Truth in Pieces

by RC Boldt

  With my hand at the back of his head, I guide his lips to mine in a kiss that’s messy and hot. A strangled groan gets muffled by my mouth, and he thrusts, driving deep, creating friction that barely satisfies the unyielding ache between my thighs.

  My hands are wild, moving everywhere—from his soft, close-shaven hair, to his shoulders and flexing biceps, down his back and along the hard curve of his muscled ass before sweeping back up to his head. Scraping my fingertips through his short hair, I urge him closer, and our kiss grows hotter, wetter, and more demanding.

  Driving my hips upward, I match him thrust for thrust, the friction of our bodies launching my need even higher while I strain for release. His lips work over mine with heated want, sending carnal need rippling through my veins. Our teeth clank, our movements turning frantic, and I feel him thicken inside me.

  He rips his mouth from mine, rising up to his knees, easing the back of my calves to rest against his shoulders. “This pussy’s mine, you hear me?”

  Molten-hot lust floods every inch of me at the words that sound as though they’re being ripped from somewhere deep within him. When he sinks impossibly deep inside me, my lips part on a gasp.

  He drives in and out, our combined wetness glistening on his hard cock. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to, baby.” His command is hoarse, his expression intensifying.

  When I whisper, “It’s yours,” his eyes blister me with heat. His movements turn uncontrolled and possess a feral quality that leave a visceral heat in their wake.

  Breath coming out in harsh, panting gusts, I grapple for the orgasm just out of reach. His eyes sear me with heat, the tendons jut from his neck and his jaw clenches. I wet my lips, because I need to tell him. I have to.

  But when my mouth parts, the I love you lodges in my throat, clogging it. Fear and regret trap it in ironlike shackles.

  “Olivia.” His voice is gravelly and hoarse with need, blanketing my name in a wealth of emotion. His thumb moves to my clit as he drives into me with deep, thorough strokes.

  Determination lines his features, his stomach muscles ripple with each thrust, and he watches with hooded eyes as I come apart beneath him. Tremors wrack my body, and I coat him in my wetness, my inner muscles clenching his hard flesh.

  He lets out a guttural, “Fuck,” and rasps his palms over my thighs. Pumping his hips harder, he strains his muscles, short-circuiting every single nerve ending in my body. He surges forward, impaling me with his hard cock, the veins standing out proudly in his neck. His hips jerk with powerful spasms before his body goes taut as he pulses inside me.

  Releasing my legs to fall flat against the mattress once again, he leans forward to bury his face in my neck. Emotions riot in my chest as I curl my arms around him, holding him tight. I welcome his weight against me and draw in a ragged breath. As my eyes fall closed, I let myself imagine what it would be like to have this. To have Nico in my life permanently.

  To love him.

  To be loved by him.

  To hold him for the rest of my days.

  My heart wrenches with anguish, but I will myself to be satisfied that I at least had him for a brief time. I was granted a taste of what it’s like to have someone cherish me. To have someone take the time to understand me.

  For this brief time with Nico, I’ve embarked on a journey unlike any other. He enabled me to leave my past firmly behind. He’s empowered me in ways I’m certain he’ll never comprehend. He’s shown me a love—a unique and unconventional one—that I’ll always treasure.

  Love doesn’t follow guidelines. It doesn’t heed logic. At times, it can be unruly and unpredictable. It can mean falling in love with someone who’s your complete opposite in every way, yet you meld together like you were physically designed for one another.

  It can mean falling in love with a criminal.

  58

  Nico

  Sunday Night

  “Locked and loaded, Boss.” Rafe’s eyes meet mine where we stand in one of the large garage bays, and I nod.

  I stretch my neck from side to side before ensuring my earpiece is in place. I told the rest of the men to allow Olivia some breathing room once we leave here. Even though I don’t want to admit it, the way my gut churns tells me I’ll end up regretting the decision.

  But it’s the only way to find the truth.

  “Sure you’re good to go?”

  I nod again. “Yeah.”

