Hero Undercover: 25 Breathtaking Bad Boys

by Annabel Joseph

  “She’s interesting, don’t you think?” Paulo had dropped the smile, his face as blank as what I imagined my own looked like, but I didn’t really know. I’d been avoiding mirrors for years.

  “She’s stupid.”

  The edge of Paulo’s mouth twitched. “For coming here? Yes. But her brother did owe me money, and I made calls. One of my men put him in the hospital.”

  “That’s probably why she’s pissed, jefe,” I replied, deadpan, and Paulo simply nodded.

  “Yes. There is only one problem.”

  “What?” I asked, feeling the cold settle deep into my bones. Paulo had a plan, I could hear it in his voice, and his plans never turned out good for the target.

  “She only brought twenty thousand. He still owes five thousand more.” The man was still, unmoving, waiting for some kind of response, but I had no idea what he wanted to hear.

  It was a shitty situation. She shouldn’t have come here. She was an angel, a stupid angel, and she’d already handed herself over to the devil to try and save her brother—even if she didn’t realize it yet.

  “How do you think I should get the rest of that money, Andre?” Paulo glanced down at his desk, adjusting a statue on it until the base was parallel with the edge, and then those soulless eyes were back on mine.

  “Does she have any family to ransom her to?” I felt a flicker of something in my chest when I said the words but I ignored it. Guilt was something I’d lost the ability to feel too long ago.

  “Unfortunately, no. I made calls for that, too. She is alone, with her brother. Bad for her… he likes the drugs. Wants to sell, but cannot keep his hands off the product so he makes bad choices.” Paulo loosely gripped the edge of his desk, tilting his head. “I could sell her.”

  Another twinge somewhere under my ribs, a sinking feeling in my stomach, but then all I could imagine was her naked. Her thighs spread, back arching, sweet, desperate sounds leaving those pretty lips. “You could,” I acknowledged, choking off the visions in my head.

  “Or I could keep her. Use her until I am bored of her.” He inclined his head. “Until all of you are bored with her.”

  The vision was back, full force, and my cock grew stiff, pressing against my zipper. I could hear her whimpers against my ear, feel the way her flesh would give as I pinned her down. It would be so easy. And that was the offer on the table. Her. I wanted the final drops of the tequila in my hand to burn out the thoughts, but that would be a tell. Paulo would read my tension, my interest, instantly.

  You're off the deep end, Andre. You're fucking gone.

  “Do you want a drink?” Paulo asked, a hint of amusement in his tone, and I knew I had twitched. Imagining fucking the girl had broken my concentration, but I looked down at the bottle like I'd forgotten I had it.

  “It’s empty.” Turning it up I swallowed the last bit of tequila, reveling in the burn, even though it didn't dim the vision of Nicky spread out in front of me. “See?”

  Paulo didn't react at all. “So, how do I get the rest of my money?”

  “However you want to, jefe.”

  Why the fuck are you asking me?

  The man’s hands tightened on the desk, a short flash of irritation that disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. “What would you do in my situation, cuadro?”

  I swallowed with a suddenly dry throat. He wanted me to choose. Sentence this girl to being whored out in some shithole south of the border, or being a prisoner in this house with the same damn result.

  All over five grand.

  I knew Paulo didn't give a shit about the money. He'd lost ten times that when a runner had been picked up the month before. No, this wasn't about the money, it was about her. Nicky Harris. Her fucking attitude, her lithe curves, the fire inside her.

  Paulo wanted to snuff it out, to crush it in his palm and feel it die… but I just wanted to touch it. To touch her. To taste her. To remind myself what good felt like one more time before this world destroyed her too, and I couldn't do that if she disappeared.

  The decision was going to take another piece of my dwindling soul, another flapping scrap of my humanity torn away—which was exactly what Paulo wanted. He wanted this to be on me. For everything they'd do to her to be laid at my feet, and as the visions flickered inside my head again, I already knew the words that would leave my mouth. “I'd keep her.”

  The slow smile on Paulo’s lips was a promise of hellfire, but I was already headed there anyway.

  May as well reserve my seat with a little sweetness on my tongue.

