The Edge of Obsession

by Diana Muñoz Stewart

  “Is your seat all the way back?”

  “Aye.”

  Swinging her leg across, she straddled him, reached down, and yanked the recline lever. His head bumped against the leather.

  Staring up at all that beauty, wanting her as much as he had ever wanted any woman, as hard as he’d been in his entire life, he was completely thunderstruck.

  She was too lovely. His body thrummed. The temperature in the car seemed to have gone risen to a thousand. But he could not move.

  She leaned down, kissed him lightly on the lips, writhed against his hard-on.

  Blazing flames licked him, erupted through him, so thick and hot that he forgot everything that had ever been, every word said, every lie whispered for the very real, very deep and throbbing desire happening right now.

  She began to grind against his aching cock. He gripped each of her round arse cheeks, helping himself to her.

  Her kiss deepened and he welcomed her with everything he had. Their ragged breaths filled the rocking car. Her tongue glided, played joyfully against his. Stroking him, firing his breathing, his mind.

  And despite his cynical nature, he felt there might be such a thing as destiny. Felt she spoke to him, felt she told him something with that kiss.

  Chapter 17

  Sion’s kiss made Dada’s head spin. His hand slipped from her butt and under her shirt. Dada broke it off, moved back to her seat.

  “Sorry. Too fast?”

  Not too fast. It was just, in this, she needed to be in charge.

  She slipped her pants down her long legs and kicked them off. “I need for you to let me do everything, Sion. Okay?”

  She took off her underwear.

  “Yes. Okay. Yes.”

  As she pulled her shirt over her head, then stripped off her bra, Dada looked over at him.

  Sion sat there, unmoving.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Not sure what’s going on here?” Sion admitted. “And I really don’t want to make assumptions.”

  She tried to hold back her delighted smile when she told him, “I want to have sex with you. Here, in this car. If you’d like to have sex with me, I will need you to take off your pants.”

  He whipped off his shirt, pulled down his pants and boxers so quickly that when he plopped his naked butt back in the seat, the car rocked, and his cock stood at attention, hard and ready and dripping.

  Stupendous. She’d scared him stiff. Glancing down at his erection, she realized that wasn’t a bad thing. Oh. That was so beautiful. She reached over and gripped him. “Is this okay?”

  He closed his eyes. “More than okay.”

  “Do you have a condom?”

  His eyes popped open. A panicked look and then relief, “Yes. Thank the Almighty. Glove compartment.”

  A gentle laugh, a soft breath released, she reached forward and found it. A rip of the wrapper, and she stroked the condom down to the base of him.

  Straddling him again, she gripped his length, hard and throbbing in her hand, and lowered herself onto him with a moan. So good.

  He let out a curse, thrust, pushing his cock deeper.

  Oh. She rose, drove down again. Her moans filled the car, accelerating with her breaths.

  Her thighs tightened around him, and her mouth joined to his. Her lips played against his as her tongue dove again and again into his mouth. The friction built. She increased her rhythm.

  Unable to match her pace, he raised his hips with, “Yes. Luv. Fuck.”

  She took what she wanted and rode him with a wild abandon.

  He gasped in her ear. “Slow. Going to lose it.”

  But she was so close. And he felt so good, so hard, and smooth. He filled every part of her as the delicious friction tightened her core. “Can’t stop. Please, don’t ask me to.”

  He grunted, kissed her sweetly along her neck. “I’ll keep it up all day, then.”

  An exaggeration, she knew, but a hot enough promise that, as the coil of energy increased and the pressure rose to unbearable levels, she tossed her head back and lost herself with a cry of, “I’m coming. Oh, Sion, come with me.”

  His wet lips moaned against the slick skin of her neck. His strong hands squeezed her butt. A moment later, with her warm body frantically riding him, he came with a curse and a rush of warmth she could feel even through the condom.

  Her pace slowed and she collapsed across him, sated. Exhausted. They fought to catch their breaths.

