Her lips are trembling and her eyes are beginning to water. Oh shit. She’s going to start crying, and I don’t need that. Holy fuck do I not need that. So I pull out the asshole because I sense that she’ll snarl back at the asshole but weep at a nice guy. “I’m tired of hearing you snivel while we walk, but if you’re going to sit there and cry, I can put it back on.”
Just as I suspect, the steel rod returns and she’s rigid again. She lifts her foot, pressing two fingers against my suited shoulder. And despite the suit coat, dress shirt and beater underneath I can still feel the heat and it’s burning a path from the shoulder right down to my groin. I hate myself. I really fucking hate myself.
It gets worse when she lifts her high arched foot to place it gently on the edge of my knee. My finger itches to trace the curve and fondle the delicate skin behind her ankle bone. My whole body feels on fire. I deserve her disgust because her back isn’t the only thing that is turning stiff as a steel rod. There are so many things I like doing on my knees between a pretty girl’s thighs. Things I haven’t done in a long, long time.
Carefully I brush off the dirt and pebbles from her foot. I take the time to run a finger, a quick one, between each toe. This ankle has no marks around it but I do a quick once over around her lower legs before pulling the socks on. From my pocket I pull out a zip tie that I normally would use for restraints and pull it around her calf to hold the sock up. Above me I hear a gasp of breath, and her fingers press into my shoulder. For a moment, I think she’s going to take flight, but I don’t look up. Not once. Because if I do, I’ll have to look at her soft thighs, the hidden vee between her legs, her breasts, and by the time I get to her face she’ll see the lust in my gaze and have a good reason to run away. So I keep my gaze on her feet.
“Just a way to tighten the socks around your ankles,” I explain. When she doesn’t move I take this as assent and tighten the zip tie.
She switches feet without me prompting her. This ankle has the scab marks. I inspect the wound. It looks old, sore but not infected. Regan’s pretty lucky. From my position I notice handprints on her thighs and any arousal I once felt dies off quick. This girl’s been so abused, and what little humanity I have left aches for her. I’m going to kill the man who put those marks on her. Before I leave Rio, I’m hunting him down and cutting off his dick and feeding it to him, one inch at a time. I’ll take pictures and send them to Regan.
I hurry up with my cleaning of her foot and slip on the sock, securing it with another zip tie. I sneak a look at her and she’s looking half pissed off and half ashamed. I want it to be all pissed. She’s got nothing to be ashamed of. “You’ve got a pretty rocking body, Regan.”
“Fuck you,” she says. “I’ll kill you with your own gun before you get to lay a finger on me.”
We both know that she’d never be able to disarm me, but I nod as if her threat has real teeth. “I’ll never touch you unless you give me the okay.” It’s not something I’m making up for her sake. Eighteen months in and out of brothels like Gomes’ have made me never want to have sex outside of a relationship where I could be certain that the person I’m having sex with wants it a hundred percent. And given that the last eighteen months has been spent hunting and rescuing and killing people…well, the only relief my dick has seen is Rosie Palm. Maybe that’s why I’ve got hard dick disease around Regan.
“Likely story,” she scoffs, and the ease at which she insults me tells me that she’s more comfortable with me than she knows or may be willing to acknowledge. It tells me she’ll follow me without much hesitation so we head off, me in my shoes and Regan wearing my socks. It’s not ideal, but my shoes would be boats on her and I don’t think she’s ready to be carried.
“You ever been to Rio before?” I ask as we wend our way down the hill. I figure from the increasing noise that we can find a taxi soon.
“No.” Then after a short pause she asks with incredulity, “Are you trying to make small talk with me?”
“Would you rather tell me how long you were with Gomes?”
She’s silent, so I take that as a no. When we arrive on a main drag, I’m able to hail a taxi and hold the door open for Regan. She hesitates and looks around, weighing her chances of survival in the favela. I shift slightly and pull back my jacket so she can see the butt of one of my guns. She closes her eyes in resignation and climbs in. Smart girl. She’s going to be one of those who make it. Many don’t. Their time in captivity fucks them up so bad that they fall back into the trade either because their families won’t take them in, they need to fund their newly acquired drug habit, or they don’t have any other place to go. That’s another shitty lesson I learned early on. I’m going to hold tight to this memory so that I can pull the gun away from my head the next time I see one of my failures.
