by Cora Kenborn
The words ran off my lips with the ease of rain. “Only you.”
“And don’t you ever fucking forget it,” he growled into my ear. “Ven para mí.” Come for me.
With the relentless swirl of his thumb against my clit, the punishing drive of his fingers, and the simultaneous detonation of the fuse he hit inside, I obeyed. After creating the perfect storm, he tossed me into the current and dragged me under until there was no air. No sound. No chance of anything but his name filling every crevice of my body as I unraveled under his command.
“Val!”
Still incoherent from my fall, I stumbled as Val turned me around and grabbed my chin between his slick fingers and crushed his mouth onto mine. My lips didn’t hesitate to part for him, our tongues dueling frantically as if it were our first taste.
Frantic. Yeah, that was this unsettling feeling surging inside me. I wanted answers, but I wanted him more. No, I needed him with a level of desperation I’d never known.
And it scared me.
Finally, drawing back, Val raked his thumb across my bottom lip, his eyes darkening to a blackened void. “These beautiful lips were made to wrap around the cock of the most powerful man in the world, Cereza. After this baby comes, you’ll get on your knees for me.”
“Sí.”
It was the answer he wanted because he devoured my lips a second time, stealing my breath and all rational thought before pulling away and spinning me back around. “Until then…”
There was no time to protest. In a flurry of motion, he slammed my hands on top of the desk and tugged my hips back into a position that resembled a criminal about to be arrested on the side of the highway.
I could’ve protested. Although Val’s cartel boss mode scared me sometimes, I knew he’d never hurt me. I knew I could reach him if I really wanted to.
Problem was, I didn’t.
I didn’t when he jerked my dress over my hips.
I didn’t when he used his Italian dress shoes to kick my legs apart.
And I didn’t when I glanced over my shoulder and watched as he licked his finger and ran it from the top of my ass, down to the entrance he only took while wound-up in this state. I held my breath as he toyed with me, forcing his way inside the tight ring of muscle with the tip only to pull back out.
“I’ll fuck this tonight,” he promised, repeating the torture. “But right now, I want you to walk down that aisle with my cum dripping down your legs.”
Holy shit.
His voice dropped deceptively low. “Te amo.”
“I love you, too.”
“And Eden?”
“Yes?”
“Hold on.”
I didn’t have a chance to speak before Val all but ripped his tuxedo pants open, shoving them just far enough down his thighs to drive into me with one violent thrust. The burn of his possession took my breath away, and I struggled to adjust to his demands. As many times as Val had taken me with the force of an angry god, I was still never truly prepared for the invasion.
Val’s cock was just like his presence. Larger than life and mercilessly brutal.
He fucked without apology, feeding on my screams and strengthening with each plea. It was dirty, fierce, and raw, and we should be ashamed of ourselves. After all, this was Brody and Adriana’s wedding. Val was minutes away from walking his sister down the aisle. Dozens of guests milled around the courtyard right outside the window.
And neither of us gave a damn.
With one hand clutching my hip and the other cradling my chest, Val set whatever animal within him free, fucking me so hard I could barely hear anything over my screams, his curses, and the sound of skin slapping together in punishing chaos.
For the second time, my body wound into a tight coil, then springing apart and shattering into irreparable pieces. My release triggered Val’s and he plunged one last time, roaring out my name along with a string of broken curses as he came.
Still embedded deep within me, he dropped his forehead against my back, his breathing harsh and ragged. “No me dejes.”
The words were barely a whisper, but I froze.
I was born and raised in Houston, Texas. I never went to college; hell, I barely graduated high school. However, at twenty-five years old, I married the heir to a cartel kingdom and moved to a country that spoke a language I didn’t understand.
However, after two years, three months, and fifteen days, I’d learned enough to get by.
Enough to know that my husband was hiding something else from me.
Enough to translate three prophetic words.
Don’t leave me.
Chapter Seven
Eden
Don’t leave me.