  His hands released her cheeks, rubbed tenderly against her bottom. He whispered, “You’ve undone me, luv. You’ve completely undone me.”

  She relaxed in a half-awake, half-dream way. Slowly, she returned to the car and the coolness of the desert air through Sion’s partially open window. The press of his sweat-soaked skin against hers. “Thanks for listening and letting me set the pace. I needed to connect, to make some memories other than the worst of this night.”

  He brushed a tear from her face that she hadn’t known was there. He rubbed his nose across her cheek. “Ah, well, it was entirely to my benefit, but I’m not just a good listener when I’m being shagged by the hottest woman I’ve ever met. Care to give me a try? You could start with your real name.”

  Could she? Could she unmask herself before him? She wanted to, but she was also afraid. Her disguises kept her safe. Maybe. But to expose herself that fully required clothing. She wriggled from his lap back into the passenger seat.

  She reached down and began to turn her clothes inside out. He watched her for a moment, and she felt a heavy pressure in his gaze, a longing. She understood. Already, she felt a loss without the closeness of him.

  Sion’s phone buzzed in the cup holder. They must be back within range. He looked at the screen. “Bugger.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Got a text from the head of security for the trafficker I do papers for.” He showed her the text.

  Meet me. Tomorrow night. I want to talk to you about the company you’ve been keeping.

  Latching her bra, she leaned toward him. “There’s a chance my cover is blown. I no longer have the element of surprise. I was warned not to involve myself looking for Rosa. Now, I’m on my own. I can’t go to my people with this.”

  “I thought Rosa was your mission.”

  She slipped on her underwear. “Technically, my mission is to get information on Walid. Routes. Security. More and more, it seems finding Rosa is something separate.”

  “Security. Routes. That’s information I can give you.” Sion pulled up his boxers. “Walid’s man, Armand Stoker, is easy to play. Huge temper. Bigger ego. Because of him, I’ve learned of three trafficking routes from El Salvador. I just need to pin down the one Sophia was taken on.”

  She shuddered. “That name.”

  “You know him?”

  “I once knew two men, each had half of that name. A man whose first name was Armand. And another man whose last name was Stoker, Miles Stoker. The first man is currently a…” she swallowed, “scientist in French Guiana. The second man… I have no idea.”

  Jeans in hand, he stopped. “Armand has a French accent.”

  Cold brushed feathers down her skin. Could it be him? Walid did have routes through South America. And there was little Stoker knew better than keeping women hostage. Well, one thing… torturing women. She frowned. “It makes horrifying sense.”

  “It does?”

  “Yes. Manuel said the land was owned by a trafficker. Walid is the only one in the area. But from the research I’ve done into his operation, he would never waste—” she grimaced, swallowed her distaste “—what he calls product. And what we saw tonight was a waste.”

  “So it could be someone with ties to Walid who knows about the property and enough about Walid’s business to use the property without Walid’s knowledge.”

  “Someone who was always a sadistic bastard.” She pressed the bracelet at her wrist hard against her skin. “I shouldn’t involve you further. This is not without risk. What I do. W
hat I am going to do here.”

  “I’ve been looking for Sophia for a long time, and I know the danger, so if you’re trying to warn me off, stop.”

  “Are you—”

  “Yes.”

  She smiled at him. “You might be the luckiest thing that has ever happened to me.”

  “You’ll let me help?”

  “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “Does Armand ever search you for listening devices when you meet?”

  Chapter 18

  The convent sat quiet and dark in the early morning before prayers. Dressed like a thief, with her head bandaged, and smelling like sex and death, Dada slipped inside, closed the door silently behind her.

  “Sister Dee.”

  Ah! Dada spun, grabbing hold of Sister Angelica as a matter of reflex. “I’m sorry, Sister. I’m not used to being snuck up on.”

  “I didn’t sneak.” She briskly brushed down her tunic. “I was standing here when you came inside, but you didn’t see me.”

  Well, that didn’t usually happen. A long night was no excuse. She’d gotten sloppy.