“U.S. Embassy,” I bark at the driver and then settle back, resting one hand on the butt of my gun, scanning the streets for trouble as we take off. There isn’t anyone behind us, but the sense of wrongness is still dogging me.
A hand grabs at my arm and I twist around to look at Regan who’s only inches from my body. Oh shit. The closeness is generating some warm feelings in my lower body. I wish my conscience had more control over my goddamn body. I clear my throat. “What is it?”
“You’re taking me to the embassy?” Regan’s voice is high and tremulous, either on the verge of tears or laughter. I nod cautiously. Please don’t let it be tears.
She gasps and then covers her mouth. Water begins coursing down her face, and she throws herself at me. “Thank you. Thank you,” she repeats, and I feel her soft cheek rub against my stubble-filled one. Vaguely I wonder if I’m scratching her with my facial hair, but mostly I’m wondering where I should put my hands when her supermodel body is pressed against me. Her tits are burning a hole in my chest and over her shoulder I can see her fine ass waving in the air. I catch the cab driver looking in his rear view mirror and I push Regan aside. He doesn’t need to see her ass.
“Look at her again and you’re a dead man,” I bark at the cab driver. His eyes drop immediately to the road but I hear him muttering in Portuguese that if I didn’t want him to look at her ass then I should make sure she wears more clothes.
“Don’t like touching a dirty whore?” Regan says bitterly.
Her words don’t really register at first and then I realize she was offended that I pushed her away. I run one frustrated hand through my hair. “A guy like me would be pretty damn lucky to be permitted to touch you.”
She snorts. “Nice talk. Doesn’t really match your actions.”
I can’t believe this. She was afraid to wear my socks, but now she’s mad I’m not mauling her. I guess I should be happy she’s still fiery after all she went through. Gives me hope that she’ll go home and live a good life. Although from the sounds of it she needed a new boyfriend. Nick, formerly known as “feared hit man Nikolai Andrushko” and the guy who sent me to find Regan, told me that she had an asshole of a boyfriend. One who didn’t even know she stroked herself off while he snored beside her. Per Nick, Regan’s boyfriend couldn’t give his girl an orgasm if Dr. Ruth were in bed with them giving him step-by-step instructions. At least that was my interpretation of Nick’s dour statement that the boyfriend deserved a bullet in the head for failing to pleasure his woman.
To my way of thinking, men who can’t give orgasms to their women don’t need to be shot, but they don’t deserve goddesses like Regan in their beds either. They should be celibate, lest some cranky Russian hit man goes around putting them into eternal sleep. Fortunately for the dickless wonders of the world who don’t care about a woman’s pleasure, Nick’s too busy boning Regan’s best friend back home in Minneapolis to be concerned about killing men who are bad in bed.
“Neither of us is ready for any action.” I raise my arm and sniff. “Jesus, I’m ripe. I need a fucking shower.” I’m dead tired, and despite the completely wrong thoughts running around my head of Regan nude and spread out like a feast at Th
anksgiving, I’m too tired to do anything but sleep. I’ve been up for about seventy-two hours straight and need some rest before I fall over.
“You’re quite the metrosexual, aren’t you?” She raises a foot toward me and wiggles her toes. The movement is provocative. My eyes arrow right down the black silk-clad foot toward her inner thigh and in the dim light of the taxi there are enticing shadows cast by the valley between her legs. The hide-and-seek nature of the shifting light begs me to reach down and explore...I force myself to turn away once again.
“I like nice things. Sue me.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were taking me to the embassy?” She nudges me in the knee with her foot. Does she realize how flirtatious she is being? I mean, she’s fucking touching me with her foot. That’s intimate shit right there. It’s a good thing I’m wearing a suit coat. Jesus Hermione Christ.
