Now they were married. Thrown together through circumstance but merged through his dogged determination. It was a difficult thing to resist, his unwavering drive to possess her. In her life time Vee had been coveted, she’d been passed around, she’d been a possession. But no one had wanted her the way Sotza did, saw the things in her that he did.
She raised her arms when he leaned in to unbuckle her, reaching up to brush her hair aside so it wouldn’t catch in the belt. She breathed in his scent, looked down at the smooth darkness of his hair while he touched her. He was such a strange contradiction of old world formality and sharp intelligence. He saw her strengths and encouraged them, rather than beat them out of her. Now that she was well and truly caught by the Venezuelan arms dealer, she could allow herself to bask in the exhilarating sensation of his deep regard for her.
He jumped out of the plane first, coming around to her side and opening the door. She waited for him, knowing he would want to assist her. When he reached for her, she turned in her seat and slid out of the plane. His strong hands circling her waist, he lifted her out and set her on the ground in front of him. She twisted around and looked up. He searched her face for a moment and then took her hand, leading her toward the hangar.
“Where’s our security?” she asked curiously. It had been so long since she’d gone anywhere by herself that the freedom of being alone, without protection, was both frightening and freeing.
“The only person who knows of our honeymoon plans is Mateo. I didn’t want anyone else disturbing us. Of course, there’s security on the island itself, but they will be discreet.”
Vee felt her face heat and wanted to roll her eyes at herself. She was a thirty-seven-year old woman with a lifetime of experience. But something about this man made her feel shy. She hoped he wouldn’t be disappointed. While experienced, she hadn’t been called on to do much in the bedroom department. Just entertain the men that expected a fuck. Somehow, she thought faking it wouldn’t go over with Sotza. He was too subtle, too nuanced. He would want honesty from her. Could she give it to him?
The short drive to the coast was mostly in silence. Vee was too nervous to speak. Normally she might break silence like this with a biting, snappy comment, but today, she had nothing to say. Sotza had lapsed into his typical quiet. He never seemed to feel the need to fill silence with conversation. He only spoke when he had something to say.
Two men, wearing the standard security uniform of green and black, met them at the docks. Sotza briefly introduced Vee to Juan and John. She had to swallow a laugh at their names as she solemnly shook their hands. Sotza instructed her to go to either of the men if she needed anything. He told his men that they were to listen to Vee without hesitation. She understood. He didn’t mean they would help her with meals or household chores. Sotza trusted her to recognize threats and to go to these two men if she had concerns about their safety. She wanted to thank him for acknowledging her ability to assess a situation and call the shots when needed, but she held her tongue. Their whirlwind marriage, preceded by a contentious and bloody engagement, made her question everything. Him, herself, their situation. She wasn’t ready to feel gratitude toward Sotza.
The sun had set as the boat docked and Sotza reached for her arm and helped her step out of the boat while his men secured it. She walked off the dock and onto the sand. The hem of her skirt brushed the sand and when she tried to kneel down to unbuckle her sandals, the dress stretched tight across her ass and hips, preventing her.
“Let me,” Sotza said, his voice a husky timbre.
She held her breath as he went down on one knee in front of her in the sand. The back of his hands brushed her skin, sending tingles up her leg as his sure fingers worked quickly with the tiny, delicate buckle. In seconds she was free.
“Lift your foot,” he said sliding his hand up her bare calf, beneath her dress, holding her so she could step out of the shoe. She braced herself with one hand on his back and lifted her foot, sinking it into the sand. He quickly helped her with the next until she was standing barefoot. The smooth, cool sand embraced her.
Vee grinned, turning away from him and walking toward the water. She inhaled deeply, taking in the ocean scent, so familiar yet also different. She walked from dry sand to wet, holding her skirt around her knees, and sighed as the water rushed over her toes up to her ankles. It was wonderful. Slightly cool, but not uncomfortable.
“You missed it,” Sotza said coming up behind her.
