Shooting Scars (The Artists Trilogy #2)

Shooting Scars (The Artists Trilogy #2) Page 14

But Ellie did know. And that’s what concerned me.

“I’ll tell you one thing that I thought was odd,” Gus added. “About a few months before I stopped keeping tabs on him, I’d heard there was a couple that jumped ship – they’d been working for Javier and then went to the other side. To Travis. Javier sent some men after them but who knows what happened.”

“A couple?” It didn’t seem like the line of work that a husband and wife would get roped into, like opening up a bed and breakfast.

He nodded. “Yeah. A couple. An older couple at that. White folks. Amanda and Bob Williams.”

There was something loaded in what he was saying but I wasn’t getting it.

“You know, I used to be friends, good friends, with Amelie and Brian Watt.”

The light went off in my head. AW. BW. Same initials.

“Ellie’s parents?” I asked in disbelief. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Do you know for sure?”

“I don’t. Just a gut feeling. I hadn’t talked to them since they up and left poor Ellie with her uncle. I wouldn’t put it past them, I don’t see the point of it all. Why go through all of that with their daughter only to go back to the man that did it.”

“Maybe they got into some trouble.” It would have to be some major fucking trouble to go back to Travis or work for Javier. Was that a matter of Javier recruiting her parents, hoping he would get close to them or was it the other way around? No matter the reason, my damaged, beautiful girl was still getting screwed over, even without her knowing it.

The anger must have been showing on my face because Gus tapped the steering wheel.

“Hey aggro, don’t you go losing it on me. You said you were prepared to do whatever you could to get her back. Things are only going to get harder and more complicated from here on out.”

I sucked in my breath and sat back in the seat, giving him a quick nod. We fell into silence punctuated by the staticky radio. I fell into my own head, facing my fears.

I wondered what Ellie was doing right then and where she was. I wondered if she had any idea about her parents, if Javier would tell her and taunt her with it. I wondered just what the hell he wanted with her, a question that would drive me crazy until I knew. It couldn’t be as simple as a love struck ex-lover, not when Gus had explained what had gone on over the years. Javier hadn’t simply followed Ellie all that time, like she presumed. He went ahead and built up an “empire.” Was it a matter of the ex-boyfriend trying to make something of himself before attempting to win her back? In a way, I understood that. But I didn’t want to understand him. I didn’t want to think about how she got under my skin the same way she apparently got under his. I didn’t want to find any similarities between us.

I could never turn into him.

CHAPTER NINE

ELLIE

Later that day, we set off. I barely had time to pack, which was ironic since I actually had things to pack when I shouldn’t have. Javier brought me a large carry-all bag for me to stuff my old clothes inside. It was creepy as hell, folding up my old stuff, knowing that we headed to another country like some couple on vacation.

“I hope I don’t need my real passport,” I remarked as I hauled the bag out of the room. I had only one passport in my bag and it belonged to Eleanor Willis and I’d never crossed a border with it before. Gus had made it for me, so I assumed it would hold up, but this wasn’t the time to test it out. Getting busted with a drug cartel leader would be very, very bad for me. Almost as bad as not being busted.

Javier stood at the end of the hall, white pants, white shirt, looking like the devil in a snowbank. “Angel, this is Mexico. And you’re an American. They wouldn’t even look at your ID. I, on the other hand … well I’m pretty sure it won’t be so easy.”

“So we’re crossing the Rio Grande against the flow?”

“That’s messy,” he said. He took a step forward to take the bag from me, but I held on tightly and yanked it out of his reach. He glared ever so slightly, then turned on his heel and went down the stairs.

“We’ll be crossing over in style,” he tossed over his shoulder and headed out the front door, held open by the burly man who I think was called Carl or Carrell. It was hard to tell with his accent sometimes.

I followed, the bag dragging behind me. Outside the air was bright and airy, like it wanted to fool me again with that whole vacation feeling. Palm trees and live oak waved in the breeze, a very picturesque scene that people never thought could happen in Mississippi. Even though my years in the state were full of emotional turmoil, there was a beauty here than most people overlooked. For me, the beauty had turned a shade deadly.

The SUV was roaring in the driveway with Javier climbing in the back seat. Oh joy, I was going to be trapped with him again. That peculiar kind of fear, the one that made me wince with disgust, came trickling down my neck. Or maybe that was sweat. The temperature was unseasonably hot.

Raul took the bag from me and tossed it in the trunk, then held the back door open like he was the perfect gentleman. I suppose I could have been thankful that it was Javier I had to sit with, not Raul, but a creep is a creep.

I hopped in, buckled my seatbelt lest Javier try and do it for me, and leaned against the armrest on the door. Every part of me was crammed up away from him. He wasn’t trying to get close but the scene from the kitchen earlier was still fresh in my mind. I did not want to feel his breath on me ever again. The memories and the reality did not jive.

