A Player for A Princess: Dirty Players Duet #2 (13 page)

“Cal!” Rowan’s voice is in my ear. “I’m glad you called. We’ve received important news.”

“The photo—I have it here,” I say. “She looks… healthy?”

“She’s well…” his voice is haunted, and ice filters in my veins.

“What happened. Tell me!” I shout.

“Open the second photo,” he says.

I slide the cursor over it, although by the thumbnail, it looks like a thermometer. A double-click, and I’m looking at a plastic stick. It’s two-toned pink and white and it has pink lines on it.

“What is this?” My brows pull together.

“Do you have the email message?” My brother asks. “Read it.”

My eyes scan quickly. The subject is Proof of Life. It’s very short, only a few sentences.

D
ear Sirs
:

T
he proof
of life photo you requested is enclosed. Or perhaps we should say proof of
lives
. It seems Miss Wilder is pregnant. Perhaps the possibility of a royal baby will motivate action on our demands.

Your time is running out.

M
y eyes flash
to the photograph of the stick and then again to Zelda. They flash to the two words, and I read them over and over.

Royal baby… royal baby.

I fight back the image of Seth’s tortured body from my mind. I fight to keep my insides from spilling out from where I’ve been figuratively gutted. They win. I can’t take another day of this.

“Give them what they want.” My voice is a whisper. “I won’t sleep until I find her.”

S
elena will be home soon
, and I’m sitting with Ximena on the ground in the shade of the house with several items of clothing I accidentally scrubbed holes in when I “helped” with the wash.

“I never was any good at laundry,” I say, doing my best not to stab myself with the dull needle as I repair a seam I busted open on the scrub board.

Ximena has been working on the same secret project for the last week, and she glances at me with a shy smile. “Laundry?”

“Um…” I look around trying to think of an easy word. “Wash?”

I move my hands in a scrubbing motion and she nods. “Ah. Not good.”

“No,” I shake my head and return to mending the seams I ripped out. “Ava would sort it all then take it all to the laundromat. I just got the money to pay for it.”

She glances up at me and smiles, and I have no idea how much of what I just said she understands. We’re both getting better at communicating. I’m picking up a few of their words, like I know
Abo
means
you
.
Bini
means
come
.
Kome
means
eat
, and I already knew
baño
(
bathroom
) and
beibi
(
baby
).

“Ta ki bo esposo gusta?” Ximena says, and while I’m not sure about the first part, I know
husband
and
good
.

My cheeks flush when I consider the things Cal is very good at, and Ximena starts to laugh.

“He’s masha bon!” she says.

Masha bon.
I think about the words.
Very good.

“Yes,” I nod. “Masha, masha bon.”

My eyes heat, and I miss him so much. I want him to know about our baby. I want him to hold me. I want to leave this place and be his wife and live wherever he wants to live. I want to tell him I’ll never run again or steal or do anything to make his people ashamed of me. I’ll go with him to Monagasco and take up knitting, and I’ll never be a liability to him again.

“No!” Ximena says, scooting forward and holding my arms. “No ta yora!”

I’ve heard her say this to Selena.
Don’t cry.

I blink quickly, doing my best to banish the tears. “I miss him.”

She nods and pauses, looking at the bundle in her lap she’s been working on. I turn back to finish whip stitching the seam of Selena’s uniform skirt. I’m right at the end, and I do the back and forth, then tie the ends of the thread in a knot so it doesn’t unravel on her.

“There,” I say, folding the piece and setting it on the short stack of clothes I ruined. “All done.”

Reaching into my lap, I start to wrap the remaining thread around the almost-empty spool. I need to figure out a way to buy them more thread since I keep destroying all our clothes.

“Here,” Ximena says, standing. “For you.”

My hair is tied up in a little bun on the top of my head, and the loose, flour-sack dress I’ve worn every day for weeks is damp with sweat.

“What is it?” I say, squinting up at her from where I’m sitting on the ground.

She whips from her lap my old denim dress, only it’s completely transformed. She’s added a seam under the breast line to create an empire waist and cut long, skinny slits in intervals through the bodice leading down to the hem. In each of the slits, she’s added a strip of thin, floral cotton material to expand the width and make room for my growing midsection.

“Ximena!” I gasp, covering my face with my hands. “It’s bunita!”
It’s beautiful!

I put my elbows on my bent knees to cover my face. No one has ever done anything like this for me. I never even look for people to do nice things for me. If anyone does a favor, it’s always because they want something in return. In my world everything is tit for tat.

