The Counterfeit Lover (War of Sins Book 3)

Leaving Raf alone at the hospital might not be the most ideal situation, but it could very well turn into the opportunity I was waiting for.

As instructed, the guards take me home after which they commence their rounds. From what I’d eavesdropped, Raf had told them to cover the entire area of our apartment building, with some guards stationed even in front of our door.

It’s a small grace that he didn’t allow them to patrol the inside of the apartment, too. But I know my husband and he would never leave me alone in a room with strange men. He’d never risk that.

Which brings me back to my current dilemma.

I’m stuck in the house.

Earlier, when I’d tried to go out, the guards had reiterated that Mr. Guerra had ordered that I was not to leave the premises. Put on the spot, I’d simply pretended it was an absurdity, that I would never leave the house while it was dangerous to do so. Instead, I’d offered them a glass of water and chatted them up a little—enough to find out the formation of the security team and their patrol times.

When the clock chimes at the designated time, I get ready to put my plan in motion.

The idea is rather simple.

I’ll go to my brother’s home, sneak into his office and hopefully manage to break into his computer. If there’s anyone out there who has information on Ortega—and a potential location—it’s my brother. That sly bastard has information on absolutely everyone, even though he’d never share it unless it benefits him.

The thought of my brother is enough to sour my mood, but I know I can’t afford to be distracted in a time like this.

Putting on a pair of black tights and a tight black shirt, I add a snug exercise belt around my waist in which I deposit my phone, a foldable cap and some cash—I need to keep everything electronic-less so I won’t leave a trail behind me. Secrecy is the defining trait of this excursion.

Raf cannot find out—much less anyone else who might tell him.

And so I need to take a more unconventional approach.

I wince just thinking about it.

Alas, what don’t we do for love?

Raf is the one person for whom I would venture even in Tartarus if need be. He is, simply put, my weakness—the only one.

I place a wireless earbud in my ear, securing it with some tape. When everything is in place, I mentally prepare myself for the hard part of this plan.

Going to the outdoor terrace, I lean over the railing as I do another quick inventory of the distance between each floor. We’re on the fourth floor, and that means I’ll have my work cut out for me.

With a deep breath, I swing myself over the railing, gripping it tightly with my hands as I move my feet around in an attempt to locate anything I can use for support. I manage to touch a protruding metal bar with the soles of my feet, stabilizing myself for a moment. But that is the only surface available.

The outer walls of the building are all smooth concrete, and the lack of edges is going to make it hard for me to scale it down. At most, I’ll have to improvise a few things.

And that’s exactly what I do I move one hand to grip the metal bar, flinging myself lower and hanging in the air. My body tenses as my entire weight rests on one arm. My muscles are not what they used to be, my strength having decreased considerably after so long without proper exercise. Still, my body remembers everything, and I nimbly grab on to the bar with the other hand, balancing myself in the air.

Knowing each floor will likely put a strain on my body, I have to move fast or I risk losing my strength and falling to my death.

But that is simply out of the question.

Taking a deep breath, I turn my head to the side to look at the lower floor.

Each terrace is identical in design. Except for the roof that connects the floors, there is only one small ledge and no windows, giving it a penthouse feel without paying the steep price for it.

The terrace right under me has some fake grass strewn around, as well as some kids’ toys. Immediately, I wince at imagining throwing myself right on top of the toys, the pain already echoing in my bones.

Shaking myself, I simply spot a cleaner part a bit further to the right—at least one that shouldn’t hurt as much.

Moving along the metal bar, I reach the designated spot. Tightening my hold over the bar, I start swinging myself back and forth to gain momentum.

This is it. The moment when I’ll either succeed or…not.

Considering that the latter option is out of the question, I simply refuse to acknowledge it, focusing all my strength on making the jump.

The wind in my face, my body dangling in the air, I build enough momentum and I jump.

I just jump.

