“You haven’t been dismissed, Javier. Sit down.”
“Next time, I won’t miss.”
“Then you aren’t interested in taking a walk with me and meeting the name on the sheet you’ve crumbled in your rage?” That stops me in my tracks. No rebuttal. Not a single word as I retake my seat, eyes on him with a neutral expression.
Malcolm Asher played his cards well, and I’m not stubborn enough to walk out with the silent offers he’s made.
“I’m listening.”
“Look at the last line and read it aloud.”
“Castro Acevedo.”
“Do you know him?” A nod is my response, seething at the nerve of this son of a bitch. Castro Acevedo works with the presidential family in Colombia, an enemy to mine. They all are. “This came as a direct order the moment you left the country. They want you to come back.”
“I know they do.”
“So much so, that they sent Acevedo here.”
“Here?”
“Here.”
“Where is he?”
“I’ll give him to you on two conditions.” And there it is. His upper hand. Malcolm stands then and takes his jacket off, placing it carefully over his chair. Then the cufflinks come off and the sleeves are rolled up. He doesn’t answer me while he does this but does push across another piece of paper.
A smaller one with a single line written in neat penmanship.
Three years and ten bodies. Do you accept?
“I can, but I have a stipulation of my own.” Grabbing a pen from beside his stapler, I scribble my condition and slide it across.
I’ll concede to an open contract with no end date under my discretion after the three you request, but in return, you don’t interfere.
“You’re walking a very thin line, Lucas. My cousin isn’t—”
“I want the chance to get to know her, Malcolm,” I interject before he says something that will destroy any agreement we could arrive at. The click of his gun is quickly followed by mine as two hands raise, and we hold our ground. “I’d never disrespect her like that.”
“Give me one good reason why I should allow this?”
Because while I don’t believe in love at first sight, I won’t deny she’s caught my attention. That her sass has lit something within, and I want to see how dangerous her touch will be to:
My body. My mind.
I want her to burn me alive.
Keeping those thoughts to myself, I hold his stare. He might be the boss in Chicago, dominate the global market of finances, but I’m not some peon or low-level thug who came begging for a job off the streets. I’ll give respect but demand it just the same.
It’s the only way this agreement will work. I’d hate to hurt him or anyone in Mariah’s family.
“First, she’s a grown woman and makes up her own mind. Head of your family or not, I won’t allow you to take choices away from her.”
“And second?” There’s less hostility in his tone, and my stance relaxes a bit.
“She undid me.” I’m not going to beat around the bush or deny it. “Simple as that.”
For a few beats of the clock, we remain quiet. Each holding the other’s gaze. Our weapons are drawn.
“That honesty could get you in trouble.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“And it’s the only reason I’ll concede to your request.” Malcolm places his gun atop the desk, and I do the same. “Welcome to the Asher family, Javier.”
“Gracias.” I extend a hand and he takes it, giving it a hard squeeze.
“You hurt her, and I’ll kill you.”
“I hurt her, and I can guarantee she’ll pull the trigger herself.” At my words he throws his head back and laughs, shaking his head while picking up his gun and mine, handing over the latter. “Smart man.”
“Now, where do I sign?”
“Your word suffices, but I do believe you’re owed a signing bonus.”
3
I’M IN TROUBLE.
So much trouble since the moment he walked onto my floor and knocked the very breath from my lungs. My palms are sweaty, and my chest feels tight. My knees feel weak, and the delicate slip of lace covering my mound has been rendered useless.
And all because of one man. A very self-assured and dangerous man.
“Christ, Mariah. Get ahold of yourself,” I mumble under my breath, hand on the wall beside the elevator shaft after pressing the down button. For the next two hours, this floor will be closed to all foot traffic while they talk, and we await orders inside of a hidden room beneath the building where a selected few meet their fate.
The good.
The bad.
Their end.
The sound of his voice caresses my skin while the sound of footfalls over the marble floor follows. It’s faint—melodic—and I shiver. Goose bumps break out across my skin while I lean my head on the wall and close my eyes.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Never show weakness.
It’s the mantra I’ve been reciting since the day I learned who my family is. What they are—what I’m capable of without remorse.
However, thinking and doing it are two very different things because I’ve never been affected by a man like this. Not even by him.
I’ve never felt the rush of excitement or the lick of heat settle low in my abdomen with such ferocity from his mere presence.
At the moment, I feel like the virgin I’m not and haven’t been in years. And while I’ve only slept with one man, a worthless jerk no longer walking this earth, I feel unsure of myself.
Nervous. Jittery. Unable to comprehend how one devilish smirk could get under my skin with such ease. How with one look from a pair of soulful brown eyes I lost more than my composure.
His height made me feel dainty.
His muscles made me breathless.
But what’s more dangerous than his looks is the slickness of his mouth and the challenge he presents. Because this man with his white, open-at-the-collar dress shirt and black slacks wasn’t intimidated by me or who my family is. His cockiness was playful while his stare was a silent promise to devour his prey…
Me. I’m his prey.
