Shooting Scars

“Oh, my beautiful Ellie,” he whispered once he noted the expression on my face. He kissed me gently. “There I am talking about how you give me a soul and then I go and do a thing like that. I’ll need to take it slow with you, won’t I? Build up your tolerance, until you are strong enough for me.”

I frowned. One minute I was strong, the next minute I wasn’t. “I am strong enough for you.”

He smiled delicately. “We’ll see. For now, I’ll fuck you gently.”

Then he lifted me up around my waist and lowered me onto his shaft. Javier was nothing but precise.

We fucked sitting up, me riding him in waves, long enough for me to forget, for my thoughts to disappear, for the confusion to lift. We were only our bodies, only our lust, and, maybe, just maybe, only two tortured souls.

The next morning, he and I had breakfast on the balcony. Raul and Peter totally knew what was up after we’d spent most of the evening locked in our bedroom. I was never good about being quiet in bed. Now that it was out in the open, Javier was being very affectionate and physical with me.

Especially around Raul. The moment the slime-ball stepped out on the balcony to join us, Javier’s arm went right around my shoulder. I was glad for it, looking straight at Raul, daring him to do or say something. I wanted him to. I wanted him gone. And, I figured I’d have that happen one day.

I don’t know if it was my upbringing or a sick sense of romance, but I had to admit, that despite everything, there was something incredibly … thrilling … about having Javier’s affections so publicly. Here was a man with an empire, one of the most dangerous drug lords, someone with immense power and sway, and there I was, the apple of his eye. I felt a little like Michelle Pfeiffer in Scarface … although that movie didn’t really end well for anyone.

So what was going through my head then? Did I really think that we could off Travis and I’d be with Javier? Was that what I even wanted, to be his queen, his consort at his side?

I didn’t know what I wanted anymore. I didn’t have anything and the longer I was in Mexico with Javier, the more hazy my future became. I’d wanted to be good, to be better than I once was and even though I was trying, even though I’d been blackmailed into this whole mess, I felt like I was kidding myself. The future I had with Camden was gone, a daydream that was ripped away when I stepped inside Javier’s SUV. That me, that Ellie Watt with her new hopes and fresh starts must have died that day.

Maybe I never really was trying. Maybe I’d been kidding myself this whole time. Maybe a con artist from a family of con artists can’t really change.

Maybe I had to accept that I really wasn’t good and I deserved someone as bad as me.

I’d start at the nightclub. Javier had gone out in the afternoon to get me clothes, coming back with a lovely, albeit skanky, dress. It reminded me a little bit of Camden dressing me in Vegas, the way his strong hands had put me in that scrap of material that hugged my every curve and made me feel invincible with his fresh ink on my leg.

No, I told myself sharply. I had to stop thinking that way. The past had to be buried. There was no Camden anymore.

Javier suggested I curl my hair into ringlets, producing a curling iron he picked up along the way. Dark smoky green eye shadow. Pale pink lips. He’d gotten everything for me.

By the time I was ready, I had to admit that even I thought I’d get a few looks at the club. The dress was floor-length, bright tomato red, slit to my navel. It showed off the tan I’d gotten while on the boat.

“You look amazing,” he said as I stood in front of the mirror, hugging me from behind. Our reflection together startled me. I didn’t recognize myself staring back. I looked sleek and powerful, like I should have maybe had that crown on my head. Javier’s eyes in the mirror were bright like laser beams and he was staring at himself, not me.

It was a bit unnerving.

“I do?” I asked him.

He broke his stare with his reflection and smiled at me, kissing my neck.

“Yes. I want nothing more than to come on every single inch of that dress. Let you wear it out to the club like that, so everyone will know you’re mine.”

“I think that would scare Travis away.”

“No. He’d want the challenge.” Suddenly he gripped my hand and spun me around to face him. “Angel, please don’t sleep with him tonight. I’d like to keep you as my possession for just a bit longer. I want to be the only one inside you.”

I was taken aback. “Believe me, if I can get the job done without doing that, I will. I don’t even think I’ll survive looking at him.” My lungs were caving in at the thought. “Javier, I’m scared. I’m really, really scared.”

He studied my face for a moment, a sort of amused glint in his eyes. “I know you are. But take your fear and own it. This is your choice. Make your fear work for you. Make it, how you would say, your bitch.”

He kissed me, soft and sweet, then smacked my ass hard enough to sting.

“Come on, you’re distracting me. I have to get ready.”

He grabbed his clothes from the closet and started stripping. His erection was pretty obvious. I raised my brow at it.

