Yours (Beautiful Sinner Series Book 4)

by Elena M. Reyes

  His fingers are gripping his wife’s, and the strength used to keep them in his grasp makes them turn a purplish red from the pressure.

  “Is that true?”

  “Yes, Malcolm. I did.” And while I give him credit for not denying, there’s no remorse either. “Mildred knows the reason, too.”

  “I see.” There are three files in front of him and he begins to read the one furthest to the left, nodding his head before flipping to the next page. This goes on for a few minutes. He’s reading and the ones across from us wait, two with fear and the third a little smug.

  There’s something about the real Mildred Frederick that doesn’t sit right with me, though.

  For someone betrayed by her brother and usurped by his wife, she’s cocky, not hurt.

  Unafraid. A little taunting. What are you really after here?

  “So you see, Malcolm, it’s—”

  “Not another word unless spoken to, Ms. Frederick,” I interrupt, letting Asher finish his reading. Her eyes narrow and lips thin; I raise a brow and almost smile at the way she backs down.

  He puts the first file down and then picks up the middle, ignoring the group. Malcolm doesn’t see the way Antonio sweats or the way his wife’s lips move in silent prayer.

  Instead, he takes his time, reading the paperwork his team gathered after I found a discrepancy in Ms. Frederick’s signature. I’ll give them that it was a good match, but all it takes is one wrong loop to catch someone’s eye. My eye.

  Before taking on jobs as a hitman in Colombia, I oversaw the contracts that Alejandro signed with a fine-toothed comb.

  It’s a necessity when millions are on the line.

  This time, though, when putting down the next folder, he doesn’t pick up the third. Instead, his gaze meets Antonio a second before a shot is fired from his gun. It’s a clean entry and exit with his shirt staining red at the shoulder this time.

  “Explain yourself.”

  “He thought that—”

  “I wasn’t talking to you, Mildred.” Malcolm flicks his eyes toward her for a second, stare hard and challenging. “Understood?” She nods, and he goes back to Antonio. “Well, Mr. Frederick? I’m waiting.”

  “What she said is true. I did try to kill her for the company, and because of an issue she created two years ago.”

  “What issue?” Something in the way he says the words pulls my attention from the idiots across from us. There’s a hint of undisguised irritation mixed with ire I didn’t expect from someone who shows little to no emotion.

  “My sister slept with an almost married man and the family was not happy.”

  “Hmmm.” That’s all he says before turning to the wife. “What’s your gain in this?”

  “He’s my husband and needed help.”

  “Nothing else, Delia?”

  “No.” She looks at her husband and a tear falls. Not fake or to gain sympathy like before. This time, Delia is showing her emotions without any bullshit attached. “I simply love him and did what I had to.”

  “I need more than that, Mrs. Frederick. Tell me why you’d go along with such a stupid plan and try to deceive me?”

  “Because when you love someone, you help them no matter the cost.”

  “Even if that’s your life?”

  “Yes.” Delia’s eyes close, and more tears fall while her husband watches. His expression is one of repentance. Of utter sadness, which has caught Asher’s notice as well. There’s more to this story than greed.

  “Okay.” That’s all before lifting his gun a second time and firing again, this time hitting Antonio’s ear and blowing the body part clean off. Blood spurts out, staining his wife’s clothes and skin. “You forfeited your life the moment you signed those papers inside my office, and I plan to collect my pound of flesh. Mildred,” he calls the woman without taking his eyes off a frantic Delia putting her hands on the head wound, trying to slow the bleeding, “choose her punishment, and I’ll carry out the sentence. You have three minutes to decide.”

  The couple is horror-stricken by this, a whimper escaping the wife while Mildred tries to hide her glee. But I saw the look that flashed in her eyes before she took on a more stoic expression. She’s enjoying this.

  Most in her position would show hurt and betrayal. Would demand a better explanation, instead of glaring when Delia began to talk—the contempt and threat behind the heated look made the other woman a bit nervous.

