Chapter 8: Lena

Who killed your father?

It had been stupid of me to push Luis like that. But there was something about his grief, his deeply entrenched rage over Manuel's death that called to me, forced the words past my lips. I think I know who killed his father, was trying to kill Luis, had worked it out almost immediately after we'd been taken. And if I'm right, then Luis is still in grave danger.

I don't know why I care. He and I have been at odds since my arrival in the organization. At worst, I knew he wanted to get his hands on me, wanted to get me alone to pit his strength against mine, prove to his father that I am an unnecessary inconvenience for a man of his stature. At best, Luis was coolly indifferent to me. His chilling gaze following my movements whenever we were in the same room together.

Now, I'm in the exact position he's always wanted me in. Tied up, ready to be used, at his mercy. If I'm going to have any chance at survival, I need him to see the truth of the kidnapping, the execution, but it was stupid of me to challenge him the way I did knowing he's on a hair trigger.

And I paid for it. Now I'm even weaker than before. Not as weak as I'm pretending though. Luis doesn't know that I'm more in control of myself than I'm making out. That I can stand if I want to. But I needed him to think I'm worse off. Then I might've been in a position to attack when he finally unchained me and tried to fuck me. Only he didn't do what I expected. Instead, he called the maid and asked for supplies.

I lay on the floor, unmoving, both relieved and anxious about this reprieve. I know he still wants to fuck me, and from the look in his eyes, the rigidity of his body, he wants me bad. The thought makes my heart thump in trepidation. I was prepared to take Arturo's vicious brand of fucking. Was prepared to be raped by both men, by more than them even. But the way Luis told his cousin to go, the way he looks at me now, lustful but something else I can't pin down. I can take an assault if I need to, but this…

He must be using psychological warfare, lulling me into a sense of security by providing food and water. By unchaining me. So I'll feel grateful, so I might give him something I wouldn't otherwise give. Luis is a master at war. He has a sixth sense for understanding the way people think and then using it against them. It's why he makes me so uncomfortable whenever we're in a room together. He looks at me as though he can see every thought in my head, as though he knows my secrets. My secret desire.

If that's his plan, it's not going to work. I'm not grateful that he unchained me. I'm not anything, not even angry. I understand why he wants me broken and dead. And I understand that I will need to fight him eventually. Take him down if I want to live. Maybe try to find my own brand of psychological warfare.

When the food and water arrive, I roll onto my side and reach a hand pathetically toward the jug Theresa is holding. I allow myself to feel the wounds on my back, the beaten and stripped flesh where he'd taken his belt to me. I moan in pain and drop my arm as though I can't hold it up anymore. Squeezing my eyes shut I wait, two seconds, five seconds, then I feel it. The tiny stirring of air as Luis crouches by my side.

He's coming to take a better look, to assess the damage. I summon the pain, feeling every injury in my body. Feeling the indignity. I open my eyes and look up at him, showing him the broken woman he wants to see. I must look bad, my hair a tangled mess spread on the floor around me. Every inch of my body is either dirty or bruised. And I smell even worse. My bladder released when he was beating me. I hadn't had enough to drink for a large amount of urine to escape, but it still coats my thighs. I hold his assessing gaze and think perhaps I see a flicker of something, not compassion, not concern, but something.

Then he takes my hair in a hard grip and yanks my head back. "I'm not buying it, Lena."

Fuck. A small sigh escapes and I shrug my shoulder. I had to try.

"You're good." A hint of admiration leaks into his voice.

"You're better," I admit, and push myself up into a sitting position, reaching for the jug of water. Theresa hands it over.

Luis dismisses her, nodding his head toward the door. She scurries off, clearly relieved. I can't blame her. It would be jarring to see someone like me, the woman who graced Manuel's arm for over two years, fall this low.

Luis continues to watch me from his crouched position, his eyes following my movements as I gulp the water and then reach eagerly for the toast. It's dry but I don't care. I haven't eaten since the day of Manuel's death. Days ago, I think.

"I had no idea you could act on top of your other qualities. You almost had me fooled." A new tactic. Show admiration for the victim, become her friend.

I don't speak for a moment, continuing to chew. His gaze still follows me with the intensity of a predator. Luis has always watched me this way, that mixture of lust and disgust. Now I see only lust. He looks like a wolf, circling its prey, waiting for the right opportunity to strike. It shakes me. Luis is powerful, has already shown the damage he can inflict. I'm lucky he didn't kill me with that beating. The power vibrated through his arm with each strike. Clinically I realize, if he kept going, I would've died. But something stayed his hand, induced him to walk away.

"Your father trained me to act, it was part of our arrangement." I tense, wondering if he'll lash out again at the mention of his father. He doesn't.

"Did he ever fuck you?" His tone says that he doesn't care about the answer, but his face, the tense expectation tells me he does.

"You know better than that."

"Answer the question," he snaps.

"No, Luis," I say quietly. "He didn't mix business with pleasure. I was just his help, his bodyguard."

He grunts and tosses the towel and soap toward me. I pick them up. "Go and shower."

I get painfully to my feet. Yes, I can stand, but it hurts. Luis shows no emotion as I make my way slowly to the washroom. The water hurts like a bitch when it hits my back. His belt must've broken the skin in several places. It'll become infected if the area isn't properly cleaned and sterilized. Not that Luis cares. He only wants me alive long enough to purge his rage over Manuel's death. I try reaching around with the soap, wincing when my skin stretches unbearably. I jump when the soap is roughly taken from my hand.

I twist around to look at him, but he grips my shoulder and shoves me so I'm facing away from him. He lifts my hair over one shoulder and begins washing my back. I press my lips hard together, bite them, to keep the cry of agony inside as he slides the soap over my battered flesh. I reach out and steady myself against the wall as dizziness assails me.

When I think he must be finished I feel his fingers run through my hair, not gentle, but not rough either. He lifts the tresses and begins soaping them. I make a face that he can't see. Washing my hair with a bar of soap is going to be a disaster, the tangles will take forever to get out. But it's better than nothing, better than the dirt and blood that's matted the length. He pushes me further into the stream, rinsing my hair. It feels… good… having his fingers running through the strands, massaging my scalp, making sure all the soap is gone. After the pain in my back, his hands feel like heaven. My nipples peak in reaction. I cross my arms over my breasts.

Luis turns me around to face him, his dark brown eyes holding mine. I see something there, the same thing as before. Something I can't name. There's still lust and anger though, it grips every part of his body. My reprieve is over. He was cleaning me up so he can fuck me. He hands the soap back.

"Finish," he says in a biting voice and leaves the washroom.