Keep Me (7 page)

“Is that right, my pet?” My voice is like brushed silk, reflecting none of the simmering fury inside. Stepping toward her, I lift my hand and slowly trace my fingers over her jawline. “Would you prefer
not
to be called that? Perhaps you wish I hadn’t come back for you at all?”

Her huge eyes grow even larger. “No, of course not! I told you, I want to be here with you—”

“Don’t lie to me.” The words come out cold and sharp as I drop my hand. It infuriates me that I care about this at all, that I let something as insignificant as Nora’s feelings bother me. What does it matter if she loves me? I shouldn’t want that from her, shouldn’t expect it. And yet I do—it’s part of this fucked-up obsession I have with her.

“I’m not lying,” she denies vehemently, taking a step back. Her face is pale in the dim light of the room, but her gaze is direct and unwavering as she stares at me. “I shouldn’t
want to be with you, but I do. Do you think I don’t realize how wrong this is? How messed-up? You kidnapped me, Julian . . . You forced me.”

The accusation hangs between us, stark and heavy. If I were a different man, a better man, I would look away. I would feel remorse for what I’d done.

But I don’t.

I’m not into self-deception. I never have been. When I abducted Nora, I knew that I crossed a line, that I sank to a new low. I did it with the full knowledge of what that makes me: an irredeemable beast, a destroyer of innocence. It’s a label I’m willing to live with to have her.

I would do anything to have her.

So instead of looking away, I hold her gaze. “Yes,” I say quietly. “I did.” My anger is gone, replaced by an emotion I don’t want to analyze too closely. Taking a step toward her, I lift my hand again and stroke the plush softness of her lower lip with my thumb. Her lips part at my touch, and the hunger that I’ve been suppressing all day sharpens, clawing at my insides.

I want her.

I want her, and I’m going to take her.

After this, she will have no doubt that she belongs to me.

Staring up at my husband, I fight the urge to back away. I shouldn’t have let Julian see my reaction to my new name, but I had been enjoying the shooting session—and Julian’s company—so much that I had forgotten the reality of my new situation. Hearing ‘Mrs. Esguerra’ fall from Lucas’s lips startled me, bringing back that disconcerting feeling of lost identity, and, for a moment, I had been unable to hide my dismay.

That moment was all it took to transform Julian from a laughing, teasing companion to the terrifying, unpredictable man who first brought me to his island.

I can feel the rapid beating of my pulse as his thumb caresses my lips, his touch gentle despite the darkness gleaming in his eyes. He doesn’t seem upset by my reckless accusations; if anything, he looks calmer now, almost amused. I’m not sure what I thought would happen when I threw the words at him, but I hadn’t expected him to admit his crimes so easily, without even a hint of guilt or regret. Most people try to justify their actions to themselves and others, twisting the facts to suit their purposes, but Julian is not most people. He sees things as they are; he’s just not bothered by the idea of committing acts most people would cringe at. Instead of a deluded psycho who thinks he’s doing the right thing, my new husband is simply a man without a conscience.

A man whom I both love and fear right now.

Without saying another word, Julian lowers his fingers and grips my upper arm, leading me toward one of the wide wrestling mats near the wall. As we walk, I catch a glimpse of the bulge in his shorts, and my breathing speeds up from a combination of anxiety and involuntary desire.

Julian intends to fuck me, right here and now, where anyone can walk in on us.

An uncomfortable mixture of lust and embarrassment makes my skin burn. Logic tells me this is not likely to be one of our more vanilla encounters, but my body doesn’t know the difference between a punishment fuck and tender lovemaking. All it knows is Julian, and it’s conditioned to crave his touch.

To my surprise, Julian doesn’t fall on me right away. Instead he releases my arm and looks at me, his sensuous mouth twisted into a cold, slightly cruel smile. “Why don’t you show me what you learned in those self-defense classes of yours, my pet?” he says softly. “Let’s see some of the moves they taught you.”

I stare at him, my heart climbing into my throat as I realize what Julian wants. He wants me to fight him, to resist—even though it won’t change the outcome.

Even though it’ll only make me feel helpless and defeated when I lose.