  “Sister, I am very sorry to be breaking the rules like this. I can assure you—”

  Sister Angelica turned on her heel. “Follow me.”

  Stupendous. Looked like Sister Angelica had reached the limit on her patience. Seemed her line was with her nuns sneaking out at night, disappearing during the day, avoiding chores, prayers, and church.

  Dada followed Sister Angelica into a large office, well-stocked with books and a gorgeous cherry red Ukrainian desk. Four small statues were gathered on one corner, huddled together. Each one was a woman at a different age. From child to teen to young woman to nun.

  Sister Angelica stood by her desk. “I can’t have this, Sister Dee.”

  Dada felt her stubborn rise. She had a mission. Women were disappearing. Dying. “Sister Angelica, I am undercover. Surely you want me to find Rosa. Surely, you knew when Momma asked you to allow me to come here, that I’d be doing things that weren’t very nun-like.”

  The older woman shook her head and met Dada’s eyes with something that looked very much like disappointment. “Don’t assume. It’s an annoying American trait.”

  Dada huffed. She hadn’t been born in America. But rather than follow Sister’s assumption with impatience, she waited.

  And waited. Sister Angelica’s rapidly tap, tap, tapping foot against the tiles seemed to drag on and on. Dada’s gaze slipped over the words of St. Catherine of Sienna’s stenciled on the wall, In the end, nothing that ever caused one pain will exist. No one will begrudge me.

  She hoped that was true. Hoped that all the pain of this world, all her pain, would one day be erased.

  Finally, the older woman pushed her black-rimmed glasses up her nose. “I’d been going to say that I can’t have you running around—”

  “Sister—”

  Sister Angelica snapped her cane against the tile floor. Dada had heard less concussive gunshots. “I can’t have you running around trying to solve a puzzle when I have part of the answer.”

  The nun let that seep its way through the pores of Dada’s overstressed brain before continuing. “Yesterday, when you told me you would search for Rosa, I should have said something, but I didn’t want to break a confidence. I now believe it is the right thing to do.”

  “You know something about the disappearances?” Dada asked.

  The woman leaned against her desk and angled her cane to the side. “Yes. There was a man who was accused of making his fiancée disappear. Geraldo Gonzalez.”

  Ugh. She already knew this. Hope disappeared into disappointment.

  Sister Angelica watched her, a look on her face that was as old as it was wise. “The man who calls himself Geraldo Gonzalez isn’t who he says he is.”

  “I’m not sure I understand,” Dee said. “He’s been here for decades, knows many in town. They know him. His fiancée.”

  “All true. What is not true is that his name is Geraldo Gonzalez. That is his adopted name.”

  Lord and ladies, no one in this town was who they say they are. “How do you know this?”

  “I know because he was left here with us. We found him twenty years ago, a toddler abandoned on the steps of the convent.”

  Again, her hope for a clear answer disappeared. “Left by whom?”

  “I have no idea. The note with him said he’d been rescued from his mother and needed a new home. We searched for the woman, but when she couldn’t be found, we reached out to an older woman in town. She had money, owned apartments, and, at the time, was healthy and active.”

  That made more sense. Yolanda had seemed a bit old for a son Geraldo’s age. “You’re saying that the women who have disappeared... this has gone on for decades?”

  “Yes. I believe it started with Geraldo’s mother, but from then on one or two women a year would go missing.”

  “Before or after Walid and his people came into the area?”

  “Before. Maybe ten years before.”

  “And the police?”

  “They’ve never solved the crimes or found answers. Although some have tried, including a female mayor who later also went missing.”

  “But the comandante didn’t hesitate to blame Geraldo, even though this had been happening for years.”

  “Yes. And Geraldo did everything in his power to clear his name from the comandante’s accusation. It cost him.”

  So unfair. “Thank you for sharing Geraldo’s secret. Is he aware of his adoption?”

  Sister Angelica shook her head. “He used to know, but he seems to have lost this with his head injury.”