Used to similar situation, I automatically duck and roll as I’m about to meet the ground. And as I brush against the fake grass, rolling a few times without encountering any toys on my way, I exhale sharply in relief. Luckily, there also doesn’t seem to be anyone around.

One floor down. Two more to go.

Getting to my feet, I dust myself before stretching my muscles. When I feel confident in myself, I head to the ledge, swinging myself over it and getting ready to repeat the entire ordeal.

I manage to lower myself to the bottom metal bar, gripping it with both hands as I assess the situation on the next floor.

This time, instead of fake grass, pebbles are strewn all over.

Wincing, I close my eyes, pushing against anticipated pain as I only focus on my goal.

Getting rid of the threat to Raf’s life.

Nothing else matters. Not the way, nor the casualties. Just the result.

My fingers wrapped around the metal bar, I start a light sway, ready to build momentum before the jump.

But just before I can push myself even further to garner speed, a low melody erupts from my pouch, making me still as well—or as much as I can considering I’m just hanging in the air.

Immediately, I stiffen, knowing there’s only one person who could be calling—the only one I could never not answer to.

Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath. And another. My heart is pounding in my chest as I flex my arm muscles to hold my weight as I use one hand to click on my earbud, accepting the call before quickly resuming my grip.

His voice immediately comes through.

‘I bet you’re all bored without me, aren’t you?’ he asks in a playful tone.

‘I should remind you that you’re the one who sent me back home. Alone,‘ I fire back, doing my best to keep the breathlessness out of my voice.

‘You know why,’ he sighs. ‘That is not to say that I’m not regretting it. A tiny bit,’ he chuckles.

‘You’d better regret it a whole lot more than a tiny bit,’ I add as I gaze around, scanning the terrace for any sign of occupancy. The last thing I need right now is for someone to catch me like this while on the phone with Raf. Well, scratch that. The last thing I need is to fall while on the phone with my husband.

I’m sure he wouldn’t appreciate that.

‘How is it that I’ve been on my own most of my life but the moment you’re not with me for more than an hour I go crazy with missing you?’

‘Raf…’

‘I needed to hear your voice, ok?’ He grumbles. ‘Texting is not enough.’

‘You need to rest. You took a pretty bad blow to the head,’ I say as I spot a flash of movement deep into the terrace. ‘Oh, the water’s boiling in the kettle. I’ll talk to you later. Love you,’ I say and before he can reply, I quickly bring my hand to the ear piece to cut off the call.

At the same time, the noise of a door sliding open demands my focus. Bringing my hand back to the bar, I move to the right as fast as I can so I’m out of direct view.

A man comes out, a cigarette in his hand as he paces back and forth on the terrace, spewing clipped commands into his phone.

His attention seems to be wholly on his phone call and he doesn’t notice the dangling legs from the side of the terrace.

Holding on to the bar, I pray he quickly finishes his cigarette and leaves since I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to hang on like this—not when my hands are becoming clammier with sweat.

It feels like forever before he finally flings his cigarette to the ground, heading back into the house and slamming the door behind him with a thud.

Releasing a relieved breath, I move a little more to the side until I’m sure I can land on the terrace without making too much ruckus. Still, there’s still the matter of the pebbles on the ground and I gulp down as I try to ignore the thought of what will happen.

Like before, I swing myself on the bar, yet this time it’s more precarious as my hands are already too sweaty to not guarantee that I’ll slip if I push myself too hard.

When I consider I’ve built enough momentum, I let myself go, pushing my hands forward as I fly towards the ground in order to cushion my fall as best as I can.

The pebbles are blunt, but they still dig into my palms and knees, and every bit of flesh that comes into contact with them.

I swallow it all down as I focus solely on the end objective—one more floor.

Taking a few pebbles, I rub them together to create some dust, which I then lather all over my palms to remove some of the residual sweat. Then, I swiftly go back to the railing, repeating the process.

By the time I manage to get down, my muscles are aching, my hands full of tiny abrasions that sting as hell.

Still, I’m not deterred.

