Yours (Beautiful Sinner Series Book 4)

by Elena M. Reyes

  This, my reaction to his protectiveness and possessiveness, proves I’m weak when it comes to him. I’m a ticking time bomb.

  Want. Need. Hunger.

  Those three words describe me to a ‘T’ and he knows. Mirrors those feelings.

  How can I win a losing battle?

  Come Monday morning, there’s a cup of coffee from my favorite little shop near the office; a quaint location owned by a lady older than dirt and run by her granddaughter. It’s hipster meets old European vibes, and I can’t get enough of their eclairs.

  I’ve been known to buy half a dozen per visit, and the box in front of me holds seven with a note above in neat penmanship.

  One is for me.

  I’ll be by on my coffee break to pick it up.

  ~ Javi ~

  “Stupid attractive man.” I’m smiling as I bring the cup to my lips, almost moaning as the rich cappuccino greets my caffeine-deprived body. There’s a hint of almond to this one, just the right amount without overpowering, and reminds me of my mom’s favorite biscotti.

  The one thing we have in common is our sweet tooth.

  “Do you and your coffee need a moment?” Malcolm says from beside me all of a sudden and I yell, almost dropping my coffee. There’s a hint of amusement in his eyes, and I’m tempted to kick his shin or stomp his foot with my heels.

  “Shut it.”

  “Did you bring me anything?”

  “Nyet.” He’s eyeing the box of pastries, a frown on his face. “These are a gift, and since you were a jerk, the answer is no.”

  “That’s not very nice.”

  “And neither are you,” I counter, bringing the cup to my lips and taking a hearty sip of the perfect temp brew. “Not sharing.”

  “I can always make you go get some.” He’s sipping from his favorite traveling mug. It’s expensive, ridiculous for what it is, but the damn thing keeps his Jamaican special blend the perfect temp for a few hours.

  He does not start his day without it.

  Coffee is a religion in our family.

  “You’re going to be that petty?” Malcolm merely raises a brow, and I huff. “Fine. Grab one and go.”

  “Two, and I pay for the lunch you’ll be ordering for Javi.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Liars never make it into heaven, little cousin.”

  “Neither do murderers and pitiful eclair extortionists.”

  He shrugs. Not one care is given. “I know what would make his day.”

  “What’s that?” It slips before I can stop myself, and his grin widens. I’m starting to get annoyed with him. “Just for your amusement’s sake.”

  “Lying is a nasty habit, Mariah.” For a second, he turns serious, watching me through narrowed eyes. “You need to stop living in the past and comparing every man to Lane and his dipshit failures. He wasn’t a real man, just another child hiding behind his mother’s skirt while breaking every plate on the table.”

  “It’s not that—”

  “I know you. Remember that.”

  Nodding, I sigh, because he’s right. I’d already thought to do something nice for Javi. Not today, but maybe Friday before they head out to Nevada. “Where?”

  “Paisa on the green.”

  “I’m not even sure what that is.”

  “For him, a taste of home.”

  My plan to set up a lunch delivery for this week became an impossibility as a soft alert came from our FBI informant, causing protocol blink to go into effect. The IT department came onto the executive floor, wiping down every trace of the Frederick file.

  The twins lied when Malcolm asked about possible investigations into their business.

  “Antonio, I couldn’t care less about the possibilities you’re claiming when nothing you’ve presented says the FDA backs your findings. Are you under watch? Is there any possibility of a probe at your lab?”

  The man sweats, a few beads trickle down the side of his head. “N-no.”

  “Lying will cost you in the end. I can’t move the amount you want if it’s seized.” From the corner of my eye, I watch Javi stand and walk out. He comes back a minute or two later with two files that Malcolm takes from his hand. I don’t know what’s in those folders, and my brows furrow. “Final chance.”

  “Malcolm,” Mildred, the other twin, calls softly. She’s sitting forward, another button on her shirt undone while her finger traces her collarbone. Pathetic and useless. “Why the distrust? We’ve been friends for a year and—”

  “Answer the question or leave.”