“Why?” I ask in desperation, trying to put off the inevitable. I know Julian is just toying with me, but I don’t want to play this game, not after everything that has occurred between us. I want to forget those early days on the island, not relive them in this twisted way.

“Why not?” He begins to circle around me, causing my anxiety to spike. “Isn’t that why you took those classes, so you could protect yourself from men like me? Men who want to take you, to abuse you?”

My breathing accelerates further, adrenaline flooding my system as an involuntary fight-or-flight response kicks in. Instinctively I turn, trying to keep him in sight at all times, as if he were a dangerous predator—because he is one right now.

A beautiful, deadly predator who is intent on me as his prey.

“Go ahead, Nora,” he murmurs, stopping so that my back is against the wall. “Fight.”

“No.” I try not to flinch when he reaches for me, his hand closing around my wrist. “I’m not doing this, Julian. Not like this.”

His nostrils flare. He’s not used to me denying him anything, and I hold my breath, waiting to see what he will do. My heart is beating painfully in my chest, and a thin trickle of sweat slides down my back as I hold his gaze. By now I know Julian wouldn’t truly harm me, but that doesn’t mean he won’t punish me for my defiance.

“All right,” he says softly. “If that’s how you want it.” And using his grip on my wrist, he twists my arm upwards, forcing me down to my knees. With his free hand, he unzips his shorts, letting his erection spring free. Then he wraps my hair around his fist and pushes my mouth toward his cock. “Suck it,” he orders roughly, staring down at me.

Relieved by the simple task, I gladly obey, closing my lips around the thick column of his sex. He tastes like salt and man, the tip of his shaft damp with pre-cum, and some of my anxiety fades, edged out by growing desire. I love pleasuring him like this, and as Julian’s grip on my wrist slackens, I use both hands to cup his balls, kneading and massaging them with firm pressure.

He groans, closing his eyes, and I begin to move my mouth back and forth, using a sucking motion to bring him deeper into my throat each time. The way he holds my hair hurts my scalp, but the discomfort only enhances my arousal. Julian was right when he said I have masochistic tendencies. Whether by nature or by nurture, I get off on pain now, my body craving the intensity of these types of sensations.

Looking up at him, I drink in the tortured expression on his face, enjoying the small taste of power he allows me.

Today, though, he doesn’t let me set the pace for long. Instead he pushes his hips forward, forcing his cock further into my throat, and I gag, spitting up some saliva. That seems to please him, and he mutters thickly, “Yes, that’s it, baby,” opening his eyes to watch me as he begins to fuck my face with a hard, relentless rhythm. I choke again, and more saliva dribbles out, coating my chin and his cock with viscous moisture.

He releases me then, but before I can catch my breath, he pushes me down on the mat, face first, causing me to fall onto my hands. Then he gets behind me, and I feel him pulling my shorts and underwear down to my knees. My sex clenches in hungry anticipation . . . but that’s not where he wants me today. It’s the other opening that holds his attention, and I tense instinctively as I feel the head of his cock pressing between my cheeks.

“Relax, my pet,” he murmurs, grasping my hips to hold me in place as he begins to push in. “Just relax . . . Yes, there is a good girl . . .”

I take small, shallow breaths as I try to follow Julian’s advice, fighting the urge to tighten up as he slowly begins to penetrate my ass. I know from experience this will hurt a lot less if I’m not so tense, but my body seems determined to fight this intrusion. After months of abstinence, it’s almost as if I’m a virgin there again, and I feel a heavy, burning pressure as my sphincter is forcefully stretched open.

“Julian, please . . .” The words come out in a low, pleading whisper as he ruthlessly pushes deeper, the saliva coating his cock acting as makeshift lube. My insides twist, and sweat breaks out all over my body as the tight ring of muscle finally gives in, letting his massive cock slide all the way in. Now he’s throbbing deep inside me, making me feel unbearably full, engulfed and overtaken.