  Diego was squatting in front of her when we walked back into the room. He was hunched forward, trying to catch the girl’s eyes as he taunted her. “Mírame. Give me a smile. Come on. I bet you’re pretty when you smile.”

  My fingers twitched against the bottle in my hand, but I didn’t do a damn thing about it, stopping my feet a half step behind Paulo’s. I’d made the choice, and that meant Diego could get his hands on her sooner rather than later.

  You shouldn’t have come here, Nicky.

  The burnt orange light of the evening sun filtered in through the windows, those elegant gauzy curtains glowing with it. It set the room on fire, made her blonde hair shine, and I knew Paulo saw it too. Took it in with the slow, thoughtful deliberation that made him so fucking dangerous.

  “Ms. Harris,” he purred and she snapped to attention, her head jerking around to follow him as he paced deeper into the room so he could face her. I moved the other way, circling behind her chair to slip back into my spot on the couch, but I noticed the death grip she had on the leather seat. White knuckled, panic evident even as Diego backed off. “It seems we have a problem.”

  “What?” Nicky’s voice cracked and she cleared her throat, the ice clinking in her glass as she shifted. “No. No, there’s no problem. I gave you the money, and now my brother is clear.”

  Paulo shrugged a shoulder. “Yes, you gave me some money, but it is not enough.” He lifted a hand when she started to sputter an argument, her cheeks flushing again as her temper spiked. “Your brother must have lied to you, señorita. I do not know what else to tell you.”

  “It’s twenty thousand dollars!” she screamed, furious, and I was tempted to cover her mouth just to shut her up. “How the fuck is that not enough? He said—”

  “What he said does not matter to me. You do not have enough, which is a problem. Well, your problem now.” Paulo’s eyes lifted over her head to meet mine, his mouth twitching like he was enjoying this cat and mouse game. Torturing the girl before he dropped the bomb and turned her over to every salivating bastard in the room. It would destroy her, ruin all the goodness in her… and all I could think of was how much I wanted her before Paulo obliterated her.

  “How much more does he owe? Just tell me, maybe I can—”

  “Five thousand dollars.” He cut her off again, and I watched the color drain from her face. It was an answer without her even speaking a word. She didn’t have the money, and even if she claimed to, I knew Paulo wasn’t going to let her walk out of the house.

  Too late, Nicky. Way too late.

  The trap had long since snapped shut, but she was oblivious as she shifted nervously in the chair. Blue eyes flicking around the room. Seeking an escape that wasn’t there. The ice in her glass rattled softly from the shaking of her hands, but I found myself drawn to the flickering pulse just under her jaw, the way her throat worked as she swallowed. Finally smart enough to be scared, and I wanted to press my lips to her skin, to bite down at the place where her neck met her shoulder and hear her scream.

  “Do you like chicken?” Paulo asked the question casually, but she wasn’t the only one whose head swiveled towards him in confusion, my eyes focusing as I tried to read him.

  “Why the fuck does that matter?” she snapped, but he just gave his shark’s grin once more. Baring his teeth like he planned to devour her, and I wondered for a moment if I’d even try to stop him—or if I’d just watch like I always did.

&nbs
p; “We’re about to eat dinner. You will join us.” He crossed the space between them in a handful of steps, looming over her in his relaxed way, thumbs hooked into his pockets. “Then we can discuss your situation.”

  “I don’t want to eat dinner with you.” Nicky was clearly as stunned as the rest of us at the odd change of direction, but her voice was still too loud, too angry, too disrespectful.

  She didn’t know Paulo like I did; if she did she would have been crying already.

  “You don’t want to eat dinner?”

  “NO!” she shouted, and Paulo’s hand moved fast, tangling in the hair under her ponytail as he ripped her from her seat. Her glass shattered on the tiles as her hands came up, reaching for his grip, but Paulo wasn’t faking nice anymore. Nicky’s yelp of pain, her curse-filled fury, all of it was cut short by the sight of the knife.

  I hated myself for the way my cock twitched as Paulo dragged the dark blade down the delicate line of her neck. Tracing the same artery I’d been eyeing a minute before. He bent her head back, stepping closer so that his foot was planted between hers, and I could hear her soft whimper as the metal scraped over her skin.

