Poker Face (The Masks Series Book 4) (20 page)

Caitlyn

With only thirty minutes, the bath was flagged. Instead, Monique stripped off my tattered fishnet stockings and hot pants, washing off my slutty-looking makeup and bringing me back to myself. I gazed at my undressed face in the mirror, missing the girl I once was, that carefree Caitlyn who lay on the beach with Stella and her friends, soaking up the sun without a care in the world.

I wanted to hate that homeless man for what he did to me.

But then I couldn’t.

Running my thumb over the pads of my fingers, I thought back to everything that had happened to me since that electric spark. My new eyes had saved me from losing it to Chase, they’d helped me save Indie and shown me what true friendship looked like. They helped me save those girls...and they’d brought me and Eric together. For that reason alone, I could never hate this curse, but was that enough for me to keep it?

“Here you go.” Monique’s gentle voice pulled me away from my reminiscing. I stood as she approached me, taking the fitted pants from her and sliding them on. She held out the pale pink pinstriped shirt and I slipped my arms into it, buttoning it to the top before tucking it in. Monique smiled and undid the top two buttons before threading a thin, shiny black belt through the pant loops and doing up the gold buckle. The classy-looking outfit was finished off with a pair of glossy black heels. I took the shoes from her and sat down to put them on, my fingers still quivering. Would I ever stop shaking?

Monique brushed out my hair, looking at me in the mirror. Her soft, calm face did ease my frazzled nerves a little. Her smooth actions tugged at me, forcing my shoulders to relax just a little.

“It will be okay,” she kept saying.

I gazed at her reflection. I was guessing those four little words were her mantra. I could imagine her muttering them to herself over and over again when things got bad.

Closing my eyes, I tried to think of a mantra of my own, something that could get me through this hell. I wouldn’t accept. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t buy into this life and be okay with it!

I wouldn’t let people use me this way.

My shoulders slumped.

Who was I kidding? I always let people use me.

Kaplan.

I’d played right into her hands, let her chip away at my soft, compassionate side and then let her blackmail me when it all got too much. And what had she done? Cut me loose. Left me to suffer while she no doubt stole the glory for finding those girls.

I’d
found them and I didn’t need any glory, but I most definitely didn’t deserve this.

I didn’t get angry easily. I was used to burying it, not wanting to upset anybody...always trying to please, and look where it got me.

My lips pinched into a thin line.

I’d lost everything because I couldn’t stand up to Kaplan and just say no.

But then I wouldn’t have found those girls...

My face crumpled. This agonizing dichotomy was cruel. Of course I'd wanted those young girls safely home with their parents, but I never asked to be stolen.

The door swung open. Monique and I glanced at the entranceway. Santiago stood there in a charcoal suit, his blue shirt and thin tie making him look quite the charmer.

I made a face and turned away from him.

“I said thirty minutes, and her makeup isn’t even on yet.”

“Sorry.” Monique rushed around me, fumbling with the makeup bag on the table.

“Don’t worry, Monique. He’s not going to hurt you.”

She stilled, looking at me with wide eyes.

“You remind him of his baby sister. This keeps you safe.” I touched her arm, forcing a smile.

Her round eyes went from me to Santiago and then back to the makeup kit, her cheeks turning pink. I looked across to Santiago who was giving me a dry glare.

I put on a plastic, cheesy grin just to piss him off. I didn’t know why I was being so ballsy. So the guy threatened to make me suffer. I was suffering! And it wasn’t like I was being disobedient by telling her the truth. He wanted my eyes? Well, he got them.

“Glaring at me won’t change the truth,” I muttered. I was about to turn back so Monique could start on my face, but a flash of movement caught my eye and the fear I’d been holding at bay rocketed through my body.

Bruno.

He appeared behind his uncle, his anger clear for all to see.

“Hey! She was supposed to be waiting for me in my room.”

Santiago spun to face him. “And you were supposed to be finishing the job I sent you to do, not leaving it for the others. I made you responsible because I wanted the job done properly. You can have her when I know they’re dead.”

“You know Sal is capable of doing it without me. You’re just holding her back, punishing me!”

“I’m not punishing you,” Santiago muttered.

“I have been patient, Uncle. I have respected you and you said last night that I could have her.”

Santiago rolled his eyes, rubbing his thumb and finger down his lower lip and looking over at me. “All right,” he grunted.

My stomach jerked and I clutched the seat beneath me.

“You have one hour, but no bruising. Get it out of your system and then you can play with her properly tonight. I need her seeing straight for this meeting.”

“I’ll be a wreck for this meeting if you let him have me now.”