  Dada’s skin ran cold. Poor Geraldo. A baby separated from his mother through some horror, maybe murder. And then, when he grew up, separated from another woman, his fiancée, also probably murdered. Bad luck? Or had someone hated his mother enough to torture the man?

  Chapter 19

  Sion had met a lot of men in his quest to find Sophia that he hated on contact. Men who gave him the creeps or made him feel like beating the shite out of them, but he’d never met anyone he detested as completely as Armand Stoker.

  The flick, flick of the steel against Armand’s dry cuticles echoed across a large, nearly empty room, containing a huge safe, the table he and Sion sat at, and the two guards.

  Knowing Armand was good with impatience, hatred, jealousy—any emotion other than happiness which he saw as weakness—Sion sneered at the men by the exit. Though, in truth, their unusual presence had him sweating. “Why the goons?”

  Armand, whose crooked nose and caved in cheek told a story, examined his nails, then took steel to them again. “They are here to stop you from leaving.”

  Sion shifted his gaze again to the guards. Big. But he could take them. Well, he could if they weren’t armed. He relaxed his shoulders and tried to keep things light as his mind sorted through ways to get out without getting killed. “What’s this about?”

  Armand’s eyes became slits. “The nun, Sister Dee. You spend a lot of time with her.”

  Dread snaked over Sion’s skin, raising the hair on his arms and neck. The device Dada had given him burned against his pocket. “She’s running an art therapy class. She asked me to teach it.”

  Armand stopped digging at his nails. The room went so quiet, Sion could hear the pounding base from the club downstairs. “You do art?”

  Sion glared at the man. “Yeah. That’s how I have the skills to do what I do.” He raised his hands and flicked them front to back. “Steady hands.”

  “Does Sister Dee appreciate those steady hands?”

  “She’s a nun, you daft prick.”

  “She’s a whore!” Armand yelled, slamming his fist onto the table. “And the woman who killed my mother.”

  Sion grabbed the side of the table in order to keep from flying over it and strangling this man until his foul tongue stopped moving. It took everything in him to sit still and speak. “Sister Dee killed you
r mother?”

  “That was not her name when we lived in French Guiana.”

  Sion’s gut tightened. Dee had mentioned that region, but not her name. What did he know of her?

  Enough. He knew enough.

  But not her name.

  Armand sneered. “Now I have your attention. You didn’t know what had crawled into your bed.”

  Choices, choices. Slam the guy’s face into the table a few good times before his goons shot and killed him or get this idiot to talk and figure the rest out later. “Why tell me this?”

  “I require your help to trap her.”

  Fucker. “That’s not what I do. I do papers for your boss. That’s it.” He pointed back at these goons, a taste like vomit lining his throat. “That’s what you have these goons for. You don’t need me.”

  Armand shrugged. “Sadly, these are Catholic goons. Now, if I needed them to chop the dick off a priest, no problem, but a nun? They’d sooner harm their own mothers.”

  Sion didn’t buy it. It was more than that. This was punishment. Armand wanted Dee. He thought Sion had had her. He thought both she and Sion belonged to him. Time to press his buttons, then act like the guy had won something. The best way to get Armand to talk.

  “How much do I get paid?”

  Sion could practically see the drawbridge rolling back up on Armand’s mood. Any minute now the guy would call the archers. “I will not pay you, but I will make it simple for you. Your choice is to help me or die here. Tonight.”

  He had a third choice: get this guy to tell him the plan and then use it to trap him. “What do you need me to do?”

  Chapter 20

  Dressed all in black, Dada climbed the fire escape. She stopped by Sion’s window, pressed on the wood frame, and opened it with a shove. Ducking low, she swung inside.

  Dropping her backpack on the floor, she began to pace the dark apartment, her tears as silent as her boots on the pitted wood floor. Armand Stoker was Miles Stoker. Though she’d used a listening device and it had been a fuzzy connection, she knew it was him.