Burned Page 3

  The headline read, South American Playboy Setting His Sights on Seattle.

  Blaire slumped into the padded chair next to the table. If Karlos had his sights set on anything, it was her. They had not parted on good terms, and Karlos had never taken no for an answer.

  She could feel his intentions pressing down on her.

  Karlos Rivera was coming to kill her.

  Chapter 3

  As Blaire pulled her steel-gray Honda HR-V into the parking lot of Purple Vines, the one and only trendy wine bar in town, her hands clenched the steering wheel in a white-knuckled death grip. She hadn’t been able to get the image of Karlos’ leering smile out of her mind.

  Karlos had been a charmer, seducing her into a depraved lifestyle she’d barely escaped. He’d wined her and dined her extravagantly, all the while plotting how to use her naïveté and good looks to further his cause.

  One of his side-gigs involved cutting hair from unsuspecting women’s scalps and selling it on the black market as hair extensions. That’s where he’d used her.

  Cutting women’s hair to sell…She scoffed. The whole concept seemed like a joke. But it was a very real industry in an extremely impoverished city.

  Overall, Karlos did whatever, wherever, whenever. Anything to make a profit. He was a wealthy son of a bitch who preyed on human weakness. She’d even witnessed him shoot a man in the face, point-blank.

  I was such a fucking twit to fall for his flattery.

  She’d spent months searching for a way to escape. Either Karlos or one of his gang members kept her under twenty-four-hour surveillance. Finally, she’d gotten her chance. One of the cartel’s wealthy marks—Carmelita—whom Blaire had surreptitiously tipped off before they’d caught her and chopped off all her lustrous hair, had arranged transport for Blaire in the middle of the night when Karlos was out drinking with his cronies.

  She’d been terrified, convinced one of his horrible cohorts would track her down and kill her.

  Only he apparently bided his time and waited to do it two years later, when I thought I was safe.

  She picked at her fingernail, chipping the polish. Damn it. Her gaze landed on the convenience store across the street. For a second, she thought about buying some smokes—a habit she had taken up in Caracas to cope with the stress of what she’d got herself into. But then she thought of Jackson and their two dogs.

  Keep it together, girl. Maybe Karlos really does have business dealings here in Seattle, and he’s not looking for me.

  But the depravity and heartache she’d witnessed in Venezuela kept flashing through her mind. Images of starving families, desperate to do anything to put food on the table paraded around her head. She’d seen children scavenging through garbage. Elderly women begged, their gaunt bodies looking like heavy, wet sheets draped over matchsticks. It was like watching a funeral procession.

  And a whole slide show of violence competed with the sorrowful images of famished individuals. Blaire witnessed a man shot in the head when he exited the back of a restaurant, having stolen food to feed his family. And one whole family, whose kids had turned to stealing cars to buy medicine for their sick mother, had been executed when they stepped outside their home to attend church on Sunday morning.

  Karlos’ gang thrived in such an environment. It disgusted her. They held women at gunpoint and sliced off their hair with huge machetes. Some of the women—those who put up a fuss—ended up dead in an alley, stripped of anything valuable.

  Once she’d returned home, she had stuffed those images and feelings far, far away. Her family had embraced her like an exotic princess back from her amazing travels. She told them very little, putting on a fake smile and a mouthful of fabrications whenever she saw them. No way could she share the debauchery she’d participated in. But then she stopped answering the phone, ceased returning messages, and moved to Singer Springs, hoping to leave the past behind. And, she turned to hairstyling, hoping for positive karma to balance her crimes. But it wasn’t what she wanted to do with her life. She wanted more out of her future—if she could escape her past.

  When she’d met Jackson, she’d been out of the cartel life for a year and a half. One look at him, with his hero’s heart shining in her direction, and she was hooked. It was love at first sight.

  So, how can I tell him about Karlos? Or the things I did in Venezuela? He’s a good, honorable man. He won’t be able to look at me the same once I tell him.

  Her heart seemed trapped in ice, unable to access the passion she typically felt when she thought of Jackson.