Only, here, this woman who has nothing, who carried me off the dirt road into her home at the cost of a beating and god knows what else, has made this dress for me. Tears stream down my face, and I can’t take my hands away. I’m too overwhelmed. I’m too… grateful.

“Aki, aki,” she says.
Here, here
.

Grasping my arms, she pulls me up gently.

“Off!” she says, motioning for me to remove my dirty dress.

“Let me go inside,” I say. “I’ll put it on inside.”

I motion to the hut, and she smiles, handing me the new dress. For a moment, I only look at it, running my fingers over the perfectly small, neat stitches she made around the new, floral panels.

It’s unique and interesting, and I can’t help thinking of when Reggie took Ava and me to the designer boutiques at Bal Harbor. Ximena is so creative, and she’s an amazing seamstress. She could design clothes…

I’m inside the small house slipping out of my old dress and using it to dry the sweat off my body. She cleaned my denim dress before altering it, and I consider running to the little shower in the bushes to rinse off before I put on my beautiful new dress.

Taking my time, I step into it, pulling it over my tiny pooch. I have to laugh at my silly little stomach. It’s not even a bump. I’ve simply gotten thick in the middle and back, and I look like a sausage. What would Cal say if he saw me now? Would he laugh? Would he touch my stomach in wonder at what we’ve done, like I do? How would his beautiful eyes change if they saw me? Would they darken with desire?

A lump is in my throat as I pull the dress up and tie the halter part around my neck. I can only see the bottom, but I do a little spin. From what I can tell, it looks beautiful! I’m just about to run outside and thank my friend when I hear the sound of a truck pulling into the yard.

I look toward the cloth door, expecting Ximena to run inside like she always does when anyone comes into our little camp. I wait several moments, and she still doesn’t appear. The noise of voices speaking their language is loud in the courtyard, and I hear a shout. I’m stunned, and I run to the curtain. It’s Ximena shouting.

Slinging it aside, I see Mako is in the yard. He’s with two other men I’ve never seen before. They’re driving a truck and in the back three women are crouched together, their chins tucked into their knees as if for protection.

My eyes move fast from them to Mako, and I see he’s grasping Ximena’s arm. She is pulling back, struggling against his hold, and I run to where they’re standing. He speaks sharply. I make out
Selena
, and she instantly stops struggling. Their eyes lock for the beat of a heart and she relents. Her fight is gone, and she starts to go with him.

“NO!” I scream, grasping her arm and pulling hard.

My motions seem to enrage him. Mako shoves my chest, and I stumble backwards.

“Cards!” I scream, holding out my hands. “Cards for Ximena!”

His eyes narrow on me. Stepping forward, he puffs out his chest, and I know he’s trying to intimidate me. “You cheat!” he says.

“NO!” I shout. “Cards for Ximena!”

I’ve got to save her. It’s all I can do, even if he’s right and I am cheating. One of the first tricks Seth taught me was to count cards. Still, I’m cheating a pimp—that makes it okay, right? I don’t care. In my world the answer is
yes
.

Mako looks over his shoulder at his friend and speaks fast in his language. I make out the words
bitch
and
teach her
. Whatever it takes.

Following me back into the house, I go to the drawer where Selena keeps her worn deck. We don’t have much time, and I know I only get one round. I need to let him deal so he doesn’t renege. I shuffle sloppily and pass the cards to him to deal.

Four cards. In front of Mako is a ten of hearts. In front of me is a three of clubs. We have two cards facing down, and I know exactly what to do.

“Keda,” he says.
Stay
.

“Hit me.” He puts a card in front of me. It’s an ace, and he starts to laugh.

“Djesun!” he shouts pointing at it.
Eleven
.

He won’t let me count it as a one because he wants me to bust. I bust and he wins. I nod in agreement. I know what’s coming. He flips his facedown card, and it’s another ten.

“HAHA!” It’s a shout rather than a laugh, and it’s right in my face.

“Warda,” I say softly.
Wait
.

Turning my last card over, it’s a seven of hearts.

Black eyes go wide. He stares at the table several minutes then looks at my hands and back to the card.

His fist flies up, and I brace for him to hit me. It’s going to hurt like hell, and I’ve got to be sure I fall in a way that protects my stomach and my head. I’m not sure I can handle another concussive blow.

Seconds pass. He’s trembling, fist raised, and I’m squinting, ducking with my whole body tense. When another moment passes, I sneak a look at him, and I can see something bigger than me is holding him back. He’s weighing the consequences of hurting me, and ultimately, he backs down. Wade Paxton is one mean motherfucker, and even this peasant pimp knows it.