  After a minute, Mildred gives Asher a pleading look from beneath her over-mascaraed eyes. “They’re my family, and I should be the one to—”

  “Don’t test my patience, Ms. Frederick. I’ve been compliant enough.”

  “Maybe we can come to a better agreement? I’ll watch?”

  “No.”

  “Malcolm, you’re being difficult for no reason.”

  “Time’s up. Javi, have them removed and transferred to a holding cell until I decide.”

  “Done.” I stand from my seat and step out the door where Carmelo is waiting, talking with another two guards working at the bank this evening. “Take Antonio and his wife downstairs. We’ll be down in a minute.”

  “Together or separate?”

  “Keep them together for now, and no further injuries during transport. Understood?” All three men nod and walk inside, helping Antonio—nearly carrying him—while Delia follows amid sobs, body-shaking cries for leniency that no one reacts to.

  Once they exit, I retake my seat and then take the last file, which Malcolm holds out for me.

  “Please be reasonable,” Mildred tries again, a whine in her tone. “What they did to me deserves retribution. Taking my life—my company—to make his wife happy deserves death. I’m only alive to tell my tale because of incompetence on their part.”

  “How did you survive a so-called hitman?” I ask, keeping my voice neutral when I’m anything but. Her audacity knows no bounds after sleeping with an almost married man, Mariah’s ex to be exact.

  Inside, I’m fuming as I meet her cold stare. Beyond irate.

  My beautiful little criminal almost married this asshole, Lane Dermot, while he cheated. Lied. Put my girl at risk.

  There isn’t much of an explanation in this file. The one sheet only holds a few words, but they’re enough to make my finger twitch.

  I could kill her so easily.

  But I don’t. That pleasure will only be Mariah’s. My beauty deserves the right to tell me her story—for me to earn her trust—and I’ll wait because there’s no doubt in my mind she’s worth it.

  “Since when does the help intervene in your business dealings, Mr. Asher?”

  “Since he’s family, Ms. Frederick.”

  Her plastic nose wrinkles at that while appraising me. “How are you related again?”

  “One, you never asked, and I never explained. Two, he’s Mariah’s other half.”

  I’m not surprised by his words. His mind is working out logistics like mine.

  Connecting dots she’d rather stay hidden.

  “She’s married?” Voice low and bitter, Mildred looks away, but I see her hands clench into tight fists.

  “Answer my earlier question, Mildred.” After putting the file face down atop the table, I rub two fingers across my bottom lip. “How did you survive?”

  “I caught him cutting the brake lines of my car and staged an accident with the help of friends.” Monotone. A rehearsed line and a lie. Most hitman will go for a personal approach and cutting lines is too far removed, a cop-out. “It was best to lay low after that and not tempt fate twice.”

  “Makes sense.” Malcolm taps his fingers on the glass top, nodding to himself. “Smart move on our behalf.”

  “Now, about my company and my brother’s betrayal...”

  “What about it?” he asks with an amused chuckle at the end.

  “How much will it cost to have the rights returned and—”

  “Not a dime.”

  “Really?” Mildred smiles. Too cheery. Too easy to pick apar
t. “That’s great, even though I am more than willing to pay with my flesh if you so inquire.”

  “Not interested in either your money or flesh. The company stays in my possession and so does your family. I’ll execute and return the cadavers once I’m ready. You may see yourself out now.”

  “You’re an—”

  “Out.” Her eyes narrow at my command, but the cocked gun makes her storm out a second later. She’s muttering curses through gritting teeth. Demanding that whoever is still outside gets out of her way while the clacking of heels disappears down the hall.

  “You saw what I saw, Lucas?”

  “I did.” My eyes narrow at the folder he gave me. “She’s dirty and has help.”

  “So, the next question is: kill her now or let her hang herself?’ At this, I meet his eyes. Malcolm doesn’t realize that while I’ve never hurt a woman physically, if it relates to Mariah and her safety, I’d strangle one without a single ounce of remorse.

