Lethal Sin (Dangerous Games Book 1)

by Jennifer Bene

  Only one way to make sure he didn’t get a good hit in.

  She lifted the gun and fired, but he dropped to the side like a veteran fighter, and when she adjusted her aim and shot again, the bullet hit the concrete where he had been. He was suddenly on the other side of the table, and she stepped confidently around it and fired again, but he was up off the ground too fast and he hit her like a linebacker, slamming her back and then down onto the concrete. Her lungs emptied in a rush and her ribs creaked as he climbed on top of her, his weight settling on her hips. The gun was still in her hands and she brought it up to fire, but he grabbed her wrist and the gun went off just to the side of his ear. Mateo snapped her hand back and yanked the gun free, tucking it into the back of his pants. He shook his head, bringing one hand up to cover his ear as he flinched.

  With a curse she reached for the back of his head, trying to twist her hips simultaneously to throw him off her, but he recovered and his knife landed against her throat – then he pressed it in until she felt the sharp sting of the blade breaking skin. Camille froze, both of them breathing heavily, her heart pounding in her chest. Slowly, she lifted her hands from him and he pressed her back against the floor, settling over her hips again. The warm trickle of blood gliding over her neck made her tremble, but she gritted her teeth and met his eyes as confidently as she could.

  “Was that fight fair enough for you?” He asked through heavy breaths.

  “You had a knife.”

  “You had a gun.” His pupils were dilated, a smile tugging at the edge of his lips. He had enjoyed that, but then she realized she was still riding the adrenaline herself. The high of fighting for her life was tempting her to smile back. “Now, I think it’s time for us to leave, someone may have heard those shots. Going to be a good girl?”

  Camille raised her eyebrows, and he laughed a little, his free hand landing beside her head while he kept the knife firmly pressed to her skin.

  “Look, I won. I gave you the chance to fight your way out of this, you failed, that means you’re coming with me whether you want to or not.” His words were rough even as he got his breathing under control, but she just wanted to rip the knife out of his hand and bury it between his ribs. She’d only lost because he probably had a hundred and fifty pounds on her. “So, I’ll ask again. Going to be a good girl for me?”

  “I don’t think so, Mateo.” She flicked her eyes towards the knife at her throat. “Planning to kill me?”

  He laughed and lifted the knife from her before hauling her off the floor by her hair. “Oh no, we have a lot more to do before I even think about killing you.” Mateo stepped behind her and kept her off balance as he shoved her towards the door. The knife hovered way too close to her throat for her to risk a fight, and so she moved with him until they reached the door. “Open it.”

  “Shouldn’t you be a gentleman and open the door for me?”

  “Not a chance. Open it.” Mateo tightened his grip in her hair until she hissed, and then she grudgingly reached forward to yank the door towards her. Catching it with his foot he kicked it the rest of the way as he shoved her outside. He scrubbed at his ear as they left and she smiled, wondering if she’d blown his eardrum when she kicked off a round next to his pretty face.

  An old, worn, asphalt parking lot met her boots, and across from them was another warehouse. Somewhere nearby the unmistakable smell of the waterfront confirmed what she’d guessed inside. There was only one car, a blacked out Mercedes, and Mateo marched her towards it. He stopped at the trunk and she groaned internally knowing what was next.

  “On your knees.” The command made her want to turn and kick him, but he forced her down by his grip on her hair and a nudge to the back of one of her knees. A moment later the car beeped and the trunk popped open. “Get in.”

  “Don’t trust me to ride shot gun?” Camille looked up at him and he arched an eyebrow neatly, not even responding as she stood slowly and sighed. There was no chance she’d get away from him. The area was much too open for her to escape even if she could run without him stabbing her first, or shooting her with her own gun. Taking a deep breath she climbed into the trunk. He smiled at her as he rested his hand on the lid.

  “Good girl,” was all he said before he slammed it shut. The purr of the engine roaring to life made her angry as she flipped to her back and slammed her boots into the side of the space, noting the clear absence of an emergency release. His trunk looked more like the inside of a tank than the inside of a high-end luxury car. A steel plate covered the end of the trunk where there should have been taillights she could have kicked out, and a thick plastic covered the side leading into the cabin of the car. No way out.

  Shit, Camille, what have you got yourself into now?

  Chapter Two

  The ride took so long that she had actually dozed off a few times, her body was tired and the consistent hum of the road noise acted like a lullaby. After way too long of her trying to remember the lyrics to every song from Avenue Q, the car slowed and then they turned and drove much more slowly for a minute or so. When the Mercedes finally rocked to a stop she prepared herself, planting her boots on the inside of the trunk lid so she could kick it up into his face and get the chance to run.

  His voice was muffled as he spoke from inside the car, and she strained to hear it over the rumble of the engine. No luck, and then his low voice cut off just as the car did. Open, slam. Camille tensed again, shifting her boots a little wider apart to get a solid kick into the lid as soon as she heard the locking mechanism click.

  She waited.

  And waited.

