Sweet Collateral

I clench my jaw, fighting against the pain. The thought of him makes my stomach churn with bile. He releases me before his hand collides with my face. I pitch sideways, and the collar cuts into my throat, choking off my air. The taste of blood spills over my tongue, hot and metallic. Gripping my hair, he yanks me upright again, sending a burning sensation over my scalp. “Open, or I’ll break your jaw again.”

I stare up at him, this monster in the form of a man. And then I close my eyes and open my mouth because I have no other choice.

I wake up, and I swear I can taste the faintest hint of blood on my tongue. Moonlight pours through my open balcony doors, cutting across the cream carpet. I know I won’t be able to sleep again, so I get up and leave the room. It’s late, and Lucas is nowhere to be seen. I pad through the house, relishing the quietness that permeates the hallways. There’s the low hum of a voice coming from somewhere down the hall. I follow it, approaching Rafael’s office door and gently pushing it open. His eyes immediately meet mine, as if he expected me. He has a phone pressed to his ear; his eyes narrowed as he listens to whatever the other person says.

“Twenty percent and I can have your shipment delivered next week,” he says in stilted German. Jesus, how far is his reach? As I walk farther into the office, and scan over the bookshelves until I come to that little golden globe he keeps behind him. I spin it around and then place my finger on one spot, somewhere in China. Rafael’s hand lands on my hip before he turns me to face him, pulling me between his knees. He’s done with his call.

“Why are you awake?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

He takes his cigar from the ashtray, placing it between his lips. The end glows bright, the scent of the smoke wafting up to greet me. “Another nightmare?”

“Who needs sleep anyway?” I glance over his shoulder at the laptop on the desk. “Apparently you’d rather sell drugs to Germans.”

His lips twitch. “I might have been discussing the weather with my German grandma.”

I cock a brow. “Nice try.”

His eyes narrow. “You speak German?” Only a little.

I turn away; running my fingers over some leather bound books. “What, you thought I was uneducated?

“I did wonder how a slave sold at thirteen years of age came to know Hemingway.”

I nod, taking a book from the shelf and opening it. It’s a poetry book with Latin verses. “Because I was sold to a man who liked his girls to look young and beautiful and sound intelligent.” I snap the book closed and turn to face him.

“That’s…”

“Sick? Twisted? Depraved? He was all of those things.” I reach out, smoothing the frown line from between his brows.

He snatches my hand and brings it to his lips, brushing them across my knuckles. “I need to ask you something.”

“Okay.”

He pulls me onto his lap, placing his hand against the small of my back. “Did your family have any ties to the bratva?”

“Uh, I was sold to the bratva.”

“Before that, before the orphanage.”

I frown. “My parents were good, normal people. Why?” He watches me for a beat, and I can see the indecision playing over his features. “Tell me.”

“Nero. I might have something. I think he might have one of the Russian kingpins in his pocket. When he asked me to look after you…” He takes a deep breath. “He said you were collateral. I thought maybe…”

“I might mean something to someone.” I shake my head. “I don’t. I have no one, at least not that I know of.” He looks disappointed. “Why are you doing this? Is Nero paying you?”

He snorts. “No, I don’t need the Italian’s money.”

“Then why?”

“Because I owe him a favor. A big one.”

“What kind of favor?”

“He killed my father.”

“And…you owe him a favor for that?” I squeak.

He smirks. “I didn’t much like my father.”

“He was the boss before you?” He nods. “And your mother was…”

“A prostitute. Yes. Although when I was conceived, he owned her. Her pregnancy inconvenienced him so he ‘freed’ her. Kicked her out on the street. She ended up a single mother of twins, whoring herself out to feed us. I joined the cartel to make money, but when he heard of some jumped-up street gang selling all this blow for him, he took an interest.” Rafael laughs humorlessly. “He acted like I was the prodigal son returned to him.”

“And you waited.”

“Until the perfect time.”

“And took his cartel from him.” A grin spreads over his face as he nods. I understand the basic drive for revenge—the hunger, the need. “And your mother?”

“She lives in a resort in Cancun.”

Rafael really isn’t like all those men. He’s different, maybe a little broken, like me. Oh, how I wish he could save me the way he saved his mother.