  Someone rapped on the window of her vehicle. She startled, shoving down a yelp. Blinking, she looked over at Lola who stood in her red, gold, and orange flowing print top and huge hoop earrings with her hands firmly on her hips, frowning at her.

  Blaire glanced at the keys, still in the ignition. Quickly, she turned it off, grabbed her purse from the passenger seat, and opened the door.

  “Have you been standing there a long time?” she said, trying hard to smile.

  “Long enough to know there’s something seriously bothering you. You looked as white as the clouds.” Lola waved her arm toward the Sun-A-Do mountains. “I was beginning to wonder if I should call 911.”

  Blaire waved her hand. “It’s nothing, really. Let’s head inside.”

  “Uh-huh. Nothing. This was definitely not nothing. But if you want to tell yourself that, feel free.”

  Heat flared into Blaire’s cheeks. She turned and shuffled toward the lavender door of Purple Vines under a cloud of embarrassment, not caring whether Lola followed.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have agreed to this.

  She entered the two-story structure and let her eyes adjust to the dim lighting.

  A tower stood in the center of the building, holding row after row of wine. A winding staircase wove around the tower, allowing staff access to the bottles. A tunnel had been built through the soaring column, which provided an efficient passage to and from the steel metal surrounding the bar-back.

  Blaire vaguely realized she’d set a beeline for a waitress who stood filling a beer mug from one of the taps.

  Lola caught her arm.

  Blaire jerked.

  “Honey, give me one good reason not to call Jackson or I’m going to have the whole fire department down here in less than fifteen minutes.” Lola’s gaze looked intense. She seized Blaire’s elbow, pointed to the waitress Blaire had been about to ambush, and said, “We need somewhere quiet. I’m going to steer her upstairs. Bring a bottle of Pinot Noir and two glasses, stat.”

  Then, she hustled Blaire up the wide staircase and into a cozy booth in the corner.

  “Blaire,” she said, leaning over the table to look her in the face. “You’re scaring me. I’ve never seen you like this. What is going on?”

  Blaire propped her elbows on the table and dropped her face into her palms. All she could manage was a strangled sound.

  “Well, that’s a start,” Lola said, sitting back with a wry grin.

  At the sound of rapid footsteps heading in their direction, Blaire pried her heavy head from her hands.

  She turned her attention to the hipster-looking waiter who sauntered toward them, wine and glasses in hand.

  “Mademoiselle,” he said with a cheeky grin, directing his honey-eyed gaze at Lola. He set the glasses in front of them and held the wine out with a flourish.

  Lola swished her hand at the wine. “As long as it’s at least eleven percent alcohol and there’s plenty more, I’m sure it’s fine.”

  The waiter grinned, revealing small, white teeth and dimples. His dark-blond hair had been shaved on the sides and styled in a spiky fringe on top.

  “Oh, there’s plenty more, I can assure you.” He plucked a corkscrew from the black apron around his waist and deftly screwed it into the cork.

  Blaire’s head proved too heavy to hold up. She folded her arms on the table and rested her forehead on her forearms.

  “Your friend doesn’t look so good. Nee
d me to call anyone?” He sounded genuinely empathetic.

  “I’m fine,” Blaire mumbled into her arms. “Just pour and leave us be.”

  A loud pop met her ears, followed by a trickle of liquid flowing into a glass.

  “Mademoiselle?” he said.

  “This is fine,” Lola said.

  Another trickle of liquid sounded, followed by a pause, and then more wine being poured.

  “I’ll leave you to it,” the waiter said.

  “You do that. I’ll let you know if we need to shoot flares into the sky or call her boyfriend.” Lola’s voice sounded far away. “He’s with Clearfall County Fire Department. He’s a firefighter and paramedic.”

  “Good to know. So she’s in good hands when she leaves here.”

  “She is,” Lola said.

  “What’s his name?” hipster dude said.

  The idle chit-chat clawed against Blaire’s eardrums.

  Oh, please, just go away.

  “Jackson O’Halloran. You know him?”