“Please what?” he breathes, sliding one muscular arm under my hips to hold me in place. At the same time, his other hand grabs my hair again, forcing my body to arch backwards. The new angle deepens the penetration, and I cry out, beginning to shake. It’s too much, I can’t take it, but Julian is not giving me a choice. This is my punishment, being fucked like an animal on a dirty mat, with no care or preparation. It should make me feel sick, killing all traces of desire, but somehow I’m still turned on, my body eager for whatever sensations Julian chooses to dole out. “Please what?” he repeats, his voice low and rough. “Please fuck me? Please give me more?”

“I . . . I don’t know . . .” I can hardly speak, my senses overwhelmed. He stills then, not moving, and I’m grateful for that small mercy, as it gives me a chance to adjust to the brutal hardness lodged within me. I try to steady my breathing, to relax, and the pain gradually begins to lessen, transforming into something else—a sizzling heat that permeates my nerve endings.

He starts to move again, his thrusts slow and deep, and the heat intensifies, centering low in my core. My nipples tighten, and a rush of wetness inundates my sex. Despite the discomfort, there is something perversely erotic about being taken like this, about being possessed in a way that’s so dirty and forbidden. Closing my eyes, I begin to get into the primal rhythm of his movements, the thrust and drag that makes my insides churn with agony and pleasure. My clit swells, becoming more sensitive, and I know it will take only a few light touches to make me come, to relieve the tension building within me.

But he doesn’t touch my clit. Instead his hand releases my hair and slides down to my neck. Then he grips my throat, forcing me to rise up so that I’m standing on my knees, my back slightly arched. My eyes pop open and my hands automatically fly up, clutching at his strangling fingers, but there’s nothing I can do to loosen his hold. In this position, he’s even deeper inside me, and I can barely breathe, my heart beginning to pound with a new, unfamiliar fear.

He leans forward then, and I can feel his lips brushing against my ear. “You are mine for the rest of your life,” he whispers harshly, the warmth of his breath making my skin prickle with goosebumps. “Do you understand me, Nora? All of you—your pussy, your asshole, your fucking inner thoughts . . . It’s all mine to use and abuse as I will. I own you, inside and out, in every way possible . . .” His sharp teeth sink into my earlobe, causing me to gasp at the sudden pain. “Do you understand me?” There is a dark note in his voice that scares me. This is new—he’s never done this to me before—and my pulse soars sky-high as his fingers tighten around my throat, slowly but inexorably cutting off my air supply.

Rising panic sends adrenaline surging through my veins. “Yes . . .” I manage to rasp out, my fingers now clawing at his hand, trying to pry it away. To my horror, I start seeing stars, the room blurring and going dark in front of my eyes.
Surely he doesn’t mean to kill me . . . Surely he doesn’t mean to kill me . . .
I am terrified, yet for some strange reason, my sex throbs and electric shivers run over my skin as my arousal spirals inexorably higher.

“Good. Now tell me . . . whose wife are you?” His fingers tighten further, and the stars go supernova as my brain struggles to get enough oxygen. My body is on the brink of suffocation, yet it’s more alive in this moment than it’s ever been, every sensation sharpened and refined. The burning thickness of his cock inside my ass, the heat of his breath on my temple, the pulsing of my engorged clit—it’s too much and not enough at the same time. I want to scream and struggle, but I can’t move, can’t breathe . . . and as if from far away, I hear Julian demanding again, “Whose?”

Right before I pass out, his grip on my throat eases, and I choke out, “Yours” . . . even as my body convulses in a paroxysm of agonized ecstasy, the orgasm sudden and startlingly intense as much-needed oxygen rushes into my lungs.

Frantically gulping in air, I slump against him, trembling all over. I can’t believe I came like this, without Julian touching my sex at all.

I can’t believe I came while being afraid of dying.

After a moment, I become conscious of his lips grazing my sweat-dampened cheek. “Yes,” he murmurs, his hand now gently stroking my throat, “that’s right, baby . . .” He’s still buried inside me, his hard cock splitting me apart, invading me. “And what’s your name?”

“Nora,” I gasp out hoarsely, quivering as his fingers trail down from my neck to my breasts. I’m still wearing my sports bra, and his hand burrows under the tight material, cupping my breast.

“Nora what?” he persists, his fingers pinching my nipple. It’s erect and sensitive from my orgasm, and his touch sends a fresh ripple of heat down to my core. “Nora what?”