There are a couple of people that see me jump down from the last floor, but as I give them a dazzling smile, they just ignore me, going about their day.

Glancing at my watch, I note it’s taken me about an hour to scale down the building, and that means the guards will soon do their rounds. To go unrecognizable in case they come by earlier than intended, I pull out the cap from my pouch, placing it over my head. I tip it down to cover my face before heading down the street and losing myself in the crowd.

The moment I reach the main road, I hail a cab, instructing the driver to go to my brother’s place and paying in cash once we stop in the back of the house.

Knowing Cisco, security must be even tighter now that Yuyu could be in danger. And that means he must have hired a lot of additional guards to patrol the inside of the house. In addition to that, there’s also his security system, which will trigger the alarm at the first sign of an intruder.

For a second, I ponder whether I should actually use the front door and ask for the information. But even if Cisco were to give it to me, I wouldn’t trust that there isn’t something missing, or that he’s given me the wrong one. With my brother, both would not only be possible, but to be expected.

 Considering the urgency of the situation, I can’t afford to waste time, or make any mistakes. Who knows when Ortega might decide to strike next and catch Raf with his guard down? I won’t take any chances with it.

That also means that I need to improvise an entry point.

Instead of going straight for Cisco’s house, I go to the neighboring one, going down the steps to the basement. The lock is easy enough to pick and in no time I find myself inside the house.

I don’t hear too much noise, so I’ll have to hope no one is home at this time.

Stealthily, I go up the stairs to the ground floor, molding myself to every dark corner to not draw any attention if anyone were to suddenly come out.

Yet as I predicted, the house is eerily quiet.

Going to the next floor, I find it equally as empty.

Yet it’s the third floor that stumps me, as I come across at least ten men, their snores a clear indication that they’re sleeping. But as I quickly peruse them, noting the way they are dressed as well as the weapons stashed around them, I get an idea who they might be.

Damn Cisco. He is too sly, indeed. He must have rented or bought this house for an added security buffer.

I make to move, but the temptation is too strong. On the tips of my toes, I go to the nearest man and I lower my hand to his belt, slowly withdrawing his gun.

He moves a little in his sleep, but I’m successful in taking the gun from him, which I promptly deposit in my little pouch after I make sure the safety is on.

Back to my plan, I head to the roof of the house. And once there, I simply jump the distance between the brownstones until I reach Cisco’s roof.

I locate the trap that leads to the inside of the house and then I’m finally in.

I release a sigh when I find myself in the attic—my attic. Yet there’s always a nagging sensation at the back of my head. It shouldn’t have been this easy to get in. Not with the supposed security Cisco had hired. After all, it’s not like I’m an expert in breaking in, and if I can do it, likely people with more nefarious reasons than me can as well.

But I can’t dwell on that.

Not when the mission is to get in and out in the least amount of time possible.

I only take a second to get my bearings and respond to some of Raf’s texts before I’m ready to move forward.

Exiting our makeshift apartment, I’m extremely vigilant as I assess the hallways before I move.

Though I’m small and fast, I won’t stand a chance against the likely tens of burly security men my brother hired.

Yet there’s no trace of them.

I walk around the hallway, and I don’t spot anyone—not even Greta.

Alarm bells sound in my head. First, I assume that Cisco and Yuyu relocated once more, but the presence of the guards in the other building would disprove that. No, there’s something else at play here.

And as I move further into the house, I become more and more paranoid.

Everything is so…easy. It’s like I’m walking straight into a trap.

That is further confirmed when the door to the study is not locked. I easily push it open and find myself alone in my brother’s office.

Too. Freaking. Easy.

No, something is definitely afoot. And no matter how much I’d like nothing more than follow the plan and get access to his records, now I’m doubting the information I find there will even be the correct one.

Pursing my lips, I take out the gun from my pouch, letting my hand rest on the handle while I take a seat at his study and turn on the computer.

At the rate things are going, maybe it would have been simpler to just come in through the front door.