  For a moment I wanted to be the one holding the knife. Feeling her tremors of fear.

  I wanted to see her eyes as the hope went out of them.

  “Let me see if I understand…” Paulo’s voice was dangerously soft as he turned the knife to trace back up her throat to her cheek. “You come to my house without an invitation, but I let you in. You are rude to my men, to me, and then you demand that I forgive a debt that is not even yours… but still, I listen. I make calls, I look into your brother’s mistakes, and I tell you that he lied to you, and then you raise your voice to me, curse at me—and when I offer to discuss it over dinner? Offer to feed you at my own table? You refuse.”

  “Mr. García, I—”

  “It is Mister García now, is it?” Paulo tsked, shaking his head slowly as he tapped the blade against her cheek in time. “I do not think you understand your situation, Miss Nicole Harris, but you will. It will just be explained without the courtesy of dinner.”

  He threw her to the floor hard but she caught herself on her hands, panicked breaths making her stutter. “Pl-please, I didn’t mean—”

  “Take her to the storage room. We’ll see if she feels more… accommodating after she has a few hours to think about my hospitality.”

  Paulo’s command unleashed the hounds. José made it to her first, yanking her up by her arm, but Diego was barely a second behind as he wound his fist in her hair. She tried to fight, brave and stupid all at once, but when she tried to kick, José twisted her arm high behind her back. Another pretty yelp of pain, a whine as Diego’s hand moved somewhere lower, and then they were forcing her forward. Towards the kitchen, and then the storage room.

  I didn’t move, didn’t follow, likely didn’t even flinch, as practiced as I was at watching things like this play out.

  Marco’s eyes landed on me, and I met his gaze for a long second before I turned to Paulo, awaiting his orders.

  “You’re out of tequila, cuadro. Join me in some rum?” The man stepped over the sparkling shards of glass on the floor, walking towards the bar without a second glance for the screams still echoing out of the hallway.

  “Sure, jefe, whatever you want.” I set the empty tequila bottle on the floor and moved to meet him at the bar. “Make mine a double?”

  “Of course.” Paulo smiled, cold and empty, just like me.

  Chapter 4

  “You can’t do this!” I yelled, my heart racing. The pain in my shoulder was intense but I still tried to dig my heels in, to fight them, the rubber of my running shoes squeaking against the tiles as the two assholes shoved me forward again. Pleading, cursing, shouting—but none of it slowed them. I stumbled when the fucker called José took a corner too quickly, and the scream was unavoidable.

  White-hot agony seared across my shoulders, only easing a little as he released my arm and I hit the floor, trying to bite back the shit I wanted to scream into their faces. We were in a kitchen now, a giant chef’s island dominating the center of it, complete with a copper hanging pot rack above it. I could smell food, my stomach growling at the scent of spices in the air, but Diego had his hand around my throat before I could even regret refusing to eat.

  He hauled me off the floor, my fingers wrapping uselessly around his wrist as I stood. Fetid breath puffing on my face as he laughed. “Oh, puta, I’m going to enjoy making you scream like that.”

  “Go to hell,” I choked, but he just smiled.

  “Downstairs, Diego. You heard jefe.” The bastard shoved the shoulder he'd just nearly ripped out of socket and I clenched my teeth, stifling the whine of pain. There was no choice except to walk. They paused in a small hallway off the side, near the pantry, but it wasn't the single door that José reached for—it was a seam in the decorative wallpaper on the opposite wall. Palm fronds and fucking tropical fruits done in a tasteful soft yellow against cream. The details of the wallpaper instantly evaporated from my head as the wall separated an inch, just enough for José’s fingers to slip in and swing a panel of it out like a door.

  A black hole loomed where the panel had been. Not enough light in the dimly lit hall to even illuminate the first few inches of the pitch black in front of me. My chest tightened, fear overwhelming me, and the two men behind me knew it. Diego fisted my hair, tearing most of it free of the ponytail as he attempted to shove me forward into the darkness.

  “No!” I shouted, my panic making my voice high-pitched, and the whimper as I braced my hand against the wall was even worse.