“Nora Esguerra,” I whisper, closing my eyes. It’s a fact I will never forget now—and as Julian resumes fucking me again, I know that Nora Leston will never exist again.

She is gone for good.

Over the next couple of weeks, I slowly acclimate to my new home. The estate is a fascinating place, and I spend much of my time exploring it and meeting its inhabitants.

Besides the guards, there are a few dozen people living here, some by themselves, others with their families. They all work for Julian in one capacity or another, from the oldest generation to the youngest. Some—like Ana and Rosa—take care of the house and the grounds, while others are involved in Julian’s business. He may have only recently returned to the compound, but many of his employees have lived here since the time when Juan Esguerra—Julian’s father—reigned as one of the most powerful drug lords in the country. To an American like myself, such loyalty to an employer is unfathomable.

“They’re well paid, provided with free housing, and your husband even hired a teacher for their children a few years ago,” Rosa explains when I ask her about this unusual phenomenon. “He might not have been here much in person, but he’s always been good at taking care of his people. They’re all free to leave if they want, but they know they’re unlikely to find anything better. Besides, here they’re protected, but out there, they and their families are fair game for nosy policemen or anyone else seeking information on the Esguerra organization.” Giving me a wry smile, she adds, “My mother says that once you’re a part of this life, you’re always a part of this life. There’s no going back.”

“So why did they choose this life?” I ask, trying to understand what would make one move to a weapons dealer’s isolated compound on the edge of the Amazon rainforest. I don’t know many sane people who would do something like that willingly—particularly if they knew there was no easy way to return home.

Rosa shrugs. “Well, everybody has a different story. Some were wanted by the authorities; others made enemies of dangerous people. My parents came here to escape poverty and provide a better life for me and my brothers. They knew they were taking a risk, but they felt they had no other choice. To this day, my mother is convinced that they made the right decision for themselves and their children.”

“Even after—?” I start asking, then shut my mouth when I realize that I’m about to bring up painful memories for Rosa again.

“Yes, even after,” she says, understanding my half-spoken question. “There are no guarantees in life. They could’ve died anyway. My father and Eduardo—my oldest brother—were killed doing their jobs, but at least they had jobs. Back at my parents’ village, there were no jobs, and the cities were even worse. My parents did whatever they could to keep food on the table, but it wasn’t enough. When my mother became pregnant with me, Eduardo, who was twelve at the time, went to Medellín seeking to become a drug mule—just so that our family wouldn’t starve. My father went after him to stop him, and that’s when the two of them ran into Juan Esguerra, who was in the city for negotiations with the Medellín Cartel. He offered both my father and brother a job in his organization, and the rest is history.” She stops and smiles at me before continuing, “So you see, Nora, working for Señor Esguerra was the best alternative for my family. As my mother says, at least I never had to sell myself for food, the way she did in her youth.”

Rosa says that last part without any bitterness or self-pity. She’s simply stating facts. Rosa genuinely considers herself lucky to have been born on the Esguerra estate. She’s grateful to Julian and his father for providing her family with a good living, and, despite her longing to see America, she doesn’t mind living in the middle of nowhere. To her, this compound is home.

I learn all of this during our walks. While Rosa doesn’t like jogging, she’s more than happy to take a brisk walk with me in the morning, before it gets too hot and muggy. It’s something we started doing on my third day here, and it’s quickly becoming part of my daily routine. I like spending time with Rosa; she’s bright and friendly, reminding me a bit of my friend Leah. And Rosa seems to enjoy my company as well—although I’m sure she would be nice to me regardless, given my position here. Everybody on the estate treats me with respect and politeness.

After all, I’m the Señor’s wife.

After the incident at the gym, I have done my best to accept the fact that I’m married to Julian—that the beautiful, amoral man who abducted me is now my husband. It’s an idea that still disturbs me on some level, but with each day that passes, I grow more and more accustomed to it. My life changed irrevocably when Julian stole me, and that far-off ‘normal’ future is a dream I should’ve given up a long time ago. Clinging to it while falling in love with my kidnapper had been as irrational as developing feelings for him in the first place.