“Would you have believed me?” I said evenly. Her foot drops away, and I swallow a groan with a heroic effort. Good job, Daniel. I give myself a little pat on the back. She has no idea what she’s doing because she’s thinking about freedom and escape and the good ol’ U.S. of A. I’m the dirt bag having dirty thoughts about a girl who I’ve just hauled away from a whorehouse where she was chained to the wall. And because I can’t be nice to her, I snap back, “You wouldn’t have fucking believed me.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Her attention is distracted and I see we’ve drawn up to the embassy.
“We’re here,” I say with relief, but she makes no effort to get out. “This is it.” I wave my hand out the window. “Consulado General dos Estados Unido.”
Four
Regan
HOPE FLARES IN MY HEART at the sight of the embassy. I am free. I am steps away from going home. Soon, all of this will be a bad memory and I can return to my previous life. Then, I want to laugh at the thought. I am a scholarship student; all of my grades will be torpedoed by my absence. I’ll have to figure something out. Maybe Mike will let me move in with him.
If he can stand to touch me after what I’ve been through. If he hasn’t already moved on and found another girlfriend after my absence. I like to think he’s waiting for me, but Mike has never been particularly emotional. I cling to him more than he clings to me. I have no illusions about our relationship.
I stare at the embassy through the dirty taxi window. Once I step out of this car, everything goes back to normal. I’ll return to the normal world, a slightly dirtier version of the girl who left it. For some reason, that scares me.
“There you go,” Daniel says at my side, voice dry with amusement. “I told you I’d take you to the embassy, and there it is. Don’t act so excited.”
I look over at him, hiding my uncertainty. “Thank you,” I say, hugging my jacket closer. “You don’t know what this means to me.”
“I can guess.”
I give him a faint smile, and I think for a moment that he’s a good-looking guy. I don’t know what he’s doing in Rio in whorehouses, but he’s saved me. Impulsively, I lean in and kiss his cheek, feeling the stubble under my lips. I want to recoil immediately at the touch, but I know it’s the right thing to do. He likes my touch. His sarcastic gaze softens as he looks at me and he nods. “You stay safe, okay?”
“Okay,” I breathe, and turn to the window again, my hand on the door. I can do this. I’ll introduce myself as Regan Porter. I’m an American who was taken from my home country, and a nice stranger rescued me from a brothel, and I’d really, really like to go home.
I tighten my grip on the handle and look out the window.
The breath dies in my throat.
There at the front of the embassy is the big bruiser. Mr. Freeze’s bodyguard. It’s dark outside, but he’s standing near the door, and I recognize that bald head and big shoulders. If it was light outside, I’d see those awful hooded eyes.
He knows I’m gone. Someone’s called and let Mr. Freeze know that his favorite dentally-perfect whore has flown the coop without his permission. I know as soon as I enter that embassy, I’ll be right back at the whorehouse.
I tremble, and then hate myself for it. He hasn’t seen the taxi yet. He doesn’t know that I’m here. I think for a minute and then turn back to Daniel, the nice-looking American man that has somehow, for some reason, tried to help me escape. I turn to him and give him a faint smile. “Can I ask a question?”
“Shoot.”
His words remind me that Daniel is carrying guns. He killed two men tonight that tried to take me back to the brothel. Whoever he is, he’s not with Freeze. That automatically makes him safer. “Who sent you?” I asked this earlier and he’d danced around the question.
He gives me a serious look, then glances at the cab driver, as if to point out that this isn’t a safe place to talk. Then he looks me over again. “Mutual friend.”
I don’t know who he means. I can’t think of a single person who would know a killer who hangs out in Rio brothels. I glance up at the embassy doors again. The bruiser is gone, but I know I saw him. I know he’s there, waiting for me.
I look over at Daniel again. He’s trying not to look at my legs. Trying, and failing. He’s clearly attracted to me. I’ve seen appreciation flash across his face a few times, quickly hidden. He’s trying not to be, but it’s hard for him.
If he’s attracted to me, I can use that. Sex means nothing to me now. Whatever intimacy it might have meant before has been beaten out of me. I can have sex with this man. I can use him to keep me safe from Freeze. This man killed two men tonight. He’s dangerous.
