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I swim toward them and climb out, trying to hide my discomfort. I must have been in here for six hours at least, if not longer. As a result, my back is on fire, and I suspect that given the abundance of germs floating in this pool from the various women who play in it, I will probably get a nasty infection.
I’m not regretful, though. Thwarting Jaguar’s latest mind game was well worth the risk, though I can’t stifle a wince as I stand and accept the robe the woman hands me. It’s short, made of pink silk, and reeks of perfume. I assume it belongs to one of the harem, but I tie it together over my front. From this angle, it’s clear that an unusual number of men have positioned themselves in various spaces of the courtyard, averting their gaze as Jaguar places his hand on my lower back.
Possession radiates from his touch. It seems he is no longer in the mood to share me, at least. “Be quick,” he warns, urging me toward the house.
I follow the woman inside and through a winding series of hallways. On the second floor, on the other side of the house from Jaguar’s suite, is a large room with a four-poster bed, littered with stray bits of clothing.
“Is this your room?” I ask the woman.
“No. We usually just take our pick,” the woman says quietly. “We don’t own any of this. None of us do. But he requested you wear this…” She guides me into the closet and fishes a red dress from a hanger.
It’s gorgeous but far more risqué than anything Pedro would suggest I wear. In essence, it’s merely a long strip of scarlet silk designed to wrap around my neck to cover my breasts and ties around my waist to form a barely-there skirt.
The woman then shows me into a large bathroom and uses a blow-dryer on my hair to make it stick straight before applying heavy makeup.
The result is that I look nothing like myself. I resemble the caricature of Tiena that Braulio would parade around. She dressed like this. Did her makeup like this. Jaguar, it seems, has done his homework.
“You’re to see the doctor next,” the blond says. She leads me downstairs and into what looks like a makeshift clinic. There is a row of counters, an industrial-style sink, and an examination table.
There a woman gives me a once over. She’s beautiful in her own right, at least in her mid-forties, with her blond hair in a loose bun and a white lab coat draped over her modest sweater and jeans. She could be the usual clinician I’ve dealt with all my life if it weren’t for the fact that she’s washing her hands in a sink splattered with what looks like fresh blood. Drying on a countertop nearby is an array of knives and sharp instruments that don’t seem like the usual doctor’s toolkit.
Were they used on Niles, perhaps? It seems Jaguar doesn’t feed all his enemies to his kitty.
Spotting me, the woman sighs and dries her hands on a towel. “Come in. He wants you on birth control if you aren’t already,” she says without even introducing herself. As suspected, my back was the least of Jaguar’s concerns.
“I have an implant,” I tell the woman, raising my arm.
She frowns and looks across the room toward a desk piled with various documents. “Interesting. That wasn’t in your medical file.”
Tiena’s medical file, because, of course, Jaguar managed to procure it. Curiosity itches. I wonder about all the medical procedures she hid from me. Any scars she obscured that would betray in a heartbeat I’m not really her.
Like herlaissez-faireattitude when it came to contraception. Franco was only one of four pregnancies I know of. He just happened to be conceived when she was desperate to secure Braulio’s affections—the most powerful man she’d snagged by that point. I knew she wasn’t eager to have more children with him, but if she could move onto a man like Jaguar? She’d get pregnant in a heartbeat. The thought chills me to the core.
“I learned that a smart woman has her secrets,” I say to the doctor, who is still watching me, waiting for a response.
She scoffs. “Not anymore, you don’t. Write down what you remember, and I’ll verify the dosage. Jaguar prefers oral contraceptives that I can monitor, but this should suffice. Now lie down on your stomach so I can treat those wounds. You’re courting danger, leaving them exposed like that. The narcos are vicious, but so is a blood infection. I’ve seen Gatita’s handiwork turn nasty before. Only God knows what kind of microbes are on that animal’s claws.”
After making me swallow a pill she claimed was an antibiotic, she cleans my wounds, but opts to leave them uncovered. I suspect the choice wasn’t hers, but Jaguar’s. He wants to display his twisted masterpiece.
As I redress, I sense the doctor come up behind me, her breath hot on my neck. Assuming she wants to inspect my wounds, I don’t react. Not until she snatches my wrist in a punishing grip. “Who are you?”
Alarm prickles my spine at the hostility in her tone. “T-Tiena Sanchez,” I say, turning to face her.
“No. You aren’t.” She steps back, her gaze cold. “I may not be well versed in the crime syndicate, but I know my way around a human body. You may look like the woman he says you are, but according to her file, she had a C-section six years ago. No plastic surgeon is good enough to hide that kind of scarring.”
Shit.I hate that cliché line—I saw my life flash before my eyes.When Diego beat me within an inch of my life, I never saw anything but blood and darkness. No charming memories. No glimpse of what might have been.
But for the first time, I understand that phrase intimately. I see a fleeting snippet of the future I could have had with Francisco. Then, I see the horror awaiting me in Gatita’s cage, once again at Jaguar’s mercy.
Not that I’ll submit to him weakly this time. Hell no. I won’t go down without a fight.
“Easy,” the doctor says with a shrug. “I don’t give a fuck what your name is. What I do care about, however, is that I can do my job. Get me your real file. Do that, and you can call yourself the queen of England as long as I know exactly who I’m dealing with. I won’t have an issue with a medication error because some bitch wants to stay under the radar. Jaguar knows that I’m not his game warden.”
Something in her tone makes me suspect that this isn’t the first time she’s dealt with women hiding their true identities. Though, I’m sure that plenty of frightened souls hop from narco to narco, desperate for a safe place to stay.
“I will,” I say hoarsely.
“Good.” She brushes me off with a dismissive wave. “Now run along.”
