reaching out, I touch his arm in a state of affection. “I know you’re working extra hard on many endeavors, so if you need any help with hacking or translating, anything, I can help.”
He opens his eyes to look at me, a soft smile tracing his lips. “Well, I need to go to Dover if you want to come with me?”
“Dover?”
He nods. “I need to collect a package. Nic wants to come”—he lifts a hand for a length of my hair and plays with it, curling it around his finger—“but I’d rather you did.”
I shrug, telling him, “Sure.” And I’m surprised by how easily not forcing information out of him is.
I guess I really do trust him.