A.N. Could've been better, I'm sorry…
Thank God for the tracker on the truck.
In darkness she sped to the coordinates Jonathan sent to her phone. The moon and her headlights the only thing illuminating the way. After fifteen minutes, she spotted Oleg's pickup truck sitting idle in the middle of the desert with the headlights still on, casting a yellowish glow on dry, cracked ground.
'Oleg.'
Her truck slowed, rolling with dwindling momentum as a morbid thought tormented her—
She shook it off and snapped out of her trance, flooring the gas pedal once again. Beside his truck she slammed on the brake, the tires locking and the truck jerking to a sudden stop. She threw open her door, hopped out, and hurried to Oleg's truck.
She opened his door and stood, looking in with a turmoiled gaze, herself frozen at the sight of him unmoving in the driver's seat. It churned her gut.
His arm hung limp over the side of the seat; he looked like some of the dead bodies she'd encountered on the drug routes outside Culiacán. In the dark she couldn't tell if he was breathing. She stepped up to the truck's cabin, grabbing the roof handle inside for stability as she balanced on the step outside the door; the truck's grumbling idle vibrating through her foot and up her leg.
"Oleg." She shook him and stepped further into the cabin, her knee knocking into the bottle between his legs where she rested partially on the seat. "Oleg." She grabbed his chin but his head slumped in the direction of her pull.
"Oleg, wake up", she ordered.
The truck hummed around them, and her brow furrowed when he failed to respond. She pulled the bottle from between his legs. Seeing not a drop left, she tossed the bottle to the passenger seat where its clatter against metal drew her quick gaze. She froze, eyeing the weapon with a fleeting concern. 'He wouldn't.' In certainty, she gave that unrealistic thought no further power and looked back to him.
Her grasp tightened around his open coat collar where she tugged once. "Oleg."
"...Tesa—"
"I'm here." She said, touching his cheek once more.
Her name slurred from his lips again, but it was enough confirmation to soothe and relieve her biggest fear.
A few stray tears dripped to his shirt, but he wouldn't see them. She wiped them from her face and kissed the top of his head, her lips lingering an extra moment.
She searched the side of his seat and pulled the lever to let the seat down, then climbed inside the truck fully and closed the door. She wedged her arm between the seat and his back and lay with him, pulling his limp arm over her.
Her ear to his chest, she listened to every slow beat of his heart.
He woke to weight on his chest and hair in his face. Like a light flickering through thick fog, his brain responded slow. Paralyzed against the weight, he lay motionless, then felt his hand curling around cloth and solid warmth.
He brushed the hair from his face and sat up, but stopped less than halfway, his eyes widening as they met his company, that mysterious weight compressing his chest. 'Tesa?'
She lay with him—on him. He could hardly form words at the sight of her and glanced out the truck windows. Dawn broke beyond the horizon and beside his truck sat the other, its keys still clutched in the hand on his chest. He focused on her, stroking back her dark hair, and holding her tighter as strength returned to his grasp. "Teresa." He said soft.
She stirred, her gaze thick with sleep, but she smirked a little when their eyes met.
"What are you doing here?"
"Looking out for you, cabrón." She rasped and gave him a small grin.
"Why?"
She laid against him but stayed quiet at the question, her cheek to his chest. "You can't run away from me, Oleg." She said, more serious than ever. The words coming with a hint of a warning.
His gaze fixed out the windshield, to fading stars in a brightening sky as he silently followed the rhythm of her breaths, consoling her with a gentle caress along her arm. A caress not to dispel her worries but her anger. She shifted against him, her leg between his as her hips turned into his.
She sat up and touched his face. A storm brewed in her eyes, but within it, new intent. She leaned down and he turned away, her kiss pressing to his cheek.
What was she doing? They were already close. And now this? Where was the sudden change coming from? Just last night she was all over Landero. Oleg's brow tensed as the image of her and Landero resurfaced in his mind. Teresa wanted everything her way, and she got it. No one said no to her. A "no" brought silence and thick dread to a room, as her gaze bored through her opponent, and her brown eyes turned black.
The Narco Trafficante. The prisoner in the mugshot with a look of death in her eyes. That's who everyone feared. No one wanted to make that person angry.
Like a Siren, her beauty attracted, but someone more sinister lurked deep within. She took hearts, broke them, and left. Teresa Mendoza attached herself to no one. She moved through her feelings quickly, then buried them deep; her lovers pawns in a game.
She put him through trials others didn't face. That was the cost of being close to her for so many years. He knew her heart and soul, learned a lot playing her sidekick. He watched her interactions with others, mostly in silence, studying her to answer questions that tortured him:
Why did he love her? What drew him to this woman who struggled to acknowledge her own pain? Whose tears came from hollowing eyes.
She needed him, more specifically, the innocent woman held hostage by the narco trafficante needed him. She was forced into this life after all, the day fate led her to Güero. The way she was abused in the past, used by those around her for their selfish pleasure and gain. It never got easier to listen to her tell those stories, and she rarely did, only daring to bring up the past in their confiding moments.
