by Eden Fortae
INTENSITY
ROSE SERIES PART ONE
Copyright © 2018 by Eden Fortae
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written consent of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
This is dedicated to everyone who believed in me. Without you, I would still and only ever be a dream.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY ONE
TWENTY TWO
TWENTY THREE
TWENTY FOUR
TWENTY FIVE
TWENTY SIX
TWENTY SEVEN
TWENTY EIGHT
TWENTY NINE
PROLOGUE
Huge grey clouds hung thickly over sparse autumn trees. The small drops of rain that they released were invisible compared to the tears that fell from Kya’s eyes. She could feel the presence behind her. Despite the rest of the mourners who had paid their respects and left, he lingered in the background. Watching. Waiting.
The thought of her father standing there, dressed as an officer of the law caused Kya to bite down on the inside of her cheek, and a tiny amount of blood seep onto her tongue. She promised herself and the spirit of her mother that she would not snap if he showed his face, blessed her with his condolences, and tried to use this as a gateway to her life. Instead, she would accept his sympathy and move on. That promise went out the window as memories of her mother begging him not to leave and the nights she prayed for his return replayed in her mind.
She stood to smooth the wrinkles from her dress. With easy steps, Kya ignored the person behind her and approached the polished, white pine, resting her head upon it. It was cool to the touch, much like the strong wind taking her hair into the breeze. Hair her mother used to braid as she sang her favorite songs from the radio and sometimes cheesy TV commercials. The memory provoked a smile and watery laughter through mournful sobs.
Movement behind Kya made her rise, blindly take a few steps back as she prepared to give her father a piece of her mind. Instead, she found a stranger in his place.
Dressed in an all-black suit, equally dark shirt, and satin tie, danger rolled off him in massive waves. Dark shades covered his eyes, drawing hers to the features Kya could see. Lightly tanned skin, a strong jaw aligned with neatly groomed stubble forming an anchor, lips that were sized perfectly, and jet black curls pulled tightly at the nape of his neck.
Under normal circumstances, Kya would have admired his appearance. Nibbled on her bottom lip allowing her mind to conjure visuals of this man pulling each piece of clothing off, seductively and slowly to reveal the well-toned body she could already make out. However, here and now was far from normal. They were in a cemetery surrounded by thick clusters of trees and fog that sheltered them from others that may be in the distance. That feeling in the pit of her stomach twisted and rolled to the surface like millions of goosebumps.
He took a single step toward her and instinctively, Kya stepped back. As if he realized her actions as fear, he remained where he was and watched her intently. Raising one gloved hand to the inside of his open suit jacket, he revealed the gun tucked into his waistband. Sleek. Shining. Lethal.
Had it not been for his deadly and overwhelmingly threatening demeanor paired with a youthful appearance, Kya would have assumed he was a cop. One she had possibly met when she was too young to care, there to say goodbye to an honored colleague’s wife and place a comforting hand on her shoulder, but that wasn’t the case.
She knew it, felt in her stomach and as deep as her soul. The way he stood gave off the feel of a highly trained assassin, a cold-hearted murderer with her name on his list.
She stilled, swallowed hard as her heart raced to the sound of her blood rushing in her ears. She felt his eyes on her the entire time and knew he was watching her from behind those darkly tinted lenses, consuming her.
He pulled his hand free of his jacket, but rather than closing her eyes with a silent prayer, Kya watched unblinking, waiting for the gun and hot metal to hit her in the face. Instead, there was a vibrant shade of red and the brightest green she had ever seen outside of spring.
Pinched between his fingers, he held a rose. Single and at rightful bloom. Beautiful.
Fully expecting him to pass her and place it on the casket, Kya breathed a sigh of relief as she moved to the side of the aisle, her hand over her heart while using an empty chair for balance.
But he didn’t move. Not the way she thought. Not where she anticipated.
He closed the distance between them in a few short strides, willing her with his closeness. The heat from his body, the scent of his cologne, and taste of the air that followed him had her locked in place, vulnerable to his presence.
Having her full attention, the man brought the rose to his lips and kissed one of the soft velvet petals. The corners of his mouth tipped with a half smile that gave her a glimpse of a deep and alluring dimple. He extended the rose to Kya and waited for her to drop her eyes long enough to take it. However, she refused to move. Barely breathing correctly since the moment he approached her, all she could do was stare at her reflection in his dark glasses. Kya wanted to see him, to look into the windows of his soul, to know the man who was gently taking her hand and adorning it with that rose.
With more care than he seemed capable of, the dark stranger closed Kya’s fingers around the stem. There were no words and nothing more than the feel of him touching her before he pulled back, turned, and retreated into the fog with a broader smile she nearly missed. It wasn’t until he was entirely out of sight that the switch in her brain flipped on. The situation hit her; the rose in her hand realized.