Especially when the computer screen blares to life and I notice it’s not password protected.

It’s. Not. Password. Protected.

That’s it. Something is definitely wrong.

Hell, my brother probably has his own thoughts encrypted, and he wouldn’t have his computer? Bullshit.

Since I’m here, though, I’m not about to leave empty-handed, so I set about searching for everything I can find on Ortega. Sure enough, there are plenty of entries—all right there for me to access.

A smile plays at my lips as I realize what my brother must have planned.

There is, in fact, information on Ortega’s location. It’s just that there are…several locations. He’s giving it to me, but he’s definitely not making it that easy.

I quickly take my phone out, taking a picture of the list of locations before getting ready to leave. Curiosity gets the better of me, though, and I can’t help myself as I search my own name in his database.

Immediately, an entire list of documents shows up. Medical records, pictures and even videos.

Before I can help myself, I click on some of them, seeing things that I already know, like the state of my health when I’d been rescued from the hacienda, or my subsequent medical reports.

What piques my curiosity even more are my psychological reports. Clicking on that folder, I see a series of videos, which from the thumbnail imply they had been taken while I’d been locked up in that mental facility.

Though all my memories before the fire are crystal clear, the time I spent in that institution is muddier. Maybe it’s from all the drugs that I was forced to take, but I only remember a fierce desire to forget, and an even stronger one to die. Luckily, I’d chosen the former, or I would not have been here today.

I scroll through a few of them, choosing to play one at random.

Immediately, the video takes up the whole screen, the date on it suggesting it had been taken about a month after the fire.

I was skin and bone, my pallor so pale I looked like a ghost. My eyes were sunken in, my cheeks hollow. Overall, I looked dead, yet alive.

‘How are you feeling today, Noelle?’ A man’s voice resounds from behind the camera.

I turn ever so slightly, pinning him with my gaze as I merely raise a brow.

‘You tell me, doc. How am I supposed to feel?’ I ask sarcastically, though my expression is devoid of any feeling.

‘I see you’re still as belligerent today. I don’t think this is going to work,’ he sighs. ‘Your brother is coming to see you this weekend and I’ll have to update him with my findings.’

‘Really? And what will you tell him?’ I tilt my head to the side. ‘Let me guess, that I’m a danger to myself and to society and that I should be locked away. Forever.’

Slowly, I smile.

‘That…’ he mumbles, afraid.

He isn’t visible in the video, the camera filming from his direction. But his vocal cues tell me everything I need to know.

‘That is correct,’ he clears his voice. ‘I’m going to share the results of your psychological exams and I will give him my professional opinion, which, as you have guessed, is that you need to be institutionalized.’

My smile is still on my face—unwavering.

‘The results of my psychological exams,’ I chuckle. ‘Tell me, doc. Exactly, how crazy am I?’

He doesn’t answer for a moment, and the camera moves back a little, sign he’s also backing away.

‘I will be discussing these details only with your brother,’ the doctor relays just as he moves to leave, taking the camera with him.

There’s a loud sound that comes from the video, and not two seconds later the camera drops to the ground. More distressed sounds and what seems to be a scream of pain before the camera recalibrates again.

Like being thrust into the past, I blink and suddenly I’m there, seeing everything with my own eyes.

The doctor is lying at my feet, his mouth opening and closing as he tries to stop the blood spurting from his neck. Dropping the sharp pencil I’d used to stab him to the ground, I grab the camera, turning it towards me.

‘Hello, brother,’ I drawl, watching my reflection on the small screen of the camera. There are streaks of blood all over my face and hospital gown. ‘I think it’s time for a tête-à-tête, don’t you think?’ I smile at the camera, madness written all over my face.

Slowly, I tilt the camera as I crouch on the floor, thrusting it into the doc’s face as he’s struggling for his last breath.