She nodded. “It’s a powerful thing. Sometimes wonderful, sometimes terrifying. But the one thing it isn’t, is judgmental. The ocean is steady, it never leaves. No matter what was happening in my life, I could always go back, like I was going home.”
“I understand,” he said. “I feel the same about my jungle. It’s wild, untamed. Growing up, I became a part of it. When I went to boarding school in England the separation was unbearable. Like a physical disturbance in my soul.”
Vee looked up at him. His words were quite poetic for such a practical man. She wondered if anyone else had ever heard The Butcher speak in such a way.
He picked up her shoes for her and ushered her toward an all-terrain vehicle. They sat in the back while his men sat in the front. She wondered where the guards would stay. She hoped not in the house with them. Vee was nervous enough without having men she didn’t know or trust hanging around too close. She glanced at Sotza. His head was turned toward her, but she couldn’t see his eyes in the dim interior. She could feel the heat of his gaze on her though, knew he was contemplating the night to come.
He helped her out of the vehicle, holding the door open for her. She winced when a rock bit into the bottom of her foot.
“I’m sorry, I should have realized,” he said, and before she knew what was happening, her feet were swept right out from under her and she was lifted up against Sotza’s chest. She knew he was strong, tougher even than many of the younger men that traipsed around his property. He held her effortlessly and strode toward the house. One of his men tried to get the door for them, but Sotza was too quick. In the blink of an eye he was carrying her across the threshold.
“Smooth,” Vee murmured. “If I didn’t know any better, I would think that was planned.”
Sotza stared down at her. There was no amusement in his eyes, just heat. Like he was finally allowing himself to feel everything he’d been holding back, showing her those emotions. And if she was right, he wanted her desperately, lust blazing clear through his dark, enigmatic gaze.
“Leave,” he threw over his shoulder.
His men didn’t need further instructions, they closed the door and left Sotza and Vee alone. He didn’t put her down. He carried her through the house, which was illuminated with soft lighting. Her heart pounded and she could barely catch her breath. She dug her nails into his shoulder and held on tight as they entered the bedroom.
He carried her to the bed, a huge four poster that dominated the room, and laid her on it. He knelt on the bed beside her, looking down at her, his dark eyes ravenous, his features creased in hunger. He looked like a Spanish conqueror. He was a Spanish conqueror. He took the things he wanted without mercy. He’d earned the nickname Butcher through his ruthless bid to claim territory, his effortless ability to take out the obstacles in his path and his terrifying methods of subduing his enemies.
And she was his prize. His wife.
“Sotza… please,” she whispered as he leaned back to remove his jacket.
“Isaac,” he corrected her.
“Isaac.” His name came out a breathless gasp, a plea.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Vee was afraid.
She hadn’t been afraid like this in a long time. She could handle people shooting at her. Knives, gas canisters, whatever. She’d experienced a lot of bad stuff and caused her fair share too. But this… was different. Being intimate with a man like Sotza, it was too much. Though they’d spent a little time getting to know each other, it wasn’t nearly enough. Not enough to
give her the courage to go to bed with a man like him.
She summoned up some courage and said in the coolest voice she could manage, “Please excuse me, I need to wash up.”
She didn’t give him a chance to respond. She pushed past him and slipped off the bed. Gathering her carry-all case she walked toward the washroom.
“Closet.” Sotza said as she reached for the knob.
She peeked inside. Yup, it was a closet. She felt dizzy from anxiety and reached automatically for the next door as though it were a lifeline. He didn’t say another word as she disappeared into the washroom. She let out the breath she’d been holding, slumping back against the door. She covered her eyes with shaking hands and counted, the way her addictions counsellor had taught her if she felt overwhelmed. Each number was a space in time, a pause to consider, a way of appreciating each moment of life. She whispered the numbers out loud, forcing herself to turn each one over on her tongue and in her mind. Feel the pause and appreciate her ability to have that precious time.