There were so many things Kya wasn’t sure of, but the notion that he was dangerous, she was sure. Whoever he was, he could have easily killed her, snuffed out her life with the cover of fog to protect him, yet he granted her with a sweet red gesture instead.
She brought it to her lips, kissed it, and silenced the questions running through her mind.
It did not matter where he came from or why he was there, as long as he came again to steal her sad reality and replaced it with another rose.
ONE
SIX MONTHS LATER
His steps were purposeful, determined, but done with ease, carrying him through the front door of the precinct and into a deep sea of black and blue. On the outside, Antonio was a clear picture of cool—dressed casually in a white T-shirt, dark blue jeans, and an expression that said he didn’t have a single care in the world. On the inside, he was pissed to the highest degree like a raging bull, doing everything he could to maintain his composure.
The war waged by Detective Rich was longstanding, going back as far as his mid-teens. Now thirteen years later the man still had it out for him. Still, he was always going out of his way to throw shit in his path, hoping he would step in and failed every time.
“Sir! This area is for officers only. You can’t go back there—Sir! Sir!”
The little old woman seated at the fron
t desk ran behind him. Shouting to no avail, she was causing a scene that captured the attention of every officer within hearing distance. Despite the fact, Antonio kept walking until the man he was looking for descended the hallway, nose deep in the thick file he was carrying. As soon as they made eye contact, Detective Rich stopped mid-step with disdain overtaking his features. Whatever the words on those pages, they were quickly forgotten.
“I got it from here, Linda.”
He waved her off, taking the few steps needed to get to his corner of the office. Neither man broke their gaze while the woman retreated, leaving them alone in a relatively private area. Rich caved first with a bit of humor curling his lips.
“Cortes. What an unpleasant surprise. It would be proper to offer you a seat—”
Before he had the chance to complete his sentence, Antonio slouched in the chair, one of his work boots placed on top of the same file the Detective had been reading. With his eyes only, he dared the cop to say something, touch the thick sole on the bottom, even. Egging anyone on was not his style, but it was necessary to take the position on offense and not allow his nemesis to see his mask slip.
“Where's Detective Dumb ass? I thought you girls didn’t pee without one another. You must be lonely.”
“Dumas is none of your concern. What do you want?”
Antonio stroked the short hairs on his chin, staring straight before speaking, “I came back from a meeting today to find my office a mess. Important documents—contracts, plans, records, blueprints—ripped. Expensive material destroyed.”
“You want to file a report on it? Take that to the front desk. Have a nice day.”
Antonio remained seated, didn’t blink, or show any sign of moving.
“Cute. What I want, Detective, is to know what it was that you were looking for?” A single dark brow rose with the question.
Detective Rich took his seat, folding his hands in front of him neatly.
“Who says I was looking for something and not conducting a routine shakedown?”
Antonio smiled for the first time since walking into the building. A sincere yet taunting smile.
“Routine shakedown? My lawyer would love to argue the bases and legality of that in court considering my office is not a Correctional Facility. She’d have your badge and probably this entire building placed at my feet.”
Casually he gazed around the room as if conducting a thorough assessment of it.
“If I knock out a few of these walls and manage to get the doughnut and cop stink out of here, I could turn this into a nice little after-hours spot. Beautiful girls dancing behind the bars you use to cage men like animals. Decorate the ceiling with handcuffs between light fixtures. I have the perfect job for you, too, Robert. How good are you at cleaning toilets?”
“Does the name Liliana Tremaine, mean anything to you?”
Antonio shrugged, his expression thoughtful, “Es posible.”
"According to her, it's more than possible. The poor woman says she left her husband for you, thinking she’d become your main bitch after pushing twenty-thousand dollars worth of pure Colombian white over the Mexican border for you."
Behind the neutral expression, Antonio was scowling. The fact that Liliana’s name was in this conversation was one thing. The false allegation that followed was enough to send him into a murderous rage.
Discussing business with women that warmed his bed was a never. Especially those with angry husbands at home. He learned that lesson from his father, the infamous Javier Cortes. The Cuban Casanova as they often called him, made the mistake of trusting a woman that wasn’t his wife. When he refused to leave his family for her, she flipped, giving the Feds everything they needed to put him away for a long time. Javier went quietly but refused to let the bitch get away with her betrayal. From behind bars arrangements were made for the woman’s payback and until that very day, faded missing flyers with her picture on it still decorated the city.
Now, Javier was behind bars, twenty-plus years down with nothing but time to think of his mistakes. Ones that Antonio would never make and go to great lengths to ensure.
"Liliana’s a liar.”
“No, you’re the liar.”
“And your desperation is showing. Now, about those toilets," Antonio retorted, his neutral expression gave way to a sly smile.