His eyes are blazing anger, and he throws the metal chair aside. I watch as he storms out of the cubicle into the yard. I hear the shrieks of a woman from another house, and my stomach sinks. I would save them all if I could, but I can’t. I can only save Ximena.

My shoulders droop, and I’m suddenly so tired. I’m still sitting at the table looking at my twenty-one hand when Ximena quietly returns. She doesn’t speak as she goes to the small kitchen area and starts to prepare the vegetables for our meager dinner.

I slowly walk to my cot and lie down. I’m so exhausted from the adrenaline, and lately I’ve simply been tired all the time. I don’t know if I’m getting proper nutrition. I don’t know if the way I feel is normal. I don’t know anything, and I don’t have anyone to ask. I only know I saved my friend.

I look up and I watch as she moves around the little space. I don’t know how long Mako will abide by the rules of our game, but she’s safe for now. Selena is coming home, and the three of us will sit at that little table and eat dinner together. We will be like a little family.

Gathering my strength, I get off the cot and go to the door to wait for Selena. Whenever I see her at the edge of the trees in the afternoon, we always smile and wave to each other until she’s at the house. It has become our ritual, and it gives me comfort to see her safely return.

My stomach knots when I see Mako and the men are still in the courtyard with their truck bed of sacrificial lambs. I don’t want Selena around them. I know she knows what happens to these women—she knows more than I do about everything—but I don’t like Mako near her. It reminds me of our foster father and Ava, and I don’t have a lamp to smash over his head.

I see her at the tree line, and I make the decision to go to her this time when the noise of another truck sounds in the distance. It’s coming fast, the noise growing louder, until it breaks through the trees. It’s the strange Jeep-truck hybrid. It’s Blix. His eyes flash at me, and I know at once no amount of card playing is going to save me.

He’s out of the truck and circling to the back. His jaw is set, and something is different this time. I get the distinct feeling he’s not here to take pictures.

Selena runs out of the trees toward me, but I stop her. “Go to the house!”

She’s confused, and she hesitates too long. Mako is watching us, and that fucker is smart. He’s always known I’m special, and now he’s trying to see if he can get in on whatever the promise of me entails.

Blix is digging in the back of his truck. He has what looks like a large tackle box, and he rifles through yellow rope, a spool of clear nylon fishing line, pliers. Finally he takes out something that looks like a huge garlic press. He turns to face me, and I don’t know why I’m not more afraid. Maybe I think because I’m carrying Cal’s baby they’ll go easier on me? Looking back, I know I was a fool.

Curiosity drives the men from the truck. They know Blix is one of Wade’s men—possibly the worst of Wade’s men—and they want to see what’s about to happen. They’re all speaking fast in Mako’s tongue, quietly under their breath.

Blix’s dead eyes are fixed on me, and he doesn’t say a word. His mouth is set in a straight line, and he doesn’t stop until he’s standing directly in front of me. I think about our first day—I think about every day since I’ve met this man. I’m not a human to him. I’m not even sure I’m an animal. I’m a commodity in a deal he’s helping play out against the man I love.

Blix grabs my forearm and jerks it up. Instinctively, I jerk it back, out of his grip. His dead eyes flash, and he rears back so quickly, I don’t have time to duck.

Light explodes behind my eyes with the force of his fist, and next thing I know, I’m on my hands and knees on the ground. The screams of Ximena and Selena from behind the curtain fill my ears, and I cringe back from the pain in my head.

“Oh, God!” I whisper a real prayer. I’m on my hands and knees, clutching my arms over my head. “Help us.”

Tears are in my eyes, and Blix’s boots appear before them. He’s standing in front of me, and he jerks my hand off my head. I’m handicapped by my injury. I can’t fight him. I can barely register what’s going on.

I close my eyes and again, I pray.
Please help me. Please don’t let them suffer for me again.
The words are in my mind as I slowly lift my head. My eyes open and then go wide with horror.

Blix has the garlic press in his hand, and I just register the touch of metal against my skin when SNAP! He clamps the metal pinchers shut and the end of my ring finger falls to the ground.

Silence fills my ears half a second before pain shoots through my hand.

I scream. I can’t stop screaming.

I look at the dead little digit. It’s like something out of a haunted house lying on the ground. Blood is pouring down my arm, and I can’t stop screaming. I’m staring at it from somewhere far away, somewhere filled with blood and pain, and the noise of my screams.

The men run back in the direction of the truck, and Blix jerks my hand up, wrapping it tightly in some kind of white material and applying pressure. It hurts a million times worse, and I scream until my throat burns fire and my voice gives out. Pain resonates in my hand and arm, and I’m trembling and whimpering when he finally pushes me back, satisfied I won’t bleed to death.