When she reached five, she was able to peek through her fingers and sit down on the edge of a spacious cream-coloured marble tub. At six she fully opened her eyes and looked around, taking in the gorgeous washroom. It was elegant with hints of tropical. Even nicer than Nico Graza’s washroom, which she had appreciated during their time in Mexico.
“Eight,” she said out loud, pausing to reach under her dress for her gun, which she’d strapped to her thigh. She set it on the counter, focusing on it, absorbing the control it gave her. It was the weapon Sotza had given her. He hadn’t taken it back. He wasn’t stupid enough to have forgotten about it. He allowed her to keep it for a reason. Either he trusted her not to shoot him, which was insane, or he thought he was impervious to bullets. With his reputation he might very well be bulletproof.
“Twelve.” The tightness in her chest eased and she took her first full breath since Sotza carried her into the house.
The door opened. He didn’t knock, didn’t call her name or warn her. He just walked in and looked down at her, his face as grim as ever. He’d only given her a few seconds to compose herself. She wanted to yell at him, tell him he was a pervert, a kidnapper, that he wasn’t fair. But none of it mattered. Life wasn’t fair. She’d spent decades proving that theory. Life was what you made it. Sotza had been determined to take her, and he did. Now, it was up to Vee to determine the next move.
Her throat was dry, she had to swallow before she could speak. She gave him the best piercing stare she had in her repertoire. Given the incredible make-up job Mariana, Vee’s maid, had done for the wedding, Vee knew that her pointed look was both stunning and confident.
“I need more time,” she said as steadily as she could.
“No,” he said instantly. He was standing straight and tall, filling the doorway. He’d discarded both his jacket and tie, rolled the cuffs of his shirt up his strong arms. As always, seeing The Butcher relax sent warning sparks of trepidation through her.
“Why?” she asked, standing, glad that her legs were steady enough to hold her. She was so much shorter than him that she needed every inch of height she could summon. “It makes no difference if we fuck now or later. I just… I don’t feel like it right now. If you’ll please leave, I’d like to get ready for bed.”
“More time won’t better prepare you, Vee,” he said evenly, his dark eyes sharp on her pale face. “We will consummate this marriage tonight.”
He stepped toward her. Vee stepped back, hitting the edge of the tub. She slid sideways, reaching for the sink. Reaching for her gun. “Consummation is old-fashioned garbage,” she said coldly, closing her fingers around the metal. The solid feel of the weapon in her hand calmed her. “I don’t feel like fucking right now, please go away.”
“This isn’t just fucking, Vee,” he said calmly, closing the space between them. She brought the gun between them, still holding it low. She couldn’t bring herself to raise it just yet, to actually threaten him. “That’s why you’re so scared, this is something else. Something you’ve never experienced.”
“What are we doing then, if not fucking?” she tried to sound scathing, but the words were breathless as she battled serious anxiety and the beginnings of arousal.
He moved so close the warmth of his big body touched her, wrapped around her bare arms and penetrated the thin fabric of her dress. She realized she was shaking, her hands, her arms, her legs. Everything was vibrating.
“You’re going to give your body to me tonight,” he said, leaning down, his face so close to hers she could see the tiny golden flecks in the dark drown. “And you’re terrified that if you give up your body, you’ll give up everything else. Your emotions, your control, your ability to fight. You’ve been fighting your whole life, Vee.” He reached up, slowly, and took her face in his hands. “Stop fighting me, cariño.”
And then, heedless of the gun between them, he wrapped an arm around her back, pulled her against his chest and kissed her. He kissed her with passion and longing, with the fire that’d been missing from every other kiss in her life, except her kisses with this man. She let him kiss her. Take her lips as he’d taken everything else that belonged to her. He wasn’t holding back anymore. She could feel the difference. Unlike the other times he’d kissed her, this kiss was more urgent, more desperate. It was a prelude.