The private elevator that leads to the lowest level of the Asher building opens then, and I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. Each step inside is a bit shaky, and more so when the lingering scent of his cologne infiltrates my senses.
Fuck. It’s earth and rain mixed with a hint of spice that causes my thighs to clench and another stuttered breath to escape. “He can’t work here.” Malcolm will have to find someone else. But as those words run through my mind, a pang of remorse follows. I can’t help my attraction to him, even if he equally pisses me off.
If anything, it’s the danger—the demand in his tone that excites me.
He’s not going to yes, ma’am me because of my last name.
He isn’t what I expected to arrive today, and I feel off my game.
The large metal door opens, and the men within greet me with a nod of their head. They’re standing against the back wall, watching a man tied to a chair in a three-piece suit whose facial expression gives way to his fear and a bloody encounter with his captors.
We know why he’s here, but he doesn’t. We’ve given him the accommodation he deserves while he’s returned our kindness with whining and unnecessary tears.
“Has he been given anything to eat or drink since last night?” I ask Carmelo, a trusted guard. He’s standing closest to Acevedo and without the customary all-white coveralls that Malcolm demands his cleanup crew wear.
“Not—”
“Please, Miss,” he interrupts Carmelo, looking at me from the one eye that isn’t swollen shut. “This is a mistake. Help me out of here, and you’ll be rewarded by the Colombian president.”
Carmelo raises his hand to strike the idiot, but I give him a minute shake of the head and he stands down. Instead, he retakes his position of silence while biting back a chuckle.
“Will he, now?”
“Yes.” Relief colors his features as he thinks I’m intrigued by the offer. He has no idea who I am. “You’ll never work another day in your life.”
“Never?” I keep my voice low, almost sweet and innocent. He’s buying it too. “I’d be rich?”
“Beyond your comprehension, linda.” Because calling me beautiful is supposed to win me over. Idiot.
“But what if my taste runs a little more—”
“Whatever you want.”
“Morbid,” I finish off with a glare, and his lips snap shut. His shoulders slump and eyes close, a few stray tears falling down his bruised cheek. “Why the tears, Acevedo? Why the sudden plea for mercy when you were willing to murder women and children to hurt the Lucas men?”
“What is he to you?”
“You’ve always been a curious one, Castro,” Javier answers for me, his voice reverberating throughout every square inch of the room as he steps through the threshold, and the horror-filled expression on our guest is comical. His body shakes and a pitiful cry escapes a set of chapped lips while a breath gets caught in my throat.
My pulse races. My nipples tighten. My core clenches.
Lord help me.
“How? Why?” Acevedo looks to me for answers, but I merely shrug and take my place beside a silent Malcolm. My cousin’s standing a bit to the left, leaving Javier to run this show, but remains within everyone’s line of sight.
“Because you sold your soul to the devil and he delivered you to me.” Javier steps forward while slowly undoing the buttons of his shirt and slips the garment off his shoulders. He’s precise in his movements, adorable while placing the neatly folded dress shirt atop a small table close to Acevedo.
There are no weapons in sight. No way for him to exact revenge, but the prospect of what those muscles—the bulging cords of tattooed flesh—can do leave me breathless.
“Javier, I was just following commands.” It leaves Acevedo in a low whisper, but the silence of the room makes it so we all hear clearly. “Quintero—”
“Fucked you without lubrication,” he spits out, face contorted in rage before softening when he looks in my direction. The action is fast, and the softness that flickers in those warm orbs pulls a smile from my lips. It’s brief, this moment we share, before he looks away and the killer I’ve heard so much about makes an entrance.
He’s magnificent. Overwhelming.
Perfect.
“Please.” Tears and snot and the faint scent of urine are unmistakable in the room. “Please don’t kill me.”
“You accepted the offer Quintero made.”
“But I never carried it out!” Javier just smiles, walking around his form once before stopping at his right wrist. Without pause, he undoes the rope keeping Acevedo in place and then the other. Both feet are next. “Please, Javier. I didn’t touch anyone; that has to mean something!”
“Stand up.”
“Just listen…fuck!” The first strike is straight to his mouth and two teeth fly out, landing near Malcolm’s feet. The next is to his neck and he chokes out a cry, bending at the waist with both hands up in an attempt to defend himself while his legs give out.
Javier doesn’t let up, though. Blow after vicious blow is landed on Acevedo’s upper body and the back of his head. Javier’s knuckles are white and bruised. His chest is heaving, his mouth curled into a sinister grin.
He’s brutally beautiful and my walls clench when he drives a knee in to the bent man’s face.
“You knew exactly what you were accepting, Castro.” Fisting Acevedo’s hair, Javier forces the bleeding man to meet his stare from his position on his knees. There’s a gash across the bridge of his nose and the swelling has already begun, but it’s not enough for the assassin now working for the head of the Asher family. Bloodthirst is real, and he’s given in to the need for vengeance. “I warned you once in the past, and there won’t be a second chance.”
With that, he lifts a leg and brings Acevedo’s face down to his knee repeatedly. Over and over without pause, he breaks the man’s face down to the point it’s nothing but a bloody mass of cuts and broken bones.
