This Isn't Fair, Baby (War & Peace Book #6) Page 5

  I’ll kill him and then I’ll come back to kill you too.

  He must receive my message loud and clear because he fucking head butts me.

  Can this night get any worse?

  I’m thinking about how the night has only just begun when my world once again fades to black…

  “CLAUDIA AND CARMEN are destroying the library,” Jorge, one of my best men, announces. He’s dressed neatly in a suit, but I know he’s packing at least seven weapons under the fabric. Weapons meant to protect me. Not that I necessarily need protection, but when you have an entire country under your thumb, you tend to develop enemies along the way and unfortunately it becomes a necessity. I might be able to take them on one by one, but in the event they all come at me at once, I’d be fucked. So I suppose I do need Jorge and my men.

  I exhale a puff of cigar smoke and arch an eyebrow at him. “Thank you for the warning, chico. I won’t go into the library.”

  His jaw clenches in annoyance. “No, sir,” he groans. “What do you want me to do about your wives?”

  Only two out of my five women at war seems like a good day. About a year ago, my dick said, let’s have five wives, against my brain’s wishes. Now my dick takes back his goddamned words. They’re all pissing me the fuck off. Pussy on demand had seemed like a grand idea back then, but of course it has supremely backfired on me. I should bring both Claudia and Carmen, wives number three and four, in here to fight over my cock since they’re both in a bitchy mood. But then I’d have to look at them. Both are similar in appearance with their thick dark manes and olive-colored skin. Both bitches have the biggest fucking mouths in this country. I thought those mouths would be good for sucking cock. The problem is the other twenty-three hours of the day when they don’t have a dick stuffed in their mouths.

  “Get rid of them,” I grumble and take another puff of my cigar.

  He pulls a knife from his belt, and I shake my head.

  “I didn’t mean fucking off them, Jorge. I meant make them go away.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose and will the tension to leave my shoulders. Everything is so goddamned complicated lately.

  “You’re not technically married to any of them. You don’t owe them anything,” he mumbles as he sheathes his knife.

  “Fine. Send them away.” Send them away forever.

  “Even Olga?” he questions, a brief flash of hurt in his normally hard gaze. It’s then I realize he’s been fucking wife number two.

  I meet his eyes with a glare. “Make her go away too. Even if it is to your bungalow. I don’t give a fuck anymore. This was supposed to be for my benefit. They’re worse than goddamned children.”

  “Martha and Rosa?” he questions.

  Even though wives numbered in my head as five and six are the least problematic, they’re both on the fucking needy side. If Rosa begs for a baby one more time, I’m going to force Jorge to knock her up.

  “Gone. Give them money. Lots of it. Just make them leave,” I snap and then crack my neck. “I have enough shit to worry about right now. In case you didn’t notice, our territory has quadrupled since Camilo is no longer a factor.”

  He gives me a clipped nod. “Are they to leave indefinitely, sir?”

  “Until the next time I need my goddamned dick sucked,” I seethe. “Do I need to make you a fucking spreadsheet? Get them out of my damn presence before I send you packing along with them!”

  My chest heaves with exertion. I bring a hand shaking with anger back to my mouth and suck more of the sweet cigar smoke into my lungs. Closing my eyes, I lean back in the leather chair in my office and tilt my head up to the ceiling. This new place doesn’t feel like a home at all. It’s massive and cold. Fitting for that bastard Camilo. I’d only wanted to live in it to prove who the winner truly was. He may have won a few battles along the way, but I’m the motherfucker sitting in his chair now. This is my kingdom. Camilo is nothing but a corpse rotting away in a metal container back in the States.

  The smile on my face falls as thoughts of my mother filter into my head. She’d always been religious and spoke of angels and demons often. Especially near the end when she teetered the line between life and death. Back when I’d desperately tried to scrounge together money for medicines to help her. I was sure I could cure her ailments. It wasn’t until I’d had a near death experience myself on one of my missions for her that I believed in her words. That day, as my life drained from me, I met both an angel and a demon.