‘See what you made me do?’ I ask as I bring my mouth closer to the camera, imagining I’m whispering this in his ear. ‘He’s one breath away from death. And he won’t be the last,’ I snicker as I wrench the doctor’s hand away from his wound, blood immediately pouring out and drenching me in the red liquid. ‘If you want to stop this—stop me—then you know what you have to do.’

Kill me!

The video stops, and I’m back to the present.

Kill me!

That echo haunts me, the memories from my time in that institution materializing just like that feeling of hopelessness—of having everything of importance stripped away from me.

But I’m no longer that person for the sole reason that I still have the most important thing in my life. And as long as I have him, I’ll still be me.

But if something were to happen to Raf… Then I feel sorry for the world.

Melancholy descends upon me as I recall those times and how desperate I’d been to end my own life and wreck destruction on anyone who dared to stand in my path.

I’d been absolutely inconsolable, and it’s a feeling I never want to experience again.

But as I get myself together, I don’t know what makes me click on the next folder. The title alone—autopsy—should tell me everything I need to know. Yet I can’t help myself.

Hovering the cursor over the first picture, I take a deep breath before I double click it, squeezing my eyes shut when it fills the screen.

I count to ten before I’m able to open them again. My heart is in my throat as I take in that familiar cradle—the one I’d built with my own hands. Absent-mindedly, I bring my fingers to the inside of my wrist where lays a tiny scar. One I’d gotten while sculpting the wood for the cradle.

The picture is at an angle, showing the wreckage all around and the damage from the fire. The previously lightly colored wood is now darkened with ash.

I swipe the next picture, and that’s where the real hell begins.

Mali. My Mali. My son.

I bring a hand to my mouth to stifle a sob as I take in his small form—or what’s left of him. He’s in the same position as I left him.

‘I’m sorry,’ I croak, reaching out to trace the incinerated body, remembering the way his small body fit in my arms.

I barely got to hold him—barely got to feel the heat of his skin atop mine.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I continue to whisper, unable to stop the tears that roll down my cheeks.

I failed him. I failed my own child. Regardless of how many times I try to push that knowledge away, simply ground myself in the present and my actual happiness, it’s impossible to ignore the fact that I was once a mother. That I…

I loved him.

The next pictures are from the coroner’s office, all displaying his little body from various angles. Unable to watch this anymore, I shut everything off, getting up and ready to leave.

Still shaken, though, it takes me a moment to react when I hear movement. Withdrawing my gun, I point it at the door just as it swings open to reveal Yuyu.

She’s wearing a pair of dark jeans and a shirt, and I note that she’s shed most of her pregnancy weight. Leaning against the door’s frame, she watches me closely—and without a flicker of surprise.

I bring the back of my hand to my eyes as I wipe the tears away, still holding the gun in her direction.

‘It was a set-up from the beginning,’ I state.

She nods, coming closer.

‘Don’t,’ I shake my head. ‘Just…don’t,’ I breathe out harshly.

I’m too rattled by those memories to act properly, or even attempt to.

‘I think it’s time we had a small talk, Noelle,’ Yuyu says, and as she takes a step towards me, I brush my finger over the trigger, ready to pull it.

It’s not that I want to shoot at her. In spite of the past, I don’t wish her ill. I never did. Yet I can’t stop myself. My entire body is on auto-pilot as my mind wants to leave me—retreat to a safe place.

I don’t get to pull the trigger, though, as her hand shoots out, grabbing the barrel of the gun and disarming me in one smooth movement.

And I let her. I don’t put any type of fight as she takes the gun away from me, disassembling it and throwing the pieces to the ground.

Too wrapped out in my own head, I don’t put any type of struggle as she comes towards me, ready to receive whatever she has in store for me.

For too long I’ve tried to push that guilt down. To hide behind a smile and pretend everything was ok even as I knew it wasn’t—even as I remembered the past and everything that had happened.

All this time, I’ve tried to pretend Mali had never existed. Somehow that’s an even bigger offense. Because he did exist.

Once upon a time, he’d had my heart.

Until…