And even then, he continues until our guest’s nose caves in and all his front teeth fall out. Both men are a mess, but it’s the beast standing that holds me captive—spellbound—and unable to look away as he smiles and then lands another direct strike to Acevedo’s jaw.
There’s a sickening crunch, a splash of red that decorates the floor, and then a body falls limply, making the most disturbing gurgling sound. Each breath becomes more shallow than the last. Each second his body struggles, you see the life drain from his eyes until there’s nothing left but a broken man and the victor standing over his frame with his eyes set on me.
Around us, Malcolm’s men quickly move as they begin the process of decontamination…
Water is turned on, and the floor near Javier is flushed out.
The body is removed in a large black bag.
My cousin leaves without a word.
And while the world carries on, we watch each other. Take in the rise and fall of our chests and the mirroring want that’s left me breathless, a bit nervous and unsure.
“We need to talk, Muñeca.” Why do I like it so much when he calls me that? I’m already shaking my head before he finishes, ignoring the clench in my core, and take a few steps back. There’s mirth in his eyes, but he doesn’t follow, choosing instead to tilt his head while licking his lips. I’m inspected from head to toe. His stare feels like a soft caress. “But not today.”
That catches me off guard and I pause mid-step, my face scrunching up in confusion. “What?”
My sputter amuses him, and the jerk lets out a low, throaty chuckle. “I said, not today.”
“Then why are you wasting my time,” I grit out through clenched teeth, hands balled at my sides while fighting to ignore the pictures adorning his upper body, more so the black and white angel of death design that looks like the counterpart to my fallen angel. They’re both Gothically haunting yet beautiful. A mated pair. This is ridiculous, chica. Snap out of it. “Better yet, I’ll see you around. I have better things to do than—”
“I’ll be picking you up tomorrow night for dinner, Mariah.”
“I’m not going out with you.” What kind of game is he playing?
Javier rubs a hand across his chest, spreading the fresh blood across the dark angel. “You will.”
“What makes you so sure? I’m not a woman who lowers her standards.”
At my words, he takes the steps between us and grips my chin. His hold isn’t hard or meant to hurt, but to prove how much he affects me, and he does. I’m jittery and sensitive between my thighs, and goose bumps rise across my flesh. But more damaging to my psyche is the hungry way he watches me. Memorizes my face while cataloging each reaction with that devilish smirk across his lips.
I’m screwed. More than.
“Be a good girl, Muñeca. Don’t fight me.”
“You haven’t earned the right to make demands on my time.”
“I own your time, Mariah. Learn to accept that.” Then the bastard lowers his head and kisses my reddening cheek, rendering me speechless. Unsettled. Angry at his cockiness.
Then on the next breath, I’m turned on by the heat in his eyes and command in his tone.
This sudden urge to test his patience and conviction is a dangerous game, and I find myself meeting his stare without an ounce of fear. Without a care for the consequences.
Because I’m not a wilting flower, and I’m ready to play if he is.
“To own me, you have to catch me first, Mr. Lucas. Are you worthy?”
“I’d kill every man in this city if you so much as asked.”
Christ, those words stir something deep within me, but I walk away before impulses become problems down the road. Each step away from him is harder than the last, but I make my way back to my floor without looking back.
He doesn’t follow me inside th
e elevator. He doesn’t demand I respond, but I am aware of his heated stare and then the near suffocating presence he exudes the moment he steps onto the CEO’s floor an hour later. Javier doesn’t talk to me as he strides past my desk fully clothed and without a single hair out of place.
No blood. No slick remarks. Not so much as a look in my direction before slipping inside of Malcolm’s office. It bothers me, this ignoring my narrowing eyes and the small huff that escapes, but more so when a few minutes later my phone rings with my cousin’s extension blinking.
“Yes, boss?”
“Two coffees, please, and bring in the Bernard file.”
“Right away.” I’m already grabbing the folder he needs, anticipating it earlier in the day, and closing the bottom drawer before locking it. There’s certain client information that can’t be lost or tampered with—stolen—and I only keep on hand the bare necessities at all times.
No one knows where we store physical documents except Malcolm and me. They have no access to the hidden room with restricted access a floor below. Most never realize that this building has an entire floor blocked off and that the elevator shaft skips it.
It was designed that way. Made to appear as though the vault room downstairs was its separate floor when in fact, it connects with one small step changing the elevations.
With the file in my hand of a notorious French art smuggler worth a billion from trading in the black market, I head to the small kitchen on the other side of the wall behind me. It’s not large, but it gets the job done for what we need; coffee being the main focus.
That, and pastries from a small Hungarian bakery my family loves to visit. There isn’t a single house that bears the last name Asher who doesn’t have a never-ending stock, and I plate a few while pressing the start button on the Keurig.
While it percolates, I make a conscious decision to let Javier use my mug. A shiny and pink and full of glitter unicorn cup that my aunt gave me after our Black Friday hunt last year.
Yours (Beautiful Sinner Series Book 4) Page 3