  Rafe flashes a concerned look. I didn’t sound the least bit convincing, but he knows me well enough not to contest it. It’s my routine. I get my head in the game and do things my way. It’s not always by the book or orthodox, but it hasn’t failed me yet.

  Marcus and Tino step up. “All set.”

  I tip my chin, gesturing to the vehicles. “Time to roll.”

  We hop into the armored vehicle with Rafe behind the wheel since he’s the best at defensive driving. We’re meeting at our rendezvous spot first on the university campus before heading to where Boman and Harrod are overseeing things in the new wing.

  The drive allows me to cycle through my thoughts while we sit in comfortable silence as the scenery flies past.

  Once we park, we stride up to the humanities wing, slipping past the barricades with Do Not Enter: Under Construction written on them. Swiping the card through the reader grants us entry, and we head straight to the large lecture hall.

  We got word, along with some surveillance evidence, indicating that Santilla’s coming out of hiding. Tonight, she’s coming for me, and I can’t fucking wait.

  I’ll get to watch her finally take the fall for all the shady shit she’s pulled over the years.

  It’s past due for her to be punished. For her to suffer.

  For her to be knocked off her pedestal once and for all.

  59

  Olivia

  “Nobody lays a damn finger on my woman or disrespects her in any fuckin’ way. She got full rein here ’cause she’s mine. You get me? And nobody better bother me with petty shit while I take care of business tonight.”

  Grunts of assent sounded in response to Nico’s commands to the small crew of men he left behind at the house while Tino, Marcus, and Goliath accompanied him in a vehicle and departed for the university.

  I can’t help but wonder if his sudden lax in protection means he’s beginning to trust me…or if he’s simply setting a trap for my demise.

  But it can’t be. He needs me to draw out Santilla. An ominous foreboding edges to the forefront of my mind when I exit the house and the men on watch don’t pay me any attention.

  Every shift in gear of the Porsche I took from Nico’s garages and every mile that brings me closer to campus serve as a warning of the damage my actions will cause. Shoving my emotions aside while I remind myself of what I must do, I hastily claim the weapon and badge carefully hidden in my office and set off for the humanities wing.

  Goose bumps prickle my skin when I approach the building’s rear entrance and find no one standing guard. Fuck. Is this a setup?

  Pausing in the shadows, I survey this particular door once again. It’s nearly inaccessible due to a dangerous pile of construction rubbish. When I strain to hear a trace of voices or movement, I fail to detect anything, and it leaves me baffled.

  Where are Nico and the others? How are they not already here when they left before me?

  Once I carefully swipe the badge through the reader, the light on the door turns green, granting me access. And, dammit, the moment I quietly step inside the building, chilling premonition courses through my veins. It feels like multiple sets of eyes are tracking my movements, yet I can’t pinpoint them.

  I venture toward the lecture hall, remaining alert for any sound of approaching footsteps. Sneaking behind one of the many stacks of drywall in a shadowed area is child’s play since none of the workers, nor Chancellor Boman or Dean Harrod, look away from their tasks. Hidden about thirty to forty feet away from the action, I stay put and wait.

  Smoothing a hand down
the center of my chest and flexing my fingers, I focus on loosening my limbs. I must face her—I must confront Santilla. I deserve to be here to confront this monster once and for all.

  More than that, however, I need to be here to protect Nico as much as I possibly can. Perhaps it’s a testament to how much I’ve fallen for him, but I believe there’s a chance I can change him. I believe I can show him there’s another way for this to turn out—that there’s a possibility of a future for us.

  I don’t wait long before the telltale footfalls of people approaching reach my ears before they come into view. Chancellor Boman and Dean Harrod rush to greet Nico and Goliath like eager puppies.

  “As promised, everything’s running smoothly.” Boman tries to act confident, but the menacing air of authority Nico exudes punches through it like a fist to tissue paper.