Rich gritted his teeth, visibly unhappy with Antonio’s condescending tone. Leaning forward, palms down against the papers cluttering his desk, he narrowed his eyes.
“You think you’re ahead of the game, don’t you, Cortes? Walking around here like you’re some accomplished architect, making everyone kiss your ass and feet not knowing that you’re nothing but a lowlife coke dealer. One of these days you’re going to slip up, and when that day comes, I’ll be the one with the jokes.”
Antonio’s smile spread from ear to ear. The threats were nothing new, yet this one spoke of more determination. He would never say the words, but he admired that trait. If it weren’t for Detective Rich’s tenacity early on when he was a runner, he never would have learned to cover his tracks, trust no one that wasn’t as deep in the trade as he was, or figure out how to manipulate the law to his benefit. In a way, he owed the old man for unintentionally schooling him. Of course, he would tell him.
Lowering his eyes to the pictures on the desk, Antonio sat up, dropping his foot to the floor while he took hold of one in particular.
“A man with so much to lose and so many enemies, shouldn’t be making threats.” He turned the glass framed photo around just enough for Rich to see.
“Still holding on to this version of your baby, or is this your way of convincing your partner and colleagues that you don’t sleep in a lonely studio apartment every night, plotting and planning to use me as your career breakthrough?”
Rich did not respond, but the muscle tightening in his jaw was enough for Antonio to continue.
“Such a beautiful girl—or should I say, woman, now?—left all alone, vulnerable, and unprotected. That isn’t very smart. With the way you piss people off, you’re just asking for a motherfucker like me to take her.”
Placing the frame back on the desk, he stood, brushing imaginary dust and wrinkles from his clothes.
“Do me and favor and put a bow on that ass for me. Like a kid, I live for unwrapping my presents.”
Rich jumped to his feet, slamming his hands down so hard that once again, everyone in the room was looking their way.
“So help me God, if you go near my daughter, I will fucking kill you! Very slowly and very painfully, I will kill you.”
That outburst was all he needed to restore the mellow mood he needed to wash away the anger of having his establishment and hard work torn apart. Feeling victorious, Antonio continued to smile as he pulled a white envelope and disk from his pocket.
“My lawyer would eat up that threat. This footage of you searching my office without a warrant, too. Next time you want to enforce the law, try following it first.”
Tossing the disk onto the dirt covered file, he winked.
“Adiós, Detective. I'll send you the cleaning bill.”
The walk out of the building was less driven than when he entered, more like a swagger from the entrance to his truck. The weight of the early morning stress had fallen free of his shoulders but left other things there. Liliana’s lie, for one and then the unwanted image, seared into his mind.
The girl's hair was a mess of tight curls pulled to the side, a white bow matched the sundress hanging loosely from her shapeless body. She looked much younger than her twenty-four years. She had to have been no older than twelve in that picture, but that was not what caught him. No, it was her smile. Something she was not wearing much of as of late.
It was natural and as bright as the sun beaming off her caramel skin. She was beautiful then, and now, she was breathtaking. Even on the day he broke his rule and approached her. Even with tears staining her cheeks, her beauty spoke to more than his dick.
Realizi
ng where his mind was, Antonio chuckled, twisting the dial on the radio until the music was blasting. As lyrics in rapid Spanish cut through the late morning air with a deep reggaeton beat, his thoughts of Kya returned. The notion that the attraction was more than just that was laughable. He didn't do love or anything close to it and had never felt anything more than blood rushing to his best feature when it came to a woman. He preferred it that way. His parents were a prime example of why.
Javier was a cheater that ruined their lives over a piece of outside ass. Elia, a hard-working wife, and mother, accepted him back into her dented heart. Until that very day, she still took weekly trips to the prison with pictures of his sisters and nephew along with the love that neither two-inch thick glass or concrete walls, couldn’t halt.
Antonio loved that about his mother but hated it at the same time. She deserved more. So much better than what his father could offer her from behind bars, as did any respectable woman. The holders and ultimate creators of life were worthy of having the world placed at their feet and not to be weighed down by a man living the life he and his father lived.
For almost an entire year he watched Kya, memorized her routine and studied her habits as well as her mannerism to show Rich just who he was fucking with. She walked most places, alone more times than not. When she was with friends, she preferred to hold up the wall while everyone else mingled or took to the dance floor. More than once, he had the opportunity to kidnap her but refrained, choosing to observe until the day of her mother’s funeral.
Sitting in the cemetery long after everyone was gone, the timing couldn’t have been more perfect, but her body language spoke of extreme sadness and a need for comfort or a distraction. For reasons he didn’t care to label, he had to be the one to provide it.
He purchased a dozen red roses then cursed himself for it. Stepped out of his truck despite everything in him saying he shouldn’t. He drew closer and went to her with one of the flowers instead of a bullet, kissed one of the sweet petals he wished was her plump lips.