He wanted her to know what love meant. He wanted to hold her in his arms. He wanted her to be his. But she toyed with him, kept him on a leash, yanking him back only when he drifted away.
Oleg took her shoulders and pushed space between them. What she was doing only tortured him. She kissed him but didn't mean it. She used him, abused his love and loyalty, only to turn around and choose others. He was never enough for her.
"Landero isn't what you are to me." Her lips grazed his ear and at her words he froze; her hand slipping into his jacket as a long pause silenced the air.
"What are you doing Tesa?" He asked with a stern look.
"Do you love me, Oleg?" She said soft, but interrogatingly.
His mind ran in circles at the word "love" coming from her lips. He'd never told her how he felt, but she spoke like she knew something. Although, this didn't mean she loved him too. No, of course not. Her brief denial of Landero wasn't an admittance of her love. It was another moment where she gave him just enough of what he wanted to hear. But at least he had her in his arms, for now. This he'd enjoy while he could. Or, until the sun baked the inside of the car and forced them to part.
"Where's Teresa?" Landero sat at the table with a plate of food and Jonathan shrugged.
They stepped into the house, haggard with dark circles under their eyes as the morning sun shone in their wake. From the table Jonathan and Landero looked over, both double-taking at the sight. No one said anything, but Landero's brow tensed over his narrowing gaze.
"Wow…some queen." With a scoff, Landero looked to his plate; Jonathan's eyes wide at Landero's bold words. "From one man to the next."
Jonathan's brow shot to a furrow. "Hey—"
Before Teresa could blink, Oleg lunged at Landero and Landero pushed from the table quick, standing with his chin high and chest out, a bite of food held hostage in his cheek.
"What are you going to do Ruso?" Landero smirked at the mobster an arm's length away from him. "Last I checked, you'd gotten a little soft."
Oleg's fist cracked across his cheek fast and a scrap of food flew out of Landero's mouth, landing in a splat on the floor.
"Oleg!" Teresa stepped forward but stopped as the two men fought it out. Landero shoved Oleg back, knocking the Russian off-balance, but Oleg quickly regained his footing and launched another punch, just missing Landero's nose. Landero was fast, and Oleg was out of practice, betting on his aggression to win the fight. Landero was right, he'd softened around the edges; his gut rounder where it was once tight and firm. Teresa liked to poke him in the stomach in passing. She smiled but he knew it was time to make a change.
He was once feared for a reason, and she always respected that. Perhaps that's why she kept him around, because she knew his worth as an ally.
Landero threw a staggering punch to Oleg's side and Oleg slammed into the table.
"I don't know what you see in this drunken Russian, Teresa."
Oleg ripped a fork off the table and launched at Landero with a growl, seeing nothing but red—
"Hey! Oleg, No!"
Landero's back slammed into the closest wall, his hands at Oleg's wrist, fighting against the Russian's strength as the fork's sharp points neared his neck. Oleg's lip curled in contempt as his palm pushed against the underside of Landero's jaw, forcing Landero's chin up with considerable struggle as Landero fought his strength with everything he had.
"Stop it!" Teresa pushed but Jonathan stepped in front of her as the two struggled with gritted teeth, the fork's tips scraping Landero's neck. Oleg shoved Landero's head into the wall to break Landero's hold and gain the upper hand; the fork pressing to Landero's neck, finally drawing blood.
"Oleg!" Teresa stepped around Jonathan and grabbed Oleg's arm with a strong pull. "Stop."
At her touch Oleg tugged away once but she grabbed him again and his hand loosened around the fork, his chest still heaving. He couldn't risk his rage hurting her too.
She pulled him away from Landero. The fork clattered to the tile and Oleg eyed Landero with a dangerous look.
"Come on." Teresa's hand squeezed his arm and he followed her pull but ripped from her grasp a moment later, walking faster, hoping to put distance between them, and escape the image of Teresa naked in Landero's arms. That thought boiled his blood and left his skin hot beneath his shirt.
He stormed to his room, rammed open the door, it banging into the wall so hard it left a hole where the metal knob hit the dry wall. Pressure muddled his ears, and his blood burned as it raced through his veins. He felt like he was on fire. He pulled off his jacket quick and chucked it to the chair behind his workbench; An M16 in pieces on the bench's top, laid out precisely for cleaning. He'd been working on it just before he went to Teresa's room to talk and found her with him.
"Oleg, calm down." She ordered him in the soft, stern manner that always made him obey.
But how could she expect him to be calm, when all he saw was the woman he loved in another man's arms? He'd never share her with Landero. If that's what she wanted, it was time for him to leave. Seeing them together was torturous. But, he promised her…that where she went, he went.
Their friendship was enough to keep him tethered to her. They knew each others' souls. If she needed him he couldn't say no.
Her touch warmed his arm. For a second he wanted to pull away. It was too much. It tempted him with what he couldn't have. He wanted her to look at him like she did Landero, but she stepped in front of him, eyeing him with that dark, serious stare. There was no hope for him in her cold gaze.