  “No. No investigations.” Though she doesn’t meet his stare now, instead, Mildred looks at her brother through hardened eyes. “Everything is clean and ready to be moved. We have a private account offshore in the Bahamas.”

  “And that means nothing to me.” Malcolm pushes the folders toward them, sitting back in his seat while they read through the contents. “I chose the where, how, and when. Not you.” Mildred tries to protest, her brother shaking his head, but my cousin carries on. “If you lie, at any point, I’ll take ownership until my fee is paid. Ten million per infraction. Understood?”

  “That’s outrageous!” she yells, standing from her seat. The rough movement causes her chair to tip back and for her brother’s face to become pale. “I’m not giving you—”

  “We’ll sign.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Mildred glares at her brother not a full second after he agrees, face red with anger. “We can’t just give him—”

  “Shut it and sit down, Mildred!” Antonio’s voice thunders: it’s the angriest I’ve never seen him. “We need him, and I won’t get fucked in the ass because you think the world should bend at your feet. I’m the president, not you.”

  “If this goes south, I’ll spit on your grave,” she hisses, her face turned and I hear a low sniffle that’s out of character, but I don’t question it. Mildred has always been off to me. Instead, I focus on the apologetic expression her brother gives Malcolm.

  “I don’t want your apologies.” My cousin nods at the group of pens atop the table. “Sign before I change my mind. Those are my stipulations. Take them or leave them.”

  They took, and now we overthrow after removing all traces of the contract in this country. I’ve sent the files out this morning via private courier to the office in Costa Rica.

  “Ready to head out, Muñeca?” Javi asks from the edge of my desk, pulling my attention from the scheduling I had to adjust due to today’s bull. My neck cracks as I look at him, my head throbbing a bit from hours upon hours of tracing every last chunk of info with the IT department. “You look exhausted.”

  “I will be in a minute. Why?”

  “I’m waiting to walk you out before heading out to pick up the twins.”

  “They’re not hiding under a rock in Utah?”

  “Hiding in plain sight approximately twenty minutes from here.”

  Nodding, I ignore the sudden bout of butterflies at his smile. At the softness in his eyes. “Who’s going? Should I prepare a statement or—”

  “Not necessary, beautiful. I already put something together for you in case we’re intercepted by anyone watching the place.” Javi places a USB flash drive beside my pen holder that l left right where he left it and he smirks every day it stays that way. Sure, it pissed me off, but at the same time, I find his knack for finding ways to get under my skin annoyingly endearing. “They shouldn’t, but it’s just a precaution.”

  “Okay.” I grab the small device, shut my computer down, and open my purse, leaving the USB inside a small pocket. “My car’s in the—”

  “I’ve moved mine beside yours. It’s not an issue.”

  “Thank you.” Christ, I find him sexy when thoughtful.

  “Muñeca, never thank me for taking care of you. It’s my pleasure.”

  And damn me if I didn’t blush right then. I like the sound of being his more than I should. Love the thought of him being there for me.

  Not because I’m weak, bu
t because it makes him happy to be near me. Because I’m his focus.

  He’s going to break my walls down, and I’m starting to question if I need them.

  11

  I ARRIVE AT the private penthouse the Frederick twins keep in Chicago. It’s in a nice area, less than half an hour from the Asher building, where they hide in plain sight. Not in Utah like they hope we’d think, burning daylight hours that could lead to their escape.

  Because it’s hard to find an ant in a pile where possibly millions surround the guilty one, but I have a skill many don’t.

  Patience.

  In Colombia, I took personal care of my family’s enemies. Politicians and cartel members, it made no difference and there are plenty of places to hide but give a rat confidence, and it shows its face. Security gives comfort and the feeling of untouchability; that’s when I strike.

  The lobby is busy when I step inside. Multiple heads turn to look—the group of women checking in begins to whisper and giggle, but I don’t pause or encourage.

  I’m here for the twins, with Carmelo as added encouragement if need be.

  And while I’ll never hit a woman, if I have to make her brother suffer so she complies, so be it. They brought this upon themselves.

