Spiders in the Grove (In the Company of Killers #7)(28)

And then she just stops.

I open my eyes and look down into hers.

She smiles.

“That wasn’t the deal,” she whispers, brushing her lips against mine. “I told you my dark secret, and now I want to know yours.”

“Tell me how you feel about me, Cesara,” I say, kiss her lightly. “You never had to tell me any dark secrets to get me to open up to you. All you had to do was tell me how you feel.”

With her arms wrapped around me, she plants kisses between my breasts. “I care for you, Lydia. I’ve never cared for someone like this. I feel like I can tell you anything, be anybody, and…”

“And what? Tell me?” I kiss the top of her head.

“I feel like we could go anywhere together, kill anyone who gets in our way—imagine the things we could do, Lydia.”

My hips stop moving; I hold her face in my hands and peer into her eyes, searching them. “You want to leave this place, don’t you?” I ask, knowing. “You’re tired of being Joaquin’s cum rag; you’re tired of the filth, and the hungry eyes of the men following you everywhere you go—tired of them gang-raping you, and you can’t do anything about it because Joaquin will kill you for killing his men.”

There’s nothing carnal in Cesara’s face anymore; her eyes are filled with darkness, the kind of darkness that breeds people like me.

I lean in closer, still holding her face in my hands, still searching her eyes. “You’re tired of being someone’s property,” I continue, knowing I have her in the palm of my hands, literally and figuratively, “tired of living in a man’s world”—I touch my lips to hers; my fingers put light pressure on her cheeks in emphasis—“I am too, Cesara; I’m so fucking tired of following in the shadows of men. And…I will follow you anywhere, kill anyone who stands in our way, or who tries to stop us”—I kiss her again, and my mouth lingers on hers—“all you have to do is say the word.”

After a passionate kiss, Cesara looks into my eyes as a different woman with a newfound trust—she’s finally who I wanted her to be since I met her, and I know now I can get her to tell me almost anything, without the fear of her becoming suspicious. Because she’s falling in love with me, and love is the only force in the world that can blind a person to even the most obvious truths.

“How did you know?” she says. “About the guards?”

“I see it when they look at you,” I tell her, stroking her hair away from her face. “They’re not afraid of you; they look like men who know they’re the ones in control, and are just biding their time, waiting for the right moment. How long have they been doing this to you?”

“For as long as I’ve been here,” she says, solemnly. “Since Javier gave me to Joaquin—they never dared touch me when Javier was alive.”

“They will pay,” I promise, peering deeply into her tortured face. “We will be the ones biding our time, waiting in the shadows for the right moment; and before we leave this place, together”—I tighten my hands against her cheeks—“we will kill every last one of them.”

“Yes,” she whispers. “Yes…” I see that darkness in her eyes dancing to the rhythm of a whole new future, one of vengeance and love and desire and danger. “Yesss—together we can turn a man’s world into rubble; we can walk across the bones of men; we can bathe in the blood of our oppressors—together, Lydia, we can do anything.”

“Yes. We can.” I smile down at her. “It is our destiny.”

“Didn’t you ever wonder,” she says a moment later, “why the guards never bothered you?”

“A little,” I answer. “But I figured you had something to do with it.”

She nods. “When you first came here,” she begins, “they knew better than to touch you because they never touch the merchandise. But later, when you started working under me, I told them that Joaquin had his eye on you—technically that wasn’t a lie—and that if any of them ever touched you, they would pay with their heads.”

“You’ve been protecting me.”

“Yes. And I’ll keep protecting you. For as long as you’ll let me. But I need to ask you something.”

“You can ask me anything,” I tell her right away, though it makes me nervous.

“That girl, Uma, who you came here with”—(Finally! I can find out something about Naeva, and without having to bring her up myself!)—"I just need to know: was she special to you? Be honest. I know an attachment when I see one.”

Ah, Cesara’s jealous; she’s worried my heart is with someone else.

“Uma and I formed a small bond on the way here—technically, she was the one doing all the bonding; I just went along for the ride.” I brush the pad of my thumb along her jawline. “But no, she wasn’t special to me. And I don’t care what happens to her. Why do you ask?” Translation: Please tell me everything you know about what’s happened to her.

“I just wanted to make sure your loyalties didn’t lie with another woman,” Cesara says. “The way she took up for you that day—I just had to be sure. But I believe you; I can see it in your eyes, that you’re telling me the truth.”