"Oleg." She said as she held him still.
He looked away but she turned his face back to her. Her hand rested on his chest and his brow furrowed. She knew exactly how to manipulate him. She went to speak but stopped short and let him go as she turned around, his gaze following her to the bedroom door.
She closed it and moved back to him; himself trying to read the situation as the air thickened.
"I don't want to talk about him." Oleg said, calming from that rush of adrenaline.
She sized him, her gaze lingering for just a second below his belt. "I don't either." She stopped in front of him again, but this time took the hem of his shirt. "But, you can't kill him. We need him."
"Don't tell me sleeping with him was all part of your plan to win his loyalty."
She met his gaze and Oleg quieted. It wasn't. He saw the truth in her eyes.
She looked down. "Do you hate him that much?"
"…I hate any man that touches you."
She smirked a little. He knew his words were a touch too melodramatic for her taste. Her hand slipped under his shirt and his heart thumped, but she felt over his stomach as though she were searching for something. Her fingers stopped at the small pit in his right side. A healed scar from the bullet he took for her.
She still felt guilty about leaving him, he could tell by her sullen demeanor as she closed the gap between them and set her forehead to his chest.
"Tesa." He said soft, suddenly sympathetic, trying to ignore the rush of warmth in his chest at the palm of her hand on his skin. It was a direct connection to her.
"You've always had my back."
"I will always support you. No matter what." He said and set his hands gently on her shoulders. "I mean that."
She said nothing in response. Her touch travelled down and her fingers curled into his waistband.
What was this?
He felt her where he'd never felt her touch before. She was giving him the opportunity he longed for but he couldn't take it. No longer did her touch make his stomach flip and his heart race like it did with a lust-filled crush. He knew her too well, respected her, felt her want but also her dread. She didn't want to ruin their friendship.
He grabbed her wrist and stepped away.
"No." He said and sat at the foot of the bed, pulling a flask from his pants' pocket. "Not like this." He unscrewed the cap and knocked back a swig. The burn against his already raw throat was relief from her. He hunched; the flask between his legs, hanging from a loose grasp.
She moved in front of him and took the flask, screwing on the cap then tossing it to the chair with his jacket. And she came close, so close he turned his face away. Her hand touched his shoulder, but this time the friendly gesture of solidarity meant much more.
"Tesa…" His tone warned her not to tempt him but she took his face and lifted his gaze to her, closing the gap between them, her lips to his as she pushed into him slow and gradual, using her weight to conquer the moment. He almost fell back, just like she wanted, but he caught himself with a hand, his other hooked around her thigh.
This was too much, too fast.
She tasted like an afterthought of sleep and a hint of Tequila. He gave in when her kiss intensified, lying down, taking her waist when she climbed over him. Between them their kisses were always friendly and sweet, chaste with a hint of passion. This was another level, beyond the boundaries of that friendship.
Her fingers curled around his belt, and she tugged it apart. Blood rushed to his groin, and he put a hand over the growing bulge, keeping it from rubbing against her. But it didn't help as the front of her thigh pushed into him.
This wasn't right. They were tired, acting without thinking. In his mind spite still lingered for Landero. Teresa was his. He knew her best. He sensed her feelings and thoughts. But this time, he couldn't tell what drove her sudden need for him. She hadn't cared much before when she chose other lovers over him. His love was always there but she ignored it. So why now? What was different than before?
Oleg shifted beneath her and took his belt from her hands. "No." He rolled to his side and held her close, her chest heaving into his as her frustration simmered between them. Teresa, the Queen, always got what she wanted. Somehow or another, she made it happen. But this, no. Their greatest moment together would not be in a small room, on a creaky bed, with them both tired and thinking poorly. Teresa deserved better.
"Not here." He stroked back her hair, placed his hands at her cheeks, and kissed her. His mistake.
She kissed him back; her kiss mellow this time around, slowly enticing the fire in his blood, as she feigned patience, hoping to convince with the seriousness of her kiss.
Her leg slipped over his lap, and she lifted herself, using the weight of her straddle and a push from her hips to roll him to his back. A trick she'd undoubtedly learned from her jiujitsu sessions with Landero.
They shared a gaze, him catching her smirk and the devil in her eyes as she sat into him and drew his shirt into her hands. He struggled with a decision, his hands tense at her hips. The woman, whose soul mirrored his, was about to give him everything, but what would they lose in return.
She leaned down, resting her forehead to his; the silver chain around her neck grazing his skin with a chill. "Now…is the perfect time." She kissed him again, but he put his hands to her cheeks and stopped her, searching her eyes for even the smallest hint of deception, but only certainty and her unflinching determination remained.
The Queen had made her decision, and his hands slipped under her shirt, feeling her waist like he always wanted. He switched their positions and she grinned in favor when their eyes met.
Teresa was his Queen, and he'd make sure the others knew that.