  I spent my entire life prowling the shadows just waiting for that demon. To eradicate him from this earth. If it weren’t for him cutting me to within inches of my own life, I’d have been able to kiss my mother as she passed on from this world to the next. Instead, I was laid up in a hospital bed and kept breathing by machines. When I was finally released, she was gone. I missed her death, her funeral, everything. That demon had to pay. And he did.

  Now, to find that angel…

  “Diego!” Jorge bellows as he stalks back into my office. “We have a problem—”

  “JUST MAKE THE CUNTS LEAVE BEFORE I LOSE MY TEMPER!” I roar back at him and slam my fist on the mahogany desk.

  He doesn’t flinch and switches to English. “The women are packing. Not a problem. This problem is that there is a vehicle on the perimeter.”

  I stiffen. “Do we know who it is?”

  “No. Luis and Manuel have ridden ahead to check it out. I’m going to meet them out there.”

  I rise and snag my Glock from the desk. “I’m coming with you.”

  “Sir, you shouldn’t come out there in case it is a threat.”

  I tuck the gun into the back of my pants beneath my suit jacket and toss the cigar into the ashtray. “I dare them to threaten me. I need to release some steam. What better way than to slice up a few motherfuckers.” I pat the knife that’s sheathed at my belt. “Let’s go.”

  He grumbles but doesn’t argue the fact any further. I stalk ahead of him down through the long hallways. Until I’m intercepted by Claudia.

  “You can’t make us leave!” she screeches and bares her teeth at me. “You promised to take care of us!” She starts screaming at me in Spanish and throws a vase my way. I duck and growl at her.

  “I did take care of you until you got on my last fucking nerve. Now you’ll leave in one piece or I’ll slice you up and feed you to the pigs out back. Your decision, Three,” I snarl. Her eyes narrow at my calling her by her number. They all fucking hate that, but I don’t give a rat’s ass. How else am I supposed to tell them apart? “Take the money and leave or try my patience. My blade is thirsty.” I give her a wink.

  “You prick!”

  Ignoring her, I storm away to let someone else deal with her shit. Jorge gets held up for a minute but soon joins me outside. He wears claw marks down the side of his face. Better him than me.

  We climb into his vehicle and haul ass along the gravel drive. Soon, the headlights reveal two men standing over a crumpled form. Looks like my men already eradicated the threat. As soon as the car stops, I climb out and stalk over to them.

  “What is this?” I snap as I push past them.

  “This was delivered a few minutes ago,” Luis says, his tone gruff.

  “With this note,” Manual finishes and hands me a letter.

  The cunt was a traitor. Thought she’d fit in quite well here. You’re welcome.

  The letter isn’t signed. Fucking pussies. I dare them to speak these things to my face. With a growl, I squat beside the woman. Her hair is matted with blood. A once yellow dress is torn and dirty. Creamy white flesh is slightly blue from the cool temps and mottled with bruises all over. Small cuts dot her skin, making me cringe. I absently stroke the scars on my face.

  “Bring her inside,” I bark out.

  “What? What if it’s a trick?” Jorge questions.

  “I don’t give a goddamn!” I snarl as I rise to my feet. “She’s a woman, and we’re not leaving her here to fucking rot. Bring her inside and call for the doctor. W
e’ll sort out the rest in the morning.”

  Jorge gives me a clipped nod before he scoops her into his arms. Her dress is torn down the front and her breast is bared to me and my men. Fury surges through my veins. I shrug out of my jacket and cover her before drawing her into my own arms. Jorge shoots me a questioning look, but I don’t answer him as I stride back to the vehicle. I sit inside with her nestled against me in my lap. Dark red hair is covering her face. She can’t be more than eighteen or nineteen years old as far as I can tell. When her head lolls back, I notice tape covering her mouth.

  “Who is she?” Jorge questions as he starts the car.

  “I don’t know.” Sorry, ángel, but this is going to hurt. I rip the duct tape away from her mouth. A small moan escapes her, and her lashes flutter from behind her hair but she doesn’t reopen them. “But whoever pulled this shit is going to meet my goddamned blade.”