“He’s not going to hurt you.”

“Are you kidding me!” I shot from my chair. “Look at his face. Your nephew is a total sadist! You know he’s going to hurt me! If you want me straight for this meeting you’ll make him wait!”

Santiago hesitated, nibbling his lip beneath his mask.

Yes! Thank God! I’d just bought myself one more day.

“Uncle! No! One hour, you just said.”

“You know I’m right. He will be forcing himself on me and that will have an impact. Think about it. I’m not some hooker. I’ve only ever slept with one man and this will destroy me!” I pointed at Bruno. “He’s crueler than you think.”

Santiago’s eyes flicked to his nephew. “Tonight,” he mumbled.

“No!” Bruno punched the air, seething at me before storming from the room.

“Be warned, Carlotta: the madder you make him, the worse it will be.” Santiago’s quiet voice made my legs buckle.

Although I could read him, Santiago was still a hard man to figure out. He could go from demon to father figure in one conversation. The man had so many layers and unpredictable mood changes it was hard to get a handle on him.

I threw his mask back on and saw the calm, wooden facade that was easier to live with.

“So.” I sighed. “What do you need me to do at this meeting?”

The corner of his mouth twitched with a smile and he slid his hands into his pockets, about to answer me, when the elevator pinged open. The awkward thud made us all spin and had Santiago lurching through the doorway.

“What happened?” he yelled.

“They’re dead,” croaked a voice.

“Gabriel.” Monique dropped the foundation in her hand and scampered out the door. I followed her, pausing in the doorway to watch her fall to her knees beside Gabriel's weak body. Blood had turned his crisp white shirt red; his skin was grey. Death was written all over him.

I covered my mouth, blinking at tears. Monique touched his forehead and checked the pulse at his neck.

“Call an ambulance, please.” She looked to Santiago.

His smile was soft, but beneath his mask was a hard, unrelenting glare. “Tell me what happened.”

Gabriel slowly licked the edge of his mouth. “After we spoke to you, I went to dig...helicopter.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know for sure...guns, killed Sal.”

“Who do you think it was?”

Gabriel’s eyes closed, his breathing shallow.

“Gabriel!” Santiago growled, slapping his shoulder. “Who!”

“Marchant...Marchant’s men.”

“
Bastardos
!” Bruno stood at the edge of the room, his face molten. “They steal from us! Why!”

Gabriel’s head shook, his movements slow and lucid.

Santiago’s eyes shot to me. “Why?”

I swallowed.

“Why would Marchant want your boyfriend?”

“Because...because of his father.” I licked my lips, hating the way Santiago was walking towards me. Like a black panther, stalking his prey. “I—He, Declan Shore, conned Marchant a long time ago and he wants revenge. He shouldn’t even know that Declan’s still alive, but he found out about Eric...somehow.” I sputtered over my words, pieces fitting together as I spoke. How had Marchant found out? Was it at the club? Had he seen Eric and known...or had Kaplan posted that damn envelope!

“Let me try to understand this. Lucian Marchant killed my men so that he could have the personal pleasure of killing yours?”

I nodded.

“
Mierda! Voy a matarlo!
” Santiago thumped the table and pointed at Bruno. “Get the men together and make sure they’re armed. Nobody takes a life without my permission. We’re going to pay Lucian Marchant a visit.”

Bruno speared me with a black look as he left the room while Santiago took off out the other doorway. The room fell into sudden, peaceful silence; the only thing to puncture it was the quiet sobs of Monique. She lifted Gabriel’s head onto her lap.

“
Mi amor.
” She kissed his forehead, running her hand down his cheek and gazing at him. Her face was the same with or without the mask, a loving glow that made me think of the sun.

“
Se va a estar bien,
” he whispered, shakily tucking a lock of dark hair behind her ear.

“It will be okay,” she murmured with a smile, obviously repeating his words.

So that’s why she said it so much.

“Please don’t leave me.” She sucked in a breath. “Please stay with me.”

“No matter where I go, I will be there, waiting for you.”

She sniffed, tears breaking free and trickling down her smooth cheeks.

“But you must promise not to hurry,
mi kariña
. You will be free one day and you must live...for me.”

“I can’t live without you.” She pressed her forehead against his. “I can’t.”

“You will,” he whispered back.

Pressing my back against the wall, I slid to my butt, wrapping my arms around my knees. My belly trembled and I couldn’t hold back the tears as I watched the couple say goodbye.

They’d found hope in the darkest place...and now it was dying.

Is that what hope did?

Taunt you and then vanish?