One of his hands cupped the side of her head, holding her still, while the fingers of his other hand bit into her ribcage, so hard he was almost hurting her, showing her how near to the surface his savage was. As soon as he lifted his lips from hers, she opened her mouth to gasp for breath. She barely had a second and he was on her again. Vee didn’t know if she was participating or holding still for his assault. But as her passion rose to meet his, she didn’t care. She hung on tight, clinging to him with her one free hand.
He thrust his tongue into her mouth, taking everything in one sweep. He was commanding, demanding and completely unrepentant as he took her roughly. She was experiencing a new side of the Venezuelan mob boss. Passion mixed with violence. The combination of emotions was intensely heady, it called to her own savage. This was a side of Sotza that people sensed, but rarely experienced, except for those few he killed himself.
Finally, after allowing him control for a few stunned moments, she fought him for dominance, winding her arms around his neck and forcing his head down to hers. Her pulse soared, the blood pounding through her body, heating her from the inside out. Her skin felt on fire, alive and clambering for the man whose touch ignited her. She clutched his shoulders, digging her nails into his satin vest, before moving up to grip his head. She accidentally smacked him in the ear with her gun. Neither cared.
Sotza gripped her waist and lifted her onto the counter, his hands spanning her, holding her in place. Vee tried to open her legs, tried to grip him tighter between her thighs, bring him closer to the place that ached, but her skirt was too tight. She whimpered into his mouth. Understanding her dilemma, he held her in place with one arm and reached between them, reached for her skirt, thrusting it up past her thighs. She vaguely heard a seam rip as the delicate fabric gave way to his rough handling. The sound seemed to spur him on. He slammed his hips between her thighs, pressing his erection tight against her pussy. The leather of her thigh holster bit into her skin, heightening her already soaring arousal.
Vee moaned deep in her throat and tilted her head back, giving him access to her throat. She widened her legs and pulled him harder against her, tilting her hips to meet his, savouring the erotic sensations that flooded through her. Her nails scraped against his skin, her fingers desperate as she reached for the buttons on his vest, yanking at them. When they didn’t part for her, he reached impatiently between them and pulled the material apart, damaging the fabric.
Vee didn’t care, neither of them cared. She yanked his shirt up, desperately needing to feel his skin beneath her fingers. It felt so good, so right to touch him, to be touched by him. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t willingly don
e it before. Emotion flooded her as her seeking fingers finally touched bare skin and tears leapt to her eyes. She slid her hands across his belly and around his side, the cold metal of the gun touching his warm, smooth skin. Everywhere she touched he was hard. Skin stretched taut over muscle and bone. She felt the grooves in his belly from an intense workout regime. She wasn’t surprised. The man demanded perfection from his men. He would ask no less of himself. Age didn’t matter, nor circumstance or position. He was a born leader.
He lifted his head to look down at her, holding her tight while she dug her hands deep into his sides, anchoring herself against him. The cool mask had dropped, leaving behind lust, want, emotion, intense need. She knew her face reflected all of the same things. They were vulnerable to each other.
His lips crashed over hers and he reached between them. He dug his fingers into her lace panties, wrapping them around the soaked crotch and pulling hard. Vee gasped into his mouth as the fabric tore, marking her flesh as thread parted from the force he was exerting. Her hips stung, the tiny bite of pain only heightening her desire. She was now bare to him, vulnerable to the hand he thrust between her legs.
She was dripping for him, for this inevitable moment. Their months-long dance was going to culminate in this explosive encounter. Every move, every death, every fight, it all led to this, their wedding night.
Vee became aware of the gun in her hand, the metal heated by her tight grip. She raised it slightly, pulling it from beneath his shirt. Between kisses she glanced down at it. She could end everything now. She could kill him, kill his bodyguards, she could try to take back Miami. She could become Queen again. Find a way to rescue Raina.
Queen’s Move: Book Two of The Queens Page 16