  “Hollerback? Yeah. Totally cool dude. So, this is the girl who stole his heart. He used to come in here, and all the girls would queue up to get his attention. Him and his buddy Griffin. He and the Grifter would down a few shots and entertain the idea of hooking up with a few of the women. I think Griffin took them up on their offers, but never Hollerback. And then he stopped coming in. Griffin told me he was head over heels in love.”

  Being talked about as if she weren’t even there felt strange. Yet, hearing stories of how Jackson had been head over heels for her began to thaw her heart.

  I’ve got to pull it together. Jackson loves me, and I love him. We can see our way through this rough patch, can’t we? Her head popped up like a prairie dog.

  “Thanks for your concern”—she peered at his name tag—“Ryder. I’ve had an exhausting day is all.”

  Ryder’s head jerked. “Oh. Good. Well, good. I’m glad to see you’re okay.” His face flushed. “I didn’t mean to…Enjoy your wine, okay? And I’m happy for you and Hollerback. He always seemed like a straight-up kinda guy. One of the good guys.”

  “He’s the best,” Blaire said, her heart making all sorts of fluttery happy dances in her chest. “The absolute best.”

  After Ryder strode away, Lola fixed her piercing gaze on Blaire. “Spill something. I don’t care. Just talk to me.”

  Blaire lifted her fingertips to her forehead and massaged. “Fuck my life.” She dragged her fingers through her hair. “How long have you and your girlfriend been together?”

  Lola scrunched up her face. “Oh, about a year and a half. Why?”

  “Did you tell her everything about your past when you met? Like, everything?” Blaire reached for her wineglass and took a healthy swallow.

  Lola smirked. “Like the time I hooked up with Sophie Waldorf a week after starting to date Odette? No…”

  She chuckled and lifted her wine glass to her lips.

  “I wish it were that innocuous,” Blaire said, weakly, and then took another swallow of the wine.

  Lola frowned. “What is it that you’re not telling him?”

  Blaire sighed. The wine began to warm her insides, urging her to let go, at least a little. “I got into a bad situation before Jackson.”

  “How bad?” Lola said, her eyebrows creased together.

  “Oh, I’d say pretty bad.” Blaire’s gaze slid away from Lola. She studied her purple painted nails, noting the chip on her thumbnail. “A few years back, I had this guy come on to me when I was vacationing in Colorado. He was a smooth talker. A real shark of a guy. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark soul. Everything about him was dark. But stupid me…I was so desperate for attention; I didn’t suspect he was up to anything.”

  “You? Desperate for attention?” Lola dabbed at her wine-stained lips with a black paper napkin.

  “Yes, me. I told you. I grew up smack dab in the middle of five kids. My two oldest siblings—Wren and Tessie—they were the adorable apples of Mom and Dad’s eyes. They were in dance. You know…ballet, tap, and jazz. Mom and Dad shuffled them everywhere and praised them to the moon and back. Wren is currently in New York trying to make it as a dancer. Tessie lives over in Seattle. She’s got two kids and a husband.

  “The younger kids, Zayden and Roman, are stars in their own right. Zayden is an up and coming musician. He plays in that indie band, Seventh Choice. Have you heard of them?”

  Lola’s brilliant eyes sparkled. “Sure, I have. I saw them at a festival last summer. I thought they were hot. So, which one is Zayden?”

  “Lead guitar.”

  Lola made fireworks with her fingers and spread her hands wide. “Totally hot, and I don’t even play for that team.”

  She laughed.

  Blaire took another sip of her wine. “And then, there’s Roman. He’s an outstanding lawyer in Seattle. Litigates high profile cases. He’s young but on fire with the thirst for justice served.”

  “And then there’s you,” Lola said, encouragingly.

  “Right.” Blaire pressed her palms into the table. “And then there’s me. I stayed out of trouble, got good grades…I was easy to overlook. So, I got ignored a lot. I mean, everyone in my family loves me. We have an okay connection and all that. But, there was so much drama on either side of me I often felt forgotten…overlooked. And then I met Karlos.”

  Her heart rate spiked. Quickly, she swallowed back her panic.

  “Uh oh,” Lola said.

  The room seemed to bear down on Blaire, strangling her ability to speak. Tears pricked at her eyes.