After we were driving for a few minutes and notably not taking the highway, I had to ask, “Isn’t Mexico in the other direction?”

“Patience, my angel,” he said, his eyes glued to the front of the car, a small smile on his face.

I didn’t have fucking patience, especially when he kept calling me that name but I had to remind myself the more I gave, the more he wanted. I bit down on my lip to keep quiet and brought my cardigan around me, for modesty’s sake and to ward off the Arctic air-conditioning.

Ten minutes later we were pulling up to yet another familiar place. The marina where Javier used to keep his sailboat. Another disturbing trip down memory fucking lane.

I suppressed a shudder, knowing Javier was watching me like some science experiment. How much of our past can I torture her with? Am I breaking down her defenses? And other such thoughts.

“You remember this place?” he asked delicately.

I ignored him and spoke to the window as the SUV pulled into a loading zone lined with wheelbarrows. “I don’t have amnesia. Why the hell are we here?”

He made a tsking sound, the type that made me look at him just to see how disappointed he looked. “Ellie, really.”

I looked back at the marina. The panic started somewhere below my gut. He couldn’t be serious. He wasn’t that delusional was he?

“We’re not going to Mexico on your boat,” I said, more of a statement than a question. Even if I was jumping the gun a bit, at least it was out there.

He gave me that sly smile again. “Would that be a problem for you?”

My mouth opened and closed like a fish, no words coming out. I knew that Javier probably had to lie low as we traveled across the country, but this seemed a bit extreme.

“It’s not the same boat, don’t worry,” he said. He opened his door and hopped out just as Raul opened mine.

Javier’s old sailboat was a sleek, gorgeous thing that held far too many moments for us. It was big enough to sail anywhere, really, but that wasn’t the point. I could barely handle being in the same vehicle as Javier, let alone a boat.

I guess I must have stood there shaking my head or something crazy like that, because Raul’s cold fingers clamped around my forearm and yanked me forward.

“Let’s go,” he growled.

“Don’t touch me,” I growled back, yanking my arm away from him.

Javier gave both of us an amused look as he walked off toward the docks. “This trip will be easier if the two of you learn to play nice.”

“Fuck you,” I yelled after him. A family decked in nautical gear were unloading their car nearby and gave me an odd look. In fact they gave all of us an odd look and I couldn’t blame them. Big bald driver was hauling our bags out of the back of the black SUV, while the devil in white led the way for one henchmen and the damsel in distress. I wondered if we appeared suspicious enough for them to report us. Technically we weren’t doing anything illegal but if I had seen a similar scene, my radar would be going wild.

But, what would happen if I mouthed to the father, with his wary eyes and nervous twitch, to “help me.” What would he do? And would he really help? What would I even say? Could I get away and still ensure that Camden would go untouched? Or was my freedom always going to be joined to him in that fate?

I didn’t say anything. I was used to being the one trying to get away, not the one wanting to be caught. I just walked toward the docks, feeling like oxygen was slowly being leached from me, that the further we got away from solid ground, the less chance I had. For life, for liberty, for love, maybe for everything. My situation kept changing from day to day, moment to moment, and I wasn’t quick enough to keep up.

Just when I thought my legs were turning to jelly, we stopped on the furthest dock in front of what I first thought were a bunch of sailboats all tied together in a row. I was wrong.

“This is my new masterpiece,” Javier said with a too-wide smile, his arms spread wide, as if he built the boat himself.

He wasn’t kidding when he said it wasn’t the same boat. I didn’t even think you could call it a boat, it was more like a floating apartment complex, a hotel on the sea, a mothership. This boat, this yacht, this monster had to be almost 200-feet long and one of the largest things I had ever seen. It had two masts that seemed to stretch into the hazy heavens, it sparkled in the sunlight, glossy navy and white paint and teak accents, and boasted a crew of four people, all men in their twenties, who stood in a row on the deck sides like subjects greeting the King. There were less obvious ways of jetting off to Mexico but this wasn’t one of them. Javier was nothing if not obvious sometimes.

He’d been waiting for my reaction, for me to say something, but I couldn’t do it. He wanted me to be impressed when all I could think about, despite the size of the sea beast, was that I was going to be stuck on that ship for quite some time, with no way off except a watery grave.

“Come on, let’s get you introduced to the crew and settled,” he said, waving at the driver to bring the bags on board. I peered at the boat’s name as everyone shuffled around me. It was called Beatriz, which happened to be the name of his oldest sister. I wondered why it was named after her, if something happened, when I realized I didn’t care. I couldn’t care. Men like Javier used sympathy as a fuel.

“Are you having second thoughts?” Javier asked from up above, holding his hand out for me. “Because you don’t have to come with us, you know this.”

I didn’t know if he was saying it for the benefit of the crew, who were all facing forward, stony yet eager expressions on their faces, dressed in black shorts and black polo shirts.