“You said you won’t touch me unless I want you to,” I whisper in a low voice and then bite my lip in a deliberate manner. I notice his gaze flicks there, to my mouth. He’s definitely attracted. “Is that true?”
“I’m not a monster, sweetheart,” he tells me, and looks almost insulted at the question.
I slide a little closer to him in the car, and my fingers touch the front of his jacket. “Then . . . can I stay with you?”
Daniel looks surprised at my suggestion. No, shocked. His brows draw down, and he flicks a glance at the embassy. “You can’t stay with me. This is as far as I go. I’m dropping you off here. I have other work in Rio. Come on.” He reaches over my lap for the door handle. “They’ll be good to you in the embassy. You don’t have to worry.”
I press my body closer to his, letting the fear I feel tremble through me. It’s not faked; I’m terrified that if I get out of the car, I’m heading right back to the brothel. “Please, Daniel. Please let me stay with you for just a bit longer.” And I cling to the front of his jacket and look as helpless and lost as I can. When he still looks doubtful, I try a different tactic. “I don’t want to go there looking like this.”
He examines my outfit; his eyes narrow as he considers me, then glances out the door. He leans in close. “You scared of something, sweetheart?”
I nod, my eyes wide and pleading. I don’t want to say it aloud because the taxi driver is watching us in his rearview mirror. For all I know, he works for Mr. Freeze, too. If the bruiser can be at the embassy waiting for me, no one is safe.
Except maybe Daniel.
Daniel, who has guns on him. Maybe I can take one of them while he sleeps. Maybe I can seduce him into giving me one or showing me how to shoot them. But I need more answers from him. I want to know who sent him, so I can know if I’m truly safe or if I’ve jumped into more danger.
But Daniel is the devil I know at the moment, and he can’t be as bad as Mr. Freeze. He hasn’t looked at my teeth once, after all.
Daniel seems to consider my frightened snuggling. It’s hard for me to do because I don’t want a man touching me, but I fight back my bile and continue to try and look helpless and innocent. I paw at the front of his jacket. “I . . . can we go to a nice hotel room somewhere? I’d really like a bath and some real clothes. Then maybe we can go to the embassy tomorrow morning, okay? Once I feel human again.”
But my mind is already whirling with new plans, new o
ptions. The embassy isn’t safe. I need some other way to get out of this country. Once I figure out how Daniel knows who I am, maybe I can use that.
“All right,” Daniel says reluctantly, then wearily scrubs a hand down his face. “Shit. Fine. One night, and then we’re going back to the embassy. I have a schedule I have to keep.”
“One night,” I agree with relief and force myself to hug him, pressing my breasts against him.
I’m going to use this man.
I’m going to flirt with him, and seduce him, and suck his cock if I have to. Whatever it takes to get him to take me with him and keep me safe. If he’s willing to shoot men for me, he’s a better bet than anyone else I have available at the moment.
I refuse to be abandoned again.
Daniel
I KNOW BETTER. I REALLY do. I should push open the door and haul Regan’s fine ass up to the embassy. There have got to be people inside who can handle this situation better than me. I’m bound to fuck something up. Hell, I can’t even stop looking at her legs like some goddamned pervert. First thing I’m going to do when we get to the apartment is start knocking my head against the floor tile, in hopes that some sense is pounded into my head.
But she looks damn scared and so I give in to her pleading even though I’m on my last fumes and I need some serious sleep so I can move on to my next goal—finding my sister—and then find the hacker Petrovich’s got a hard-on for.
Weirdly all three roads—Regan, my sister, and the hacker—lead straight to Rio. It might be due to the increase in economy Brazil has seen due to the impending World Cup and Olympic games or the rise in overall global prominence. More money means more dickheads willing to spend it on illegal things. The banking industry here is becoming huge, as is the biofuel market. It makes some kind of weird sense that there’s a corresponding rise in the demand for female flesh. It’s not a puzzle for me to figure out. I’m a weapon. Point me and I’ll shoot.
Last Breath Page 4