“I told you that you looked amazing,” he explained with a shrug. He put on his pale jeans and dark, wrinkled t-shirt with a nondescript logo. On his head was another baseball cap, this one blue and white, the Toronto Blue Jays. We couldn’t have looked more different but it’s what he had to wear while driving me. He wasn’t going to come out of the car since we couldn’t take any chances, especially around Travis’s club. He had a full on purple and yellow eye now and his lip was still swollen. But it seemed that no one batted an eye at that anyway, not in this town.

“Are you ready?” he asked me. I shook my head vehemently. No, I was not.

He dipped his chin and then took my hand, leading me out of the bedroom to the living area where Raul and Peter were.

“Very nice,” Peter said through his thick accent.

I gave him an appreciative smile, ignoring Raul entirely. I knew he was looking though, because of the way Javier’s hand tightened at my waist.

“Let’s get you a stiff drink before we go, okay.” He led me to the kitchen and poured a very large amount of tequila in a glass.

“Where’s my lime and salt?” I asked, eyeing it down.

“Lime and salt are for children and women.”

I raised the glass. “I’m a woman.”

“You’re Ellie Watt,” he said. “Drink up.”

I shot it back in several attempts, coughing between each one. I felt a lot better, really fast.

“Normally, I’d suggest you drink the whole bottle,” Javier said once we were in the car, pulling his cap further down on his head, the wisps of his shaggy hair sticking out the sides. “But you’re going to need your wits about you tonight.”

Yet, I was already scared witless.

It was around ten PM when we pulled into Veracruz, and despite the daily bloodshed, the city seemed vibrant with lots of young people milling about. Maybe living in such a dangerous city made the citizens party harder, enjoy the best of life, while they could.

Javier took the Range Rover down the busy streets while I stared at couples in white dancing gracefully across tiled plazas and brightly-colored restaurants with tables and music spilling out onto the sidewalks. The port and marina shimmered, flanked by tall hotels. The air was heavy with heat but the occasional breeze from the gulf came in and lightened the atmosphere while the thick smell of flowers would come in through the window. It was all very romantic, except that I was afraid to lower the window more than in inch, feeling protected by the bulletproof glass.

By the time Javier found parking on one of the side streets near the Zocalo, a popular square where the nightclub was supposed to be located, my hands were sweating and I was buzzing with nerves again. The tequila had worn off and left me nauseous instead.

“Here you go, darling,” he said, slipping a tiny adhesive chip to the fabric that covered my nipple ring.

“What is that?”

“I can listen to you on my iPhone,” he said waving his phone at me. “It acts as a little wireless microphone. There’s a chance that the metal could set off the metal detectors they have in the club, so I figured your nipple ring was a good place to put it. It’s going to set them off anyway and I’m sure they’ll have a few good laughs when you explain what it is.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh shit. Why don’t I just take it out?”

He wagged his brows. “What’s the fun in that? You’ll be fine. Just flash them your tit.”

“Ha, ha.” I seriously hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

“Hey,” he said, growing serious and running his thumb over my lips. I held back the urge to nibble on it. “You’re a con artist. You built a whole career on lying, on pretending to be different people. This is nothing. You walk around the corner to the square and you’ll see the club, it’s a small building. There will be a line-up already. Get in line. Wait your turn. Show them your passport, they’ll scan it, they’ll run the detector over you. You’ll show your tit. You’ll go through and head to the large circular bar in the middle of the room, near the dance floor. Travis’s room is up the stairs but you won’t even look there. You’ll get your drink, watch the dancers, and, I am assuming, fend off porteños looking to take you home. Sit there for at least three drinks. When you’re done, if nothing has happened, tell the bartender ‘thanks for the service, have a good night.’ I’ll hear that and come back for you. I’ll pull up to here, the same spot. You get in. I take you home and fuck you senseless. That’s how the evening will go.”

I nodded. He was right. I was a con artist. Travis had made me one. I was born to do this.

I kissed him quickly on the lips as my skin fuzzed and shimmied with all the energy in the car. What we were doing. Who he was. Who I was.

“I’ll see you,” I told him, stepping out of the car. I stared at Javier for a good long moment, taking in his elegantly dangerous face, wondering how much trust there really was between us. Then I shut the door and walked off toward the nightclub.

I got more than my fair share of catcalls and whistles as I rounded the corner and came across the colorful plaza. It was alive with mariachi bands in the middle, tourists standing around and watching, with open-air restaurants filled to the brim with chatting patrons. I spotted the low mission-style house across the square with its cheesy zebra-striped sign that said The Zoo. Javier was right, there was already a line about twenty people deep.

I took in a deep breath and sashayed my way over to it, getting behind a young white couple with New Jersey accents. That calmed me down a bit, knowing that I could blend in with the other tourists. Despite the New Jersey couple in their jeans, everyone else in line was dressed up. I both blended in and stood out, which was exactly what we were hoping.

I did everything I could to stay calm and focused while I stood there, waiting for at least a half hour before I finally got to the door.