  Much like a king on his throne perched above all others, Nico inspects the tables set up with neat piles of pre-weighed cocaine sealed in plastic. Dressed in all black, I can’t help but acknowledge how good he looks in those well-tailored black slacks, a button-down black shirt, and sleek black shoes. But my stomach lurches because there’s no indication he’s wearing a bulletproof vest.

  Dammit. Of all the times not to wear one, why would he pick tonight?

  A handful of men work with proficient movements and place the sealed drugs into a variety of boxes. Some are flat and thin, labeled as vehicle air filters or disguised as children’s board games. Others are identified as laptops our campus bookstore sells with the university insignia on the outer cover, while some are large, heavy-duty cardboard boxes with Out of Print Textbooks printed boldly along the side and top panels.

  Goliath stands a few feet away from Nico, his head on a swivel, brows drawn together in fierce concentration. A glance at the watch on my wrist tells me she’s right on time because whatever message Goliath gets from the earpiece he wears, draws his attention to the opposite corner of the lecture hall.

  His hand moves to the weapon holstered at his hip, and his voice is deep, cutting through the din of noise from the men working. “Bossman, we got ourselves visitors.”

  The click, click, click of stiletto heels signals the approach of a woman. I may have seen a photo of her, but once she steps into view, my stomach lurches at the sight of Johanna Santilla. Clad in a sleek, red knee-length dress cinched at the waist, flared in the skirt, and a bodice cut in a deep V, she’s paired it with a large black wrap that drapes her shoulders and falls to mid-thigh. Hair the same shade of black as mine cascades well past her shoulders.

  It’s light-years beyond unsettling to see our similarities in person. The main consolation is, I know the path I’m on is the right one—the one that leads me out of damnation instead of sinking deeper into the moral cesspool of crime.

  Flanking her are two men: one appears to serve as a bodyguard, and the other, the traitorous asshole who still wears his fabricated university ID lanyard and those annoyingly crooked glasses on his face. Charlie Murphey...also known as Agent Harper.

  But wait… My eyes are drawn back to her bodyguard, and another piece of the puzzle falls into place. He’s the same man who ran into me on campus and planted the thumb drive in my purse.

  Chancellor Boman’s and Dean Harrod’s heads snap back and forth between Johanna and Nico. The overhead lighting highlights the sheen of sweat on their foreheads, accentuating their receding hairlines.

  Boman and Harrod retreat a step, and then another, inching farther and farther away until they’ve distanced themselves from the thick cloud of tense animosity rolling in like an impending thunderstorm.

  They got greedy and never entertained the possibility that a rival would come knocking and attempt to overthrow Nico’s authority. The men scurry past the group of workers, making a beeline for the exit.

  Undoubtedly preparing to follow suit and make a run for it at any moment, the individuals packing the drugs cast surreptitious glances at Nico and Johanna.

  Nico doesn’t appear surprised by her arrival, but he’s not completely unaffected by her presence, either. It may not show to anyone else, but I’ve come to know this man.

  The slightest muscle twitch in his jaw tells me he’s not as indifferent as he’d like to appear. A discreet flex of his fingers at his side indicates he’s preparing to draw his holstered weapon at any moment.

  As he raises his other hand to scrub over his jaw, his eyes crinkle as if he’s amused. But there’s something in his gaze when it flicks briefly to the alleged university math TA.

  Recognition.

  “If it ain’t La Madre de la Muerta in the flesh.” Head tipped to the side, Nico has his trademark cocky smirk fixed in place. “Come to see how it’s done?”

  Her eyes narrow on him, gaze flinty. She flicks her long dark hair over her shoulder, her movements emanating pure arrogance. She’s self-assured. She thinks she knows how this will play out. But she’s wrong.

  I’m the only one who knows that.

  “Nico Alcanzar.” The appreciative way her eyes travel over him has me stiffening. “You know, for a while, I expected someone much older.” One edge of her mouth tips up; her lips painted shiny red. “It makes more sense why my daughter became so enamored with you.”

  Nico lifts his chin a notch, pinning her with a challenging stare. “Yet you still took a shot at me.”

  Johanna shrugs casually, as if they’re not discussing her almost killing him. “It was a test.”