  Jorge wisely doesn’t say a word in protest at my harsh declaration. Women seem to claw their way inside my heart and latch on to any sliver of vulnerability I possess. They get under my skin with their softness and sweet voices. And so help me when one is in distress, I want to be the motherfucking knight to swoop in and save her. Like little Gabriella Rojas. That girl was sweet yet feisty. In way the fuck over her head and in dire need of protection. Those boys in her life can’t look after her. She’s lucky I’m weak for the female sex. Any other cartel fuck would have put a bullet in her skull the day she tried to make professional business deals with monsters. But the girl had amused me.

  Fucking women.

  That’s my problem.

  It’s why I have five wives. Of course they’re not legitimate wives. I’d die before I so carelessly married a woman in God’s eyes and tied myself to her in every way. My mother married my father. He was the love of her life until he was shot in an alley one day when I was three. I’d never disrespect her, dead or not, by marrying without love. My “wives” are more like steady girlfriends. Permanent pains in my ass.

  I smirk as we pull into the drive. Not so permanent. By morning, my home will be quiet. Free from catty-ass cunts. I look down at the girl in my arms. Except for this one. This one is going to get better and then she and I are going to have a long talk. I need to know how a young woman like her ends up beaten and abandoned in a cartel king’s driveway. There’s a story. Daddy Diego loves a good bedtime story.

  I’m sitting in the leather chair in my office when Dr. Tatiana Morales walks in. She’d been the surgeon when I’d nearly lost my life. It wasn’t until I made something of myself that I was able to hire her to be my full-time doctor, earning double what she did at the hospital. Tatiana held me when I sobbed in my bed upon learning of my mother’s death. She’s seen me at my weakest and she’s the closest thing I have to family.

  “You’re looking tired, hijo mío,” she says as she sits across from me. She waves away the cigar smoke. “Bad habit,” she chides and leans forward to snuff out my cigar that’s sitting in the ashtray.

  I smirk and shrug my shoulders. “I’m sure I have much worse habits.”

  She purses her lips, and it reminds me of my mother so much it hurts. “Speaking of your ruthless ways, I want to talk about the girl.”

  Jolting upright, I lean forward and frown. “What are her injuries?”

  Sadness washes over her features. “Her wounds aren’t consistent with a struggle, but I think it’s because she was drugged. I’m not sure what was given to her, but she’s still quite out of it. There was some vaginal irritation. My gut tells me she was raped.”

  Rage burns through my veins, and I fist my hands. “Anything else?”

  She sighs and switches to English. “Most of the wounds are superficial. The one on her eyebrow required a couple of stitches, though.” Her gaze falls to her lap. “Diego, she was severely malnourished. Her weight is at least fifteen pounds below what someone her age and height should be. The bones of her ribs protrude. She reminds me of an anorexic patient I had once.”

  Starvation. I know plenty about this. My mother often struggled to feed us when I was a young child. It wasn’t until I hit my early teenage years that I had the wit about me to steal food for us. Hunger is a pain much worse than that of a knife. It’s deep and consumes you to your soul.

  “I’ll make sure she’s fed,” I bite out. “Is that all?”

  “I’ve tested for STDs and pregnancy. She’s clear.”

  “How long until she’s able to talk?” I ask, suddenly feeling sick to my stomach.

  “I went ahead and started an IV with fluids. I’ll watch her overnight. By morning, most of that should be cleared from her system. She’ll need to be fed and taken care of,” she tells me. Her brown eyes meet mine and her gaze hardens. “If you want me to take her to a woman’s shelter in the morning, I will.” I understand the look in her eyes. A look that says, don’t take advantage of her. A look that tells me the girl has been through enough already.

  “She stays here. She won’t be harmed,” I vow. And that’s the goddamned truth. But the assholes who brought her here, I will gut without a second thought.

  “Get some rest, Diego. You’re exhausted.”

  I give her a nod and watch her leave my office.

  Tomorrow, I will get some answers.

  I WAKE WITH a start, a gnawing hunger pain clutching at my belly from the inside out. Bright sunshine pours in from a window, and I squint against it as I sit up.

  “Good morning, little one,” a woman says.

  I find an older Hispanic woman smiling at me. Kindness shines in her eyes. Am I in a hospital? My brows scrunch up in confusion.