I couldn’t shake Val’s words.
They hid behind the plastic smile as I kissed him goodbye and closed his office door. They echoed in every click of my heels as I made my way down to the kitchen and back up two flights of stairs to our bedroom. They sank deeper into my stomach as I reached for the doorknob, hesitating seconds before turning it.
Don’t leave me.
Why would I leave him? More than that, why would he think I’d leave him?
What the hell had he done?
Tucking the bottle in my other hand under my arm, I settled it across my belly and drew in a deep breath. “Later,” I muttered. “You can kill him after the reception.”
I didn’t feel any calmer. In fact, between arguing, fucking, and pretending, I felt like a volcano about to erupt. But at least I had a plan.
Sort of.
Tucking it away in the back of my mind for later, I barely twisted the doorknob before it flew open, taking me with it.
“Where the hell have you been?”
I glanced up just as my heels skidded across the marble floor, locking eyes with my sister-in-law right before slamming straight into solid wood. “Ooofff.”
Adriana gave not one fuck. Standing there in a lacy, vintage wedding gown, she pinned me with a fiery glare. “It’s 5:02. That’s five-zero-two. I’m getting married in an hour and fifty-eight minutes, my hair is a mess, my makeup looks like shit, and my nerves are wound tighter than a nun’s asshole.”
I blinked, passing a gaze over her perfectly lined eyes and flawless lips, down to the classic low chignon gathered at her nape. “Adriana—”
“I’m losing it, Eden. Fucking losing it. Look.”
Oh, I looked, and then did my best not to laugh as she flung a trembling hand in my face while glaring daggers at me. The contradiction was too much. She looked like an over-caffeinated pit bull swaddled in satin and lace.
When her nostrils flared, I bit my lip and nearly choked on a snort.
When she narrowed her eyes, I cleared my throat and shut that shit down.
Adriana and I had mended fences, but she was still quite volatile, and to be honest, I wasn’t a hundred percent positive familial homicide was off the table. If the Carrera temper was poisonous, Adriana’s was laced with arsenic.
I offered what I hoped was a comforting smile. “It’s normal to be nervous.”
“Nervous?” she screeched. “I’m not nervous. I’m pissed. Everything’s falling apart, and the one thing I ask my asshole matron of honor to do, she...” Her words trailed off as she cocked her head to the side. “What’s this?”
“What’s what?”
“This.” Balling her fist, she flipped out her index finger and shoved it in my face. “Disheveled hair. Smeared lipstick. Glazed eyes.” Narrowing her gaze, she dipped her face in the crook of my neck and inhaled. Pulling back with a huff, she folded her arms across her chest. “You smell like sex! Ay Dios mío, I’m in here breaking down, and you’re down the hall getting dicked down.”
My cheeks flamed at the vivid memory of being bent over Val’s desk.
“I knew it,” she hissed. “Could you two seriously not go one goddamn day without fucking? Shit like this is exactly why you’re going to have twelve kids and tits down to your feet by the time you’re thirty.�
��
Well, okay then…
I’d seen many versions of Adriana Carrera: the heartless killer, hateful bitch, the selfless heroine, the remorseful sister, and the loving fiancée, but this… I wasn’t sure who the hell this out-of-control whack job was.
While she continued ranting, I reached under my arm and held up the bottle of tequila I swiped from the kitchen. “I might make detours, but I still deliver.”
Adriana’s eyes widened. “Is that Gran Patrón Burdeos Añejo?”
“Yep.”
She cocked her chin. “From Val’s personal stash?”
“Yep.”
She stared at me a beat longer before the tension between her eyebrows relaxed. “You’re forgiven,” she announced, grabbing it out of my hand and spinning around.
I wasn’t looking for absolution, but if it took Bridezilla down a couple of notches, who was I to argue? Val would have my ass if he knew I was supplying his post-transplant, diabetic sister with five-hundred-dollar tequila, but I was her matron of honor. It was my job to ensure she had everything she needed, and if she needed eighty-proof zen to calm her tits and wedding day jitters, then her big brother could get the fuck over it.