I had no words of comfort for Monique. I could think of nothing to say that would make this better.

There was no hope right now.

Only death.

Eric

Marchant creeped me out. I mean, I thought Santiago and Bruno were bad guys, but this French mafia whack job took sinister to a whole new level. After looking at me with those black eyes of his and telling Dad he’d sentenced me to death, he burst into a merry laughter that was maniacal. We were then dragged into the kind of rooms you saw on shows like CSI. It was a dank, concrete cavern full of rickety scaffolding with white sheets of plastic dangling off them. I assumed we were beneath the club. It was like an abandoned warehouse type space with thick chains hanging from the ceiling and large metal beams stretching the length of the room. Dripping water echoed off the concrete and I expected to see plastic-wrapped corpses littering the floor.

They plonked me into a chair and snapped off the plastic ties that had held my wrists together for the flight. My arms were then snatched behind my back and re-secured with new ties. They cut into my wrists, biting at the skin and making it impossible to move. I looked to Dad, hoping for some kind of calm reassurance, but his lethal gaze was directed straight at Marchant.

“Let him go. You don’t need him. You’ve got me.”

“I do have you.” Marchant grinned. “And you will get your turn, but you see, Declan, you humiliated me...and that is not okay. You must pay the price for your deception.”

Walking over to me, he laid his hand on my shoulder. I jerked out of his grasp, but he tightened his grip, making it impossible to squirm.

“My guess is...” He cleared his throat. “That this young man here means very much to you. We found the money trail. You wanted to look after them.”

Dad’s jaw clenched tight.

“Which tells me that you love your family.”

Marchant’s head tipped to the side, waiting for an answer. Dad’s lips remained locked together.

Letting out an impatient sigh, Marchant flicked his head at the man behind me. I was hauled to my feet and dragged towards a plastic-lined tank in the middle of the room. Instinct made me jerk and fight, but two beefy guys had me locked in place and I was powerless. Stopping at the side of the murky-looking water, they pressed my body against it.

I knew what was coming. Breathing slowly in through my nose, I closed my eyes and prepped. I knew the sensation of drowning was an awful one; I’d had tastes of it out in the ocean and the best way to survive was not to panic.

“You know who I loved, Declan?” Marchant asked.

Dad caught my gaze, fear ripping through his expression before he managed to stop it.

Marchant grinned. “I loved my wife and you forced me to kill her. I couldn’t be married to a cheater, so I had to fake her suicide.” He clicked his tongue. “It broke my heart. It really did. So I feel it is only fair that if you take a loved one from me, then I get to take one from you.”

One nod from him and I was plunged into the water.

It was freezing and impossible not to fight against the hands on my shoulders, forcing me under. I tried to control my body, to stay calm, but my lungs began to burn and I was hit with the realization that this might be it. My instinct clawed against the idea, scraping and jerking as my body fought to stay alive.

“Enough!” The yell was muffled and murky beneath the water, but its passionate volume and tone told me it was Dad.

The hands holding me down bunched into my shirt, pulling me free. I gulped in lungfuls of air, sweet relief against the burning pain, but it only lasted a moment before I was plunged back into the icy fray.

By the third time I was hauled out of the water, I was too weak to stand on my own. My body was shaking and I couldn’t cough the water out of my lungs fast enough. I convulsed and hacked against the side of the pool while Marchant laughed as if he was attending a stand-up comedy gala.

“Marchant, we get it!” Dad yelled. “Yes, I love my son. You got me! Now let him go. I’ll do whatever you need me to, just...please, let him go.”

I’d never seen my dad crack before. Even when he picked me up with his black eye and split lip, even when he tried to apologize for letting me down once again, he never broke. He always kept it together, kept those emotions of his well in check. But the look on his face just then, it was open...a raw wound that made his expression crease and crinkle.

“You do not understand my purpose here.” Marchant shook his head. “I’m not doing this to try and get something from you. I just want you to suffer.”

“Then let me suffer! Take me! Dunk me! Drown me! Kill me! Whatever! Just give him a break!” Dad squeezed his eyes shut, knowing he’d played right into Marchant’s hands.

He should have kept his poker face in play. He should have stayed his nonplussed, unruffled self, because then Marchant may have gotten bored with the game, but Dad couldn’t shut up, because watching me suffer was killing him.

Rough hands hauled me up, forcing me back into the water and this time I didn’t struggle.

Dad loved me.

For the first time in my life, I could actually see it plain as day and feel it down to my very core.

My father had just offered to die...for me.

Which made his disappearance from my life plausible, believable...forgivable.