  “What floor?” Carmelo asks, stepping into the empty elevator cart.

  “Penthouse.” At my response, he presses the needed button using a pen and leans back, adjusting the two boxes in his left hand. And so do I, pulling my phone out and bringing up Mariah’s number.

  There’s been a subtle change in her over the last few days. She’s been a tiny bit softer toward me, and I love it—revel in the rosy tint that sweeps across her cheeks when I bring my daily offering of chocolate or coffee.

  A bribe? Maybe.

  But there’s something so delicious about those innocent reactions.

  So unlike her normal demeanor, and yet, Mariah is letting me in. Little by little. One interaction at a time.

  Whatcha doing, Muñeca? ~Javier

  Immediately three dots appear.

  Thinking. My mind keeps going around in a circle. ~Muñeca

  About? ~Javier

  For a second or two no sign of her typing, but then her next words fuck with my head. My dick.

  Here I am, all alone inside of this large bath with bubbles and a glass of wine thinking about you. About the one kiss you stole and how much I liked the way you taste. ~Mariah

  Fucking tease. Motherfucking destroyer of my will.

  A low hiss escapes, my cock swelling at the mere thought. She’s going to pay for this.

  That little demon knows what she’s doing. This game of hot and cold—taunt and chase that she both loathes and yearns for.

  With one hand she pushes me away, and on her next breath, pulls me closer.

  Close enough to touch but not bend over.

  I could be back home in thirty and at her door in five more.

  A throat clears, and I look over at Carmelo. “I’m a little hungry.”

  “We can stop after.” My response is a little strained, my thoughts jumping between my needs and responsibility. “Anything in mind?”

  This mindless conversation is needed, and I focus on him and not the throbbing of my length, the pulse in my veins that’s thankfully hidden behind my suit jacket.

  “Dominican if you’re down?” My response is a nod, and he smiles. The guy’s young and ambitious, but smart and hard-working—reminds me a little of the men in my family. It’s also why I’ve taken him under my wing; he could go places in a business like this if he remains loyal. “I hope the crying doesn’t last long. This woman is too extra for me.”

  “Agreed,” I say, nodding absentmindedly while staring at my phone’s screen. Mariah sent me a picture while he interrupted me, and I wish I hadn’t clicked on it. Not now, when I can’t rush back and punish my Muñeca for this infraction.

  The pic is of her in a large free standing tub with bubbles covering her body and just enough of her breasts, that the two tips aren’t visible. How did she manage to get such a perfect shot? I see them, though. Can make out their dusty rose color and their slight pebbling. The way her skin has broken out in goose bumps and the smirk on her lips just below the edge of the picture where she cut the image off.

  Tonight she’s going to see what I’m like when pushed too far.

  I’ll be picturing you just like this tonight when I come with your name on my lips. ~Javier

  Pocketing my phone, I close my eyes for a second. Breathe in and out through my nose—focus on why I’m here and not where I want to be.

  With her.

  Between her thighs.

  Tasting her every moan.

  My phone pings twice, but I don’t look. Instead, I wait for the door to open and exit with Carmelo two steps behind while thinking of everything I find unattractive.

  And my mom’s seventy-year-old neighbor in a swimsuit at her birthday cookout does it. I’m soft before I’m three steps onto their floor.

  There are two doors here: A and B, with the latter being our first stop. The twins each own a unit, but scum always sticks together.

  Antonio will try to protect her, while Mildred will shove him in the way to save her hide. Their dynamic is a bit sick and predictable, something I’ll use to my advantage.

  It’s why I put on a pair of gloves and press the doorbell. No fingerprints. No cameras are on; they scrambled the moment we walked in via the company’s hacker.

  “Hey, Ant? Can you get the door?”

  “I’m on the phone!” Antonio calls back, and a shrill scream follows. Then there’s the stomping of feet and a high-pitched asshole before the door is swung open.