However, we were way past zen and this was more than just jitters.
I cocked my chin, watching Adriana stumble toward my bed, cursing as her feet tangled in the long train of her gown. Swiping an empty glass off the nightstand, she poured a timid shot and collapsed onto the mattress.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, wincing as she took a timid sip. “You’re not an asshole.”
“And you’re not a homicidal lunatic.”
“You didn’t call me one.”
I smirked. “Maybe not out loud.” Adriana rolled her eyes as I closed the door and leaned against it. “What’s really going on? You were somewhat sane an hour ago.”
“An hour ago, the sun was still shining, and I wasn’t an hour and fifty-eight...” Her voice trailed off as she glanced at the alarm clock sitting on the nightstand. Palming her forehead, she let out a ragged breath. “I mean fifty-four minutes away from a matrimonial clusterfuck.”
We weren’t the touchy-feely kind of women, but I couldn’t just stand there and watch her unravel. Plus, if anyone would know what Val had been up to, it would be his sister.
Approaching slowly, I paused beside the mattress. When she didn’t growl at me, I sat beside her. “Talk to me.”
“I can’t.”
“You can’t, or you won’t?”
That earned me a sharp glare. “Eden, I really don’t need you on my back when I have the world on my shoulders and a trigger-happy Colombian under my feet.” She motioned toward the window, where three floors below in the courtyard, guests were still being seated.
We both sucked in a sharp breath at her slip.
Colombian.
I was right. She fucking knew.
“Dante Santiago,” I whispered.
Adriana scowled. “I’m sorry, do you happen to fucking know another trigger-happy Colombian coming here?”
I didn’t fault her for snapping. She wasn’t angry with me. I was just an available spinning wheel at which to throw knives. I had no doubt the real place she wanted to aim them was at her brother’s face.
I didn’t know all the details, but from what I could tell, Val had coated her wedding day in such a thick layer of upper echelon bullshit, it was eating her alive. Unfortunately, so was my anxiety, ever since being fed a steady stream of half-truths.
The queen was cracking, an opportunity which left me with two options: stick with my original plan to needle the truth out of Mateo after the wedding or go in for the kill now while her defenses were down.
Like there was even a question…
“I thought Val said you were okay with all of this?” I had no clue what all of this was, but she didn’t know that.
“Okay? I wouldn’t call any of this okay, Eden.” She snorted, waving the glass in the air. “It’s not like he gave me a choice in the—” Stopping mid-sentence, she whipped her head around, her tone sharp. “Wait, he told you?”
No, but you’re going to.
“Uh-huh.”
Being held captive in a dirty stash house, I learned that controlling one’s fate hinged directly on controlling the narrative. Fight dirty then get ahead of the curve and stay there because the upper hand wielded the real power, not a gun.
“Told you what exactly?” Before I could open my mouth, she added, “And when?”
I almost smiled. There it was. The infamous Carrera backtrack. She knew she’d stepped on a landmine. One wrong move, even one minor misstep, would blow everything to hell. Adriana had no idea if Val had really confided in me or if I was baiting her, waiting patiently for her to lift a toe and watch her incinerate.
I considered being vague, then decided, fuck it. There was no better lie than the truth.
“He told me that he invited Dante Santiago and his wife because of Brody.”
A horizontal line sank in between her eyes. “Brody?”
Shit. That didn’t seem to register so I skipped over Val’s weak Colombian access excuse and skipped to the end of our conversation, hoping something struck a chord. “You and Brody, of course. The both of you. Because of the wedding, I mean.” When I saw a small flicker in her eyes, I pushed forward. “Santiago wanted him to meet at his island in the Pacific, but he didn’t want to leave me.” I motioned toward my swollen belly. “For obvious reasons.”