  “Let her hang herself.” There’s an understanding between us. “The entire situation is fucked up—full of holes, and I’d rather know all the players involved than shoot blindly.”

  “Agreed.”

  “There’s also the matter of Mariah’s connection. She needs to know.” This is something I won’t back down from. I give exactly two fucks about his position in this family. When it comes to her, all bets are off. I’m protective of the woman to the point of blind madness if it ever came to that.

  “Tell her.” Asher stands and removes his suit jacket, then takes off his tie. “I’ll handle the two downstairs in the meantime.”

  I follow his lead and type a message to Carmelo to bring the car around. Owing him dinner gives me the perfect excuse to pick up some dessert and personally deliver it to my muñeca later tonight. She has a sweet tooth I’ll exploit if it gives me more time with her.

  That, and I can explain today’s event.

  “They know something we don’t.”

  “Not for long.”

  12

  I’VE BEEN HOME for less than three hours and the place is clean, the laundry that’s been inside of the dryer for two days is now folded, and I have a pan of chicken enchiladas in salsa verde bubbling in the oven.

  I’ve also taken a bath and played a game of teasing the killer that brought me more pleasure than the orgasm that followed. Not because it wasn’t good, but because I wanted his hands on me. His fingers pumping in and out slowly, edging me, until I fell apart in his arms.

  It’s getting harder and harder to deny this uncontrollable attraction. To pretend my body doesn’t call out for his.

  Because there’s something about this man—Javier’s mere presence—that undoes me and leaves behind a mass of need willing to forget promises made to herself. To forget her past and want more.

  Of him. Of us. Of a future together.

  “I’m on a roll tonight,” I mutter low, the hint of sarcasm heavy, and it’s because I’m still restless for some reason. Two orgasms didn’t quell my inkling churning within that something is wrong.

  My mind won’t stop. Keeps dissecting Antonio and Mildred’s behavior and then bounces to Javier and his last message.

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

  A shiver rushes through me and I shake my head, trying to rid myself of the images I used to come.

  Javier on a bed. Cock in a tight first. His head thrown back while groaning my name.

  “Oh God,” I whimper low, thighs clenching—the pulse between my legs racing. Christ, Mariah! Focus. We need to focus.

  Right. I need to think. Clear my mind.

  It takes a few deep breaths for my body to relax, and I recall the twins’ visit. Their mannerisms were the same: over-the-top rich and expectant. Nothing stood out. Nothing that could raise a red flag.

  Those two aren’t the best actors and it makes no sense. None.

  Because even at their most narcissistic, faking documents and getting into unapproved—illegal human testing—isn’t their deal. They’ve never shown this level of criminality, their specialty being seizing federal grants for what they claim will be breakthrough testing that funds their expensive taste while doing minimal effort and research.

  Are they overindulgent assholes? Yes.

  Are they obnoxious? No doubt.

  Feeling unaccomplished and more than a little stuck, I refill my glass of wine and walk to the living room, taking a seat facing my floor-to-ceiling windows. The buildings surrounding mine are lit up, and the evening sky has begun to turn dark.

  It’s beautiful. Peaceful.

  I take a sip and then another. My knees are bouncing and fingertips drumming against the glass in my hold.

  Why can’t I control this restlessness brewing inside of me?

  Like I know something is wrong.

  Or maybe it’s the confusion Javi creates. Maybe it’s the electricity that shocks my senses and warms my bones when we touch. Maybe it’s his persistence, that longing that matches my own.

  But however I look at it, it all starts and ends with him.

  I worry about him when he’s out with Malcolm.

  I look forward to the daily coffees and the flirty looks.

  How do I fight something that I feel is inevitable? You don’t.

  I’ve been tempting him—pushing him to take and break the last of my walls down. A truth that is both hard to swallow and freeing. With his possessiveness and slick grin, Javier has infiltrated every corner of my mind and heart until the two became needy for his presence.