  She didn’t look. Didn’t see the added work Carmelo put in by stopping a random delivery guy and taking the two boxes of pizza, tipping the pimple-faced kid two hundred bucks to walk away.

  “Oh shit.” Mildred gasps, backing up with her hands shaking a second before trying to slam it closed.

  The hardwood hits my shoe as I kick it back, causing it to smash against the wall, and a scream rends the air. It’s full of fear. Of a pathetic attempt to get sympathy. “Please.”

  Mildred falls to her knees, shaking. The tears pooling in her eyes are real, but that doesn’t stop her from arching her back, showing us that her fake tits are free to ogle. Tries and fails to distract me.

  Disgusting.

  “Get up,” I hiss, walking in and closing the door after Carmelo enters. He drops the pizza boxes beside her legs, the sound loud but her whimper is louder. “I won’t ask you again, Mildred. On your feet.”

  “Okay.” Meek. Submissive. Bullshit.

  “I’ll go escort Mr. Frederick to the living room,” Carmelo says, Glock in hand and safety off. He cocks it in her direction, and she jumps to her feet, rushing beside me. “You got that?”

  “I do.” Removing her hand from my arm, I push it off none too gently and point down the hall. “Don’t touch, and walk.”

  “Let us explain. We can come to an—”

  “Get him. I’ll be there.” Once he’s out of sight, Mildred fingers the bottom of her top, trying to play the card of a willing tease, but stops all movements when I pull out my gun and wave it in the direction of Antonio’s voice. “Walk.”

  The corridor isn’t long, opening into a spacious, unused kitchen with access to the main living space.

  “This is all a misunderstanding.” Those words annoy me. Famous last words said by every lying asshole I’ve dealt with.

  “Don’t speak unless I ask you a question. Understood?”

  “Millie!” Antonio rushes to her side, cradling her face and checking her for injuries. His concern is almost touching, a little too personal and not brotherly.

  But then again...

  “Your wife is fine, Mr. Frederick. Please have a seat.”

  He tenses while she lets out a panicked whimper, his eyes on her wide ones. “What did you say?”

  “What part didn’t you understand?”
I take a seat on an oversized chair across from them and Carmelo does the same on another beside me. We’re the picture of relaxation while understanding sets in for them. “She is your wife, no?”

  “Mildred is my sister,” he thunders, snapping around to face me with a false bravado that brings a smile to my face. “Who the fuck do you think...fuck!” His knee buckles and Antonio drops, biting his lip to the point of breaking skin from the pain.

  I settle the Glock back down on my thigh. “I’ll aim higher next time. Watch your tone, Mr. Frederick.”

  “Please don’t!” Not-Mildred falls beside him, cradling his head. “We’ll give you whatever you want, no questions asked. We’ll leave the country and disappear, too.”

  “You two have a lot of explaining to do to Mr. Asher and have an appointment within the hour. Clean up, get your emotions under control, and don’t even think of drawing attention to yourselves when we exit through the garage.” Hope fades from his face. I know that this penthouse goes from top to underground parking without needing to bypass the lobby or gym floors. “And if I were you, I’d pray. Beg your God to have mercy because lying is the ultimate sin.”

  Five people sit inside Malcolm’s office an hour later.

  Malcolm and me.

  Antonio and his wife, not-Mildred.

  And finally, the real Mildred herself.

  No one’s talking. No one has explained as of yet, but the way Mr. Frederick looks at his sister, you’d think he’d seen a ghost. That, or a mistake.

  “You three have ten minutes to make me understand this mess,” Malcolm says calmly, sitting back in his seat, a Desert Eagle and knife within reach atop the table while his eyes remain on the real Mildred. It’s a little unnerving how much the two women look alike, from the bleach-blonde hair to their grating, high-pitched voices. Their clothing is similar, and the way they sit with one leg crossed at the knee and hands in their lap is not a coincidence.

  “Antonio hired someone to kill me a little over a year ago, but the marksman failed.” At the sister’s words, there is no outrage or explosive defense from her sibling. His wife, though, is staring daggers at her and biting back whatever retort is on the tip of her tongue.