  I'd wanted to be so strong, to protect Chris, get him out of this bullshit so he could get better, make his life better—but I'd never planned to die for him.

  “Let. Go.” It was José who moved close, the heat of his body radiating through the back of my shirt.

  “Please don't do this?” I turned, meeting coal black eyes, and I found no pity, no mercy. “Don't kill me.” My words were so soft I wasn't even sure they could hear me, but the tightening of Diego’s fist in my hair, accompanied by his low laugh, assured me they had.

  “Why would we kill you when there's so many other things we can do?” Diego only laughed harder when I whimpered, trying to fight as José buckled my arm with ease and the two of them shoved me through the doorway.

  The first wooden step made me gasp. Not falling. It's some kind of basement. The second step made a chill rush over my skin as the scent of earth and damp hit my nose. There was no light, not even a sliver, and I reached out to stroke the walls as Diego’s hand forced me to take the steps faster and faster.

  I am walking into my own grave.

  The thought was completely unhelpful but once it had appeared, I couldn't push it away. It smelled like soil and stale air, like the inside of a coffin. The vacuous darkness of being underground. My lungs couldn't get enough oxygen, my heart racing even though there was nothing to do but take the next step, and the next—until there wasn't even that. Flat, gritty concrete scratched under my shoes, and then someone slammed me into the wall.

  My head hit in a stunning flash before I could bring my hands up to try and push back but his weight was against me, crushing me. “You gonna scream for me?” Diego growled against my ear, huffing as one of his hands slid over my stomach, tugging blindly at my shirt until he found skin. I felt his fingers scratching, and wanted to throw up.

  “STOP!” My voice tore with the effort of the shout, body shaking from the adrenaline. Desperate, trying to push his hand away and keep him from pinning me to the wall at the same time, but it was useless. He was bigger, so much fucking stronger, and all I could do was scream—just like he wanted—as he groped me, rubbed the hard ridge of his erection against my ass.

  “That’s it, fight me, puta. Make me work for it.” Diego found the button of my shorts too fast, and we struggled as I kicked back from the wall. His laughter rebounded in the space, louder, just before he
landed a punch to my ribs. Pain starburst from the point and I cried out, buckled, tears burning my eyes as he slammed me into the wall again.

  “Please, please don't—no, stop! Just STOP!” I was panicking, grabbing blindly at his hands as the button of my shorts popped free and I felt the zipper give. Snapping my head back, I heard a grunt, a pained curse as his body pulled back from mine and I threw myself to the side. Away from him, deeper into whatever fucking room they'd brought me to.

  Light flashed on, instantly blinding, and I winced and stumbled back further. “Shit…”

  José was laughing, a huskier sound than Diego’s menacing one. “She got you, did she, cabrón?”

  “Fuck off!” Diego snapped, growling, and as my eyes focused I caught the swipe of red under his nose that matched the blur on his hand. His eyes found mine and he pointed at me. “I'm going to make you bleed, whore.”

  My stomach dropped, but José caught his shirt before he managed more than a step. “Jefe said she stays in here and thinks for now, but you know he will let us have her later.” José’s stoic expression turned into a smirk, the scar on his jaw stretching so I could see it. “And then we will see just how long she can keep fighting.”

  “And whether or not she's got any fucking tan lines.”

  “That's right, what did you bet me on that one?” José stood side by side with Diego, both their eyes moving over me as they made their plans.

  “Nada, but I'll bet you now that I fuck her first if she's got a tan line.” Diego groped the front of his pants as he said it, and I bit down on my tongue hard enough to taste blood just to keep from saying anything stupid.

  Well, anything else stupid.

  “You could call anything a tan line. Nah, I'll bet you a hundred she doesn't have any, and another fifty that she’s shaved.”

  I swallowed, eyes finally adjusted enough to look at the room. It was small, maybe ten feet wide, fifteen feet deep, but there was a table and some scattered chairs. Some odds and ends stacked in an alcove by the stairs. When I tuned back into them they were both staring, grinning, and I felt my hands clench into fists, the prick of my nails biting into my palms.