  “Girl, you need to stuff your face and finish that bottle before you do something stupid. Calling him is no bueno in this state.” I’m even nodding to myself, which further cements how crazy Javier Lucas makes me. “Especially since you’re looking for issues with the Fredericks past the federal investigation. Remember that clear heads don’t make mistakes.”

  I can deal with Javi and my feelings after. Much later.

  A knock at my door pulls my attention and I stand, appreciative of the distraction even though I’m not expecting anyone. But what’s worse is the sudden giddiness that hits my chest at the thought that maybe it’s Javi. So much for wanting to delay?

  Ignoring my subconscious, I look down at my body and I’m glad I chose the small sleep shorts and ribbed tank in a mint color. It’s soft and looks sweet, but the lace edging and thin material give the like-second-skin fabric a sheer quality.

  Another knock, and I fluff my hair. “Coming!” I yell out, and no other taps on my door are heard. Moreover, I don’t look through the peephole or check the security camera, pulling the doorknob and opening it fully. “What the?”

  No one is here. No sign of life down the corridor either.

  However, what I do find is a bouquet of all-black roses in a large glass vase with no note. Picking up the large arrangement, I bring it inside and place it atop my entry table, digging through the stems for anything that tells me where it came from.

  Yet there isn’t anything.

  “Must be a mistake.” It’s the only plausible explanation because no one is stupid enough to send me flowers that symbolize death or new beginnings. Because the two are tied together.

  For every death, there is a birth.

  For every ending, there’s a start awaiting the chance to commence.

  I close the door and take the flowers with me to the kitchen where I turn the oven off, pour another glass of wine, and sit while my food cools off a bit. And while I wait, I watch the flowers.

  They’re not helping my earlier thoughts. It’s the opposite. They further unsettle me.

  Who left them outside my door? Why?

  Maybe a neighbor lost a family member? I know the lady three doors down has an elderly mother, but still, while the flowers themselves are beautiful, the meaning isn’t loving or comforting.

  So while I eat, I stare at them. While I wash my dishes and set them on the mat to dry, I stare at them. They don
’t leave my line of sight through my fourth glass of wine, and I’m so lost in my thoughts that when the ringer chimes, I jump in my seat.

  At once I jump down from my barstool and rush to the door, not caring about my lack of clothing or the untamed mass of curls—the two long spirals that continually fall over my right eye now that it’s dry.

  It’s one of the reasons I never leave my hair in its natural state. Too untamed. Wild.

  “Should’ve straightened—” My whining is interrupted by three quick raps against my door, and I flick my eyes to the clock on the wall. Jesus, how did I lose two hours? It’s late. A little past nine-thirty, and I pull the door open in hopes of catching...

  “Fuck, Muñeca.”

  13

  SHE’S TRYING TO kill me.

  Destroy what little patience I have left, and before the threadbare cord snaps, I’m on her, pushing her back and slamming the door closed with my foot. The loud sound makes her jump, but my lips swallow the delicious gasp.

  “Motherfuck, baby. You drive me insane.” The bag with dessert is somewhere on the floor, the thud barely registering as my arms bring her closer. “Need to feel you. Taste you.”

  She’s nodding against my mouth while her chest rubs against mine, the two stiff peaks and their piercings making me shiver. The feel of her makes me forget what I came to talk to her about. It makes me forget the little punishment I’d planned for her teasing earlier.

  “Javi, please,” leaves her on the sweetest little whimper, a needy sound that settles on the tip of my cock. I’m pulsing. Throbbing behind the zipper of my slacks. “Just please!”

  “Tell me what you need and it’s yours,” I say into the kiss, twining my tongue with hers again and flip us around. Mariah’s back meets the door while my right hand wanders, caressing the soft skin where her thin tank has risen, and I pull back just long enough to catch the sight of her like this.

  Swollen lips and hooded eyes.

  Chest heaving.

  Hair natural and wild, a perfect mass of curls to wrap around my fist.