Page 9 of Kiss of the Cartel

I don’t want any other hands on her but mine. I pour myself a double shot of tequila, a liquor I despise, but one that’ll get me drunk fast. I contemplate the sudden possessiveness I feel for Lena for a few seconds. I’m indifferent to women. I like them for a fuck, then I want them gone quickly. I know that I need to marry someday, have a few kids to carry on the business, but my wife will never be one of the women I fuck.

But Lena... chained up naked in the basement like a wild animal. I do want to fuck her. I want to keep her. I think I've always wanted to keep her, despite that she belonged to my father first. She’s a pit bull, so first, I have to break her. I have to tame her. I knock back the tequila and pour another. And another. And another until I’m reeling. I’m vaguely aware that Arturo is hovering, and I tell him to get the hell out. “Fuck you too, you prick,” he says. But he leaves.

I collapse on the sofa, my head on the back, leaning up and staring at the ceiling. I feel like killing someone. I want to find the fuck who shot my father in the head, who planned to do the same to me. Two Ramirez’s dead. Father and son. Who would benefit? That’s my last thought before I drift off. An hour, maybe two and I’m jarred awake by something. It’s fully dark now, the room is cast in shadows. And the remnants of a dream, just smoky tendrils. Her voice, mocking me through the fuzziness. Who killed your father?

She’s still down there chained up. Mine to do with what I want. I stand, stagger a little, but the worst of the drunk is slept off. I make my way down to the basement, fumble the key into the lock, then enter the cell. She’s as still as death, still on her knees, but her elbows are bent so she can rest her head on her hands. I think for a moment that she’s died and my heart wrenches for some reason. The thought of her dead… but then as I slam the door, she jerks and lets out a small moan.

“Please,” she whispers. “Please unchain me.”

“What will you give me if I do, Lena?” I kneel by her head. I’m not afraid of her, even though I’m drunk and she’s lethal. On a good day, if we were both sober and in a fair fight, she would be a challenge. But she's been bent over for hours, dehydrated and starving.

“Anything,” she whispers without contemplation. “Just please let me up.” Her voice cracks on the last please. I remember the warehouse, her hysterics to draw our captors’ attention to her. It was well done. A good act that even I believed with disgust in that moment. I know better now.

“I want to fuck you.”

She shudders and I hear a single sob. I reach down and unchain her. Neck first, then as she rolls to her back, I let her hands go. She lays on the concrete floor, staring up at the ceiling, her arms and legs splayed, except one knee, which is bent and dropped across her thigh. Her hair is fanned out. I wonder if she has any strength to resist me.

Who killed your father Luis?Fury mixes with confusion.

“I own you, Lena.”

She nods.

“If my father wanted to fuck you, what would you do?”

“As I was told.”

I nod. That’s good enough for me right now.

She needs a shower, she needs food and she needs water. And none of that seems to matter to the horny fuck inside me.

"Can you stand?” I ask.

She rolls to her belly again and gingerly pulls herself upright, to her knees, but she can’t quite get to her feet. She almost makes it once, but then she falters. Dizzy. Falls again, scrapes her skin on the concrete floor.

I want to take her in my arms, carry her upstairs and put her in my bed. It's a strange yearning. Caring for a pathetic whore. I resist the thought. Instead, I take out my phone and dial Theresa, the housekeeper. She sounds like I’ve woken her from a dead sleep. “I’m downstairs with the Lena. Brings towels, a jug of water and some toast. Ten minutes, Theresa. Don’t be late.”

Lena stays in front of me, on her knees, while I tower over her. And we wait.

Who killed your father, Luis?

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