Instead of a house in the suburbs and two-point-five kids, my future now holds a heavily guarded compound near the Amazon jungle and a man who both excites and terrifies me. It’s impossible for me to imagine having children with Julian, and I dread the fact that in a few short months, the three-year birth control implant I got at seventeen will cease to be effective. At some point, I will need to bring up this issue with Julian, but for now I’m trying not to think about it. I’m no more ready to be a mother than I was to be a wife, and the possibility of having that choice forced on me makes me break out in a cold sweat. I love Julian, but raising children with a man who thinks nothing of kidnapping and killing? That’s a whole other matter.

My parents and friends back home aren’t helping. I spoke once with Leah, telling her about my hasty marriage, and her reaction had been shocked, to say the least.

“You married that arms dealer?” she exclaimed incredulously. “After everything he’s done to you and Jake? Are you insane? You’re only nineteen—and he should be in jail!” And no matter how much I tried to spin everything in a positive light, I could tell she got off the phone thinking that my abduction left me a few cards short of a full deck.

My parents are even worse. Every time I talk to them, I have to fend off their probing questions about my unexpected marriage and Julian’s plans for our future. I don’t blame them for adding to my anxiety; I know they’re worried sick about me. The last time we had a video call, my mom’s eyes were red and swollen, as though she’d been crying. It’s obvious that the hastily concocted story I told them at my wedding has done little to alleviate their concerns. My parents know how my relationship with Julian began, and they’re having a hard time believing I could be happy with a man they see as pure evil.

And yet I
am
happy, my fretting about the future aside. The icy emptiness inside me is gone, replaced by a dazzling abundance of emotions and sensations. It’s as though the black-and-white movie of my life has been redone in technicolor.

When I’m with Julian, I’m complete and content in a way that I don’t fully understand and can’t quite come to terms with. It’s not like I was miserable before I met him. I had great friends, a loving family, and the promise of a good, if unexceptional, life ahead of me. I even had a crush—Jake—who gave me the proverbial butterflies in my stomach. It makes no sense that I somehow needed something as perverse as this relationship with Julian to enrich my life and give me that which I was missing.

Of course, I’m no shrink. Perhaps there is an explanation for my feelings—some childhood trauma that I’ve repressed, or a chemical imbalance in my brain. Or maybe it’s just Julian and the deliberate way he’s been molding my physical and emotional responses since those early days on the island. I am cognizant of his conditioning methods, but my recognition of them doesn’t alter their effectiveness. It’s strange to know that you’re being manipulated, and at the same time enjoy the results of that manipulation.

But enjoy them I do. Being with Julian is thrilling—both frightening and exhilarating, like riding a wild tiger. I never know which side of him I will see at any given moment: the charming lover or the cruel master. And as messed-up as it is, I want both—I am addicted to both. The light and the dark, the violence and the tenderness—it all goes together, forming a volatile, dizzying cocktail that plays havoc with my equilibrium and makes me fall even deeper under Julian’s spell.

Of course, the fact that I see him now every day doesn’t help. On the island, Julian’s frequent absences gave me time to recover from the potent effect he has on my mind and body, enabling me to maintain some emotional balance. Here, however, there is no respite from the magnetic pull he exerts on me, no way to shield myself from his intoxicating allure. With each day that passes, I lose a little more of my soul to him, my need for him growing, rather than decreasing with time.

The only thing that keeps me from freaking out is the knowledge that Julian is drawn to me just as strongly. I don’t know if it’s my resemblance to Maria or just our inexplicable chemistry, but I know the addiction works both ways.

Julian’s hunger for me knows no bounds. He takes me a couple of times every night—and often during the day as well—yet I get the sense he still wants more. It’s there in the intensity of his gaze, in the way he always touches me, holds me. He can’t keep his hands off me—and that makes me feel better about my own helpless attraction to him.