Rubbing my chin, I stared at her and waited. I really hoped she grabbed the hook and ran with it from here because that was all I had. Anything else out of my mouth would be complete bullshit.
Finally, she let out a reluctant sigh. “I told him it was a mistake to keep it from you.”
Jackpot.
“Then why did he?”
Groaning, she propped her elbow up on the nightstand and dug the heel of her palm into her forehead. “You know how Val reacted when Santi was born. He almost shot the entire surgical staff just because he was breech. He has been like an overwound Jack-in-the-box ever since he found out about the human trafficking ring caveat.”
Forcing a neutral expression was hard when it felt like I just took a cheap right hook across the face. I swallowed hard, but despite every effort to reel in a visible reaction, my voice betrayed me. “I’m sorry... the what?”
Her jaw tightened. “I thought you said he told you?”
Son of a bitch.
He should have.
And he’d regret the decision not to in a little over three hours.
Val was a deadly man. A killer who was able to turn his conscience on and off like a leaky faucet. The same bloodstained hands that slit countless throats during the day, came home and rocked our son to sleep at night. I’d never turned a blind eye to the monster lurking beneath the man I married.
But this killer, this monster, even he had limits, and human sex trafficking ranked at the very top. Val’s father made his fortune in the flesh trade, a vile atrocity he was forced to partake in as a young boy.
So, to blatantly lie about something so personal felt like a slap in the face.
“He did,” I jumped in, trying not to sound rattled. “He just made it sound like he’d already taken care of it.”
Please work. Please work. Please work.
“Not yet, but he will,” she said, and a thousand sighs lay buried within my slow exhale. “We still have two days until the girls are being shipped out of Corpus Christi, according to the Russians.”
I nodded along, still pretending I knew what the hell she was talking about, when my brain backtracked to something she said. A word that didn’t register until now. “And the ‘caveat’?” Lifting both hands, I drew air quotes around the word and hoped like hell my intuition didn’t fail me now.
People always said nothing in life came for free. It was true. However, in cartel life, the price tag usually dripped with blood.
Adriana’s face darkened as if I’d mentioned the
devil himself. Letting one white stiletto slip off her heel, she dangled it on her toe for a moment before flinging it across the room. After watching it clear an impressive distance into the bathroom, her lips curled into a victorious smirk. “Let’s hope he drinks his drink, eats his cake, and then puts himself, his wife, and his bitch squad on those three overpriced death traps and flies his ass back to the lost city of Atlantis.” Rolling her eyes, she waved a hand in the air. “Or wherever the fuck he came from.”
I decided to let the obvious hostility slide and focus on draining this intel well dry. I huffed out a fake, sardonic laugh and kept my eyes averted. “All roads lead back to Dante Santiago.”
“Hijo de su putra madre,” she spat out with sudden venom. “Brody put a year and a half of work into that port, and we almost had it. We were this close.” Lifting her hand, she held her thumb and index finger only centimeters apart, then balled her hand into a fist and punched the mattress. “Fucking stupid idiota. Fucking Feds...” She didn’t finish her sentence; instead, she shook her head, and let her silence speak for itself.
Again with the goddamn silence.
Then every muscle in my body stiffened. Brody’s main focus in the last year and a half had been making a deal with the Italians to open up the New York port to the Carreras. If something happened to ruin it that involved the Feds, the idiota at the root of it had to be their crime boss, Don Ricci.
Which left New York free for the taking.
A territory Dante Santiago used to have a stronghold over.
Caveat.
My mind spun backward even further.
As for the Russians…
“Will Ava be attending as well?”
Adriana nodded. “Last I heard, she was.” She pinned me with an icy smile. “Of course, I’m not the one in charge of my own guest list. You’d have to ask your husband.”
So, the wedding was a cover for some type of tit-for-tat deal with the Colombians, and my jackass of a husband was going to let me play the clueless, happy hostess, filling drinks and making toasts while two ruthless empires sat around a table planning world domination?
Fuck that.