  “You’re safe now,” she assures me as she reaches for my hand.

  I look down to see that I’m attached to an IV. She sets to removing the needle and then bandages me up.

  “W-Where am I?” I croak out. Pain assaults me from every direction, but I power through it to find out where I am.

  “You’re under Diego Gomez’s protection now.” The way she says his name is one of fondness. I can’t help but shudder, though. I’m in the beast’s lair. When my eyes focus on the room around me, I recognize it as the very one I used to stay in whenever we’d come to visit the Rojas family all those years ago.

  “I, uh, I…” Panic shoots through me. I’m here. I’m supposed to kill this scary dude and then I can escape.

  Back to Esteban?

  I choke back bile. He fucking head butted me. And worse yet, he and his brother sent me here as a pawn. They drugged and raped me. Disgust is quickly squashed by anger. How dare they use me!

  “Are you hungry, sweetheart?”

  And just like that, my anger is snuffed out.

  “I’m starving,” I whisper.

  “Let’s get you dressed and then we’ll go down to breakfast. Ingrid is making homemade waffles this morning,” she tells me with a gentle smile.

  I’m confused. I’d expected monsters and mayhem. Not motherly smiles and hospitality.

  After a slew of embarrassing moments during which I needed this stranger to help me pee and then dress, I eventually make my way down the familiar hallways on shaky legs.

  “I’m Tatiana,” she tells me as we shuffle along the corridor.

  “Vee.”

  We settle at a table—the same table I used to eat at every summer with three Colombian boys. Now, I sit with Tatiana. She watches me carefully as the old lady who has to be pushing eighty waddles in, plopping plates down in front of us. I feel like an animal as I dive into the food. I’ve eaten nothing but sandwiches and soup for months. One bite of the waffles, and I feel like perhaps I died in that car last night. This has to be heaven.

  I stuff myself to the point of pain at breakfast. And yet, I still have the desire to push more food into the pockets of the lounge pants I’m wearing. Just in case.

  “You’re welcome to come eat whenever you’re hungry,” Tatiana tells me with a smile. “I’ll also make sure we put some snacks in your room.”

  My s
houlders relax. I keep waiting for something horrible to happen. When we finish, she guides me back to my room. I stand awkwardly as I wait to be told what to do next.

  “Books are over there. Television. Bathroom is in there if you’d like to bathe. I’ll go into town later and pick you up more clothes. Would you like a swimsuit? It’s hot out there, so maybe you’d like to swim. Swimming is a great strength builder.” She babbles her words as though she’s nervous.

  I jerk my head over to her. “Thank you. Umm…sure. A swimsuit would be nice.” I force a smile but can’t help thinking about all the times Oscar and I would swim together. Back when we were friends. Back when he wasn’t a vengeful prick. I mean, the rape and beatings make sense for their plan. Send me here as a victim. What they didn’t realize, though, is that they created another enemy in the process.

  Nobody fucks with the queen.

  I’ll get rid of this Diego asshole and then figure out a way to make the Rojas brothers pay for what they did to me.

  “Don’t be afraid of him,” she mutters from behind me.

  I freeze at her words. “I’m not afraid of him. I’m not afraid of anyone.” My gaze drifts to hers, and I pin her with a glare. “I’m not.”

  She blinks at me in shock. “Good. That’s good.”

  Tatiana slips out of my room. I walk over to the bookshelf. It takes everything in me to pull down the book I know holds pictures inside. All of the décor is the same as it was when I was here all those summers. Pulling The Count of Monte Cristo from the shelf, I settle into a chair by the window and open it. In the middle are a stack of Polaroids. Each picture is either of me or Oscar. We’re making silly faces in each pose. In the last pic, we smartened up and stood in front of a mirror to get us both in the picture. In the photo, I’m fourteen and looking up at his lanky self. Love shines from my eyes and smile. He smirks at the mirror with one of his looks that got him more girlfriends than he knew what to do with. The only girlfriend it didn’t get him was me. And it wasn’t for lack of trying. That summer, I tried everything to get him to fall for me. I even swam nude in the pool for him. Nothing ever worked.