He also seems to enjoy spending time with me outside of the bedroom. True to his promise, Julian has begun training me, teaching me how to fight and use different weapons. After the initial rocky start, he turned out to be an excellent instructor—knowledgeable, patient, and surprisingly dedicated. We train together nearly every day, and I’ve already learned more in these couple of weeks than in the prior three months in my self-defense courses. Of course, it would be a misnomer to call what he teaches me self-defense; Julian’s lessons have more in common with some kind of assassin bootcamp.

“You aim to kill every time,” he instructs during one afternoon session where he makes me throw knives at a small target on the wall. “You don’t have the size or the strength, so for you, it’s all about speed, reflexes, and ruthlessness. You need to catch your opponents off-guard and eliminate them before they realize how skilled you are. Every strike has to be deadly; every move has to count.”

“What if I don’t want to kill them?” I ask, looking up at him. “What if I just want to wound them, so I can run away?”

“A wounded man can still hurt you. It doesn’t take much strength to squeeze a trigger or stab you with a knife. Unless you have a good reason for wanting your enemy alive, you aim to kill, Nora. Do you understand me?”

I nod and throw a small, sharp knife at the wall. It thuds dully against the target, then falls down, having barely scratched the wood. Not my best attempt, but better than my prior five.

I don’t know if I can do what Julian says, but I do know that I never want to feel defenseless again. If it means learning the skills of an assassin, I’m happy to do it. It doesn’t mean I will ever use them, but just knowing that I can protect myself makes me feel stronger and more confident, helping me cope with the residual nightmares from my time with the terrorists.

To my relief, those have gotten better as well. It’s like my subconscious knows that Julian is here—that I’m safe with him. Of course, it also helps that when I do wake up screaming, he’s there to hold me and chase the nightmare away.

The first time it happens is the third night after my arrival at the estate. I dream of Beth’s death again, of the ocean of blood that I’m drowning in, but this time, strong arms catch me, save me from the vicious rip current. This time, when I open my eyes, I’m not alone in the darkness. Julian has turned on the bedside lamp and is shaking me awake, a concerned expression on his beautiful face.

“I’m here now,” he soothes, pulling me into his lap when I can’t stop trembling, tears of remembered horror running down my face. “All is well, I promise . . .” He strokes my hair until my sobbing breaths begin to even out, and then he asks softly, “What’s the matter, baby? Did you have a bad dream? You were screaming my name . . .”

I nod, clinging to him with all my strength. I can feel the warmth of his skin, hear the steady beating of his heart, and the nightmare slowly begins to recede, my mind coming back to the present. “It was Beth,” I whisper when I can speak without my voice breaking. “He was torturing her . . . killing her.”

Julian’s arms tighten around me. He doesn’t say anything, but I can feel his rage, his burning fury. Beth had been more than a housekeeper to him, though the precise nature of their relationship had always been something of a mystery to me.

Desperate to distract myself from the bloody images still filling my mind, I decide to satisfy the curiosity that had gnawed at me all through my time on the island. “How did you and Beth meet?” I ask, pulling back to look at Julian’s face. “How did she come to be on the island with me?”

He looks at me, his eyes dark with memories. Before, whenever I would ask these types of questions, he would brush me off or change the topic, but things are different between us now. Julian seems more willing to talk to me, to let me more fully into his life.

“I was in Tijuana seven years ago for a meeting with one of the cartels,” he begins speaking after a moment. “After my business was concluded, I went looking for entertainment in Zona Norte, the red-light district of the city. I was passing by one of the alleys when I saw it . . . a screaming, crying woman huddled over a small figure on the ground.”

“Beth,” I whisper, remembering what she told me about her daughter.

“Yes, Beth,” he confirms. “It wasn’t any of my business, but I’d had a couple of drinks and I was curious. So I came closer . . . and that’s when I saw that the small figure on the ground was a child. A beautiful baby girl with red curly hair, a tiny replica of the woman crying over her.” A savage, furious glint enters his eyes. “The child was lying in a pool of blood, with a gunshot wound in her small chest. She had apparently been killed to punish her mother, who didn’t want to let her pimp offer the child to some clients with more
unique
tastes.”

Nausea, sharp and strong, rises in my throat. Despite everything I’ve been through, it still horrifies me to know that there are such monsters out there. Monsters far worse than the man I’ve fallen in love with.