  “A test,” he repeats monotone.

  “That’s right. To see how far my daughter had snared you into her web. I watched your face that day. You didn’t expect her to save your life. You started to fall for her then.” She arches a brow with a knowing look. “I know the look of a man under the spell of a powerful woman.” Icy maliciousness colors her laughter. “Too bad you didn’t realize she’s been playing you.”

  His expression morphs into a smug grin, but his eyes are glacial as he lets out a harsh laugh. “Bitch, you got it all wrong. Ain’t no pussy in this world powerful enough to distract me.” Johanna’s eyes narrow in irritation at his response. “Didn’t get this far by lettin’ my dick make decisions. She ain’t nothing but an eager little slut I used for a while.”

  His words slice deep through my flesh, flaying me bare.

  “So, tell me… You come here to talk business? ’Cause as you can see”—he waves a hand, gesturing to the workers hustling to finish packing the drugs—“I got shit to do.”

  Johanna pins him with a piercing stare. “You should know not to underestimate the Santilla women.” I flinch at her calling me a Santilla. As if I’m anything like her. “There’s been talk of an undercover agent leaking information.”

  He matches her stare, remaining silent while his eyes bore into her with the intensity of an arctic storm. “That so?”

  My attention is trained on both her and Nico as she steps toward him. In my periphery, her bodyguard silently directs the asshole beside him to move back a few steps, his lanyard shifting with his movements.

  Addressing Nico, Johanna gestures with a tip of her head in her bodyguard’s direction. “You can thank José for finding this out for us.” Her tone is odd, serving as an indication I’m not privy to the underlying meaning.

  “For us?” Nico’s expression remains hard, unreadable. “Bitch, there ain’t no us.”

  She tsks in disapproval. “See, I’ve been thinking. Two cartel leaders joining as one would be a wise choice, don’t you agree? One combined authority.” At his lack of response or change in expression, her features turn calculating, her tone mysterious. “Perhaps you’ll change your mind once I show you how dedicated I am to extinguishing threats to that power, like our friend here.”

  Before her words can fully register, José fires, and the other man’s brain matter—Agent Harper’s brain matter—splatters from the opposite side of his head, his body collapsing to the floor.

  Fucking hell. I draw my weapon even though I’m outmanned and outgunned. Wher
e the hell are they? Emerging now, I run the risk of being gunned down on the spot, but I have no choice.

  Workers flee toward the nearest exit, knowing full well nothing good is about to go down. Goliath, weapon in hand, appears apoplectic, his harsh expression inciting a rush of goose bumps along my skin. No trace remains of the man who held me in that hallway after Lorenzo assaulted me. I see now why he’s Nico’s right-hand man. When threat looms, he transforms into a warrior, his bloodthirsty eyes glittering.

  “The fuck was that?” Nico demands, his voice chilling, features stony. Now unholstered, he grips his gun at his side with his finger poised over the trigger.

  Anger co-mingled with outrage pulses through me, quickly blanketed by protectiveness. If they took out Harper, there’s absolutely nothing stopping them from shooting Goliath or Nico. Though these two men may be criminals, each protected me from evil. They deserve my reciprocation.

  I glance at the mess eking from my former co-worker. Goddamn Agent Harper. He claimed I was an amateur, but he was the seasoned one and look how far that got him.

  Where. The hell. Are they?

  “Mi hija.” Santilla’s voice possesses a melodic, teasing quality but also holds a strong hint of taunting within. “You can come out now.”

  I ease from the shadows, my gait casual and unhurried with my gun in hand. The instant Nico’s eyes lock with mine, I’m flooded with an onslaught of guilt. It grows exponentially when his expression lacks surprise or shock.

  That he was expecting this—anticipating betrayal from me—delivers a searing cut to my heart. As much as I was aware of the impending fallout, it doesn’t mean I’m emotionally impenetrable. I allowed him to delve beneath my protective layers. I showed him the real me even when I knew it was dangerous and a risk that could end my life.