  “I was so stupid, Lola,” she croaked. “I knew there had to be a catch. I mean, playboy meets girl from Pacific Northwest and tells her he’s been looking for her all his life. And I wanted to be someone special. I wanted to be more than good little Blaire who never caused any trouble.”

  “Oh, honey,” Lola said. She reached her bejeweled fingers across the table and clasped Blaire’s hand in both of hers. “It’s perfectly normal to feel that way in a large family. I’ll bet your other siblings have insecurities, too. Have you ever asked them about that?”

  Blaire shook her head. “Not really. I rarely talk to Wren. I see Tessie sometimes. Roman’s cool when he has time to talk, which is seldom. And Zayden is a sweetheart when he’s not out wooing the female population into dropping their panties.”

  A smile hinted on her face. She and Zayden had shared a pretty close bond until his star began to rise.

  Lola blew out a sigh. “Okay. So, let’s get back to Karlos. Did you love him?”

  Blaire’s face grew tight. “Karlos? No! He used me as a pawn in his evil game. He took me around the world on all these exotic adventures but then he took me to his hometown and used me.”

  “Okay, but I don’t get it. You never loved your ex. Karlos took you to glamorous places. Brought you to his home and used you somehow. Did he hurt you?”

  Blaire shook her head and prepared to lie. “Not physically, no.”

  Lola’s eyebrows raised. “Emotional abuse?”

  Again, Blaire shook her head. “Not really.”

  Unless you consider the life of violence, I lived with every day and the threats I lived under if I didn’t do what was asked of me.

  “Honey, what’s the problem? Why does it matter whether you tell Jackson about an unfortunate ex? We all have a few skeletons in our closets. I’m sure your superhero boyfriend has them, too.”

  Lola rested her hands on the table, her many bracelets clattering against the metal surface.

  Blaire’s head shook slowly back and forth. Her attention flew out the window at the waning light, settling over the mountains. The sun cast sharp, vivid lines of color along the rugged mountains.

  She sighed and, turning back to Lola, summoned her courage from some hidden place inside.

  “Jackson is a good man. He leads a good, exemplary life. I was forced into a life of crime with Karlos. If my depraved time with that man ever got back to Jackson, I don’t think he’ll love
me anymore.” She blinked back her tears. “Or, worse…what if he came after Jackson?”

  Chapter 4

  “Wait, wait, wait,” Lola said, holding her palms out in front of her. “What’s the part about you leading a life of crime? I did a standard background check on you before I rented your space in my salon. I didn’t see no fucking felony on your record.”

  Blaire drained her wine and then reached out to refill her and Lola’s glasses. She cringed at the obvious anger in Lola’s voice.

  “I was an accessory,” she said. “Karlos headed a cartel. He lives an extravagant life in Caracas while people around him are dying of poverty, malnutrition, and being shot to death for trying to feed their families. Everyone is forced to live a life of crime there. It’s either steal food or die of starvation.”

  Her stomach hardened into a knot.

  “I’m not sure if I want to know what you did,” Lola said, before sipping her wine. “Did you kill anyone?”

  “Me? No.” Blaire shook her head.

  I only witnessed it.

  “Extort anyone? Harm anyone in any way?”

  Those pesky tears pricked at Blaire’s eyes.

  “I personally did not harm anyone, no,” she said, sidestepping the “did you extort anyone” question.

  But I was a party to violence too many times. And I feared I would be their next victim.

  “Okay.” Lola rolled her lips between her teeth. She tapped her long, brown-painted nails on the metal table. “So, you didn’t commit acts of violence, you didn’t harm anyone directly…don’t say any more while I process this.”

  Blaire stayed silent, swallowing back any admission of guilt.

  The upstairs room still retained its quiet, while downstairs, the noise level increased.

  After a few minutes, Lola said, “And everything happened in Venezuela, you weren’t charged with anything? You weren’t involved in any legal proceedings, right?”

  Blaire sighed. “Right.”

  But my soul is tainted by my actions. And my fear of what Karlos might do to me is off the charts now that I know he’s in Seattle.