  A crisp knock came from the lid of the trunk. “Still awake in there?” When she didn’t respond a hard series of bangs followed just above her head. “I said, are you awake?”

  “No!” Camille growled, and she heard his low laughter.

  “Good girl. Now, I’m going to open the trunk, but I’ve got your cute little gun aimed at it, so you’re going to behave aren’t you?”

  “The gun’s empty, idiot.”

  He laughed again. “Clever, except I already checked it. I’ve got four rounds to teach you a lesson if you try and run. Trust me, you’ll still be perfectly capable of talking with a bullet in your calf.”

  Dropping her head back against the floor of the trunk she muttered to herself and then kicked the heel of her boot into the lid. This asshole was infuriating, she preferred dealing with the IQ of people like Mr. Not-So-Lucky.

  “Girl? You going to behave?”

  “Fuck off.”

  “Alright, sleep in there overnight. It’s going to get pretty fucking cold, but – your choice.” For a moment she thought he was joking until she heard his footsteps leading away.

  She bit her tongue, waiting to hear them falter, but when he kept going she kicked the lid harder and shouted, “FINE. I won’t run! Just let me out of here, dammit!”

  Mateo waited longer than she would have guessed, and she worried for a moment he’d made it inside wherever they were. Then the sound of his steps returning made her relax. “Turn over to your stomach, hands in the small of your back. If you’re not in position when I open this trunk in five seconds, you’re not going to like what happens.” He paused as Camille stared at the lid incredulously. “Odd, I don’t hear you moving. Changed your mind about sleeping outside?”

  “Asshole,” she muttered and rolled over to her stomach in the trunk, folding her legs in half as she placed her hands where he’d demanded. A second later the loud clunk of the trunk lid popping up allowed a fresh rush of cold air in.

  “Look at that. You can behave when you really want to.” Mateo had laughter in his voice. The ratcheting sound of handcuffs almost made her jerk away from him, but he was too quick and her wrists were cuffed in an instant. He grabbed her legs first, keeping them tight to his side as he swung them out of the trunk, leaving her bent painfully over the bumper. “That’s a lovely view.”

  “Normally I at least get a tip when someone checks out my a
ss.”

  “Here’s a tip – don’t lie to me, tell me what we want to know, and you might leave here in one piece.” His voice was dark as he grabbed her arm and hauled her the rest of the way out of the trunk.

  “Promises, promises…” she mumbled as he pushed her towards the house, and wow, what a house it was. A stone-faced colonial that stretched out to her left and right and went up two stories lit up the front by landscape lighting. Surrounded by plenty of space and trees on the edges of the property, it was secluded and beautiful. It looked like a house that should be in Better Homes & Gardens, owned by some yuppie rich couple for their weekend escapes, not some brute serving one of the more vicious criminal enterprises on the Eastern Seaboard.

  “Like it? Just wait until you see the inside,” he whispered against her ear and she jerked her head away.

  “No, thanks. I’m not in the mood for a tour, or to see what china you picked out for the formal dining room. You can just uncuff me and I’ll find my way -”

  “Not a chance.” Mateo shoved her forward and up onto the porch as he unlocked the door with a push button code. They stepped into a pitch-dark house, but the incessant beeping from an alarm system had her laughing.

  “Worried about bad men coming to take your throw pillows?” Camille grinned as he shut the system off and closed the door. It locked automatically and she noted the push-button code on the inside as well.

  Smart motherfucker.

  “Mostly worried about naughty girls trying to leave before they’ve been asked to.” His fingers tightened on her arm, digging in painfully as he pushed her across a tiled entryway. Through an open hallway to the back of the house she could see a single light on in a kitchen, but the rest of the house was dark. It didn’t seem to bother Mateo at all as he dragged her towards the staircase and forced her up. They ascended into the blackness, and Camille’s eyes strained to pick out details – anything that she could leverage to get out, as she was led deeper into the proverbial lion’s den. “Done talking already?”

  “Just trying to decide if you killed someone and took their house, or if your taste is really this bad.”

  He grunted behind her and then stopped her at a door down the left hall. It didn’t even have a doorknob, it was just a solid sheet of wood from frame to frame. Camille watched carefully as he slid a hidden panel on the wall aside and dipped his free hand into the empty space. An instant later the door popped open.

  “Now, that’s fancy.”

  “You haven’t seen anything yet,” Mateo growled behind her and nudged the door wide. As he pushed her inside the room lit up slowly, recessed lighting high on the walls made the ceiling glow above them. What was revealed made Camille’s stomach tighten as Rihanna’s S&M went off inside her head at top volume.

  Apparently, whips and chains excited Mateo.

  In addition to all kinds of other things that hung from racks on the walls, or sat on shelves, or loomed around the room in the shape of various pieces of clearly diabolical furniture. At the back of the room a platform bed dominated with dark sheets, and he hadn’t even tried to hide the restraints that waited at the four corners.

  This had definitely never been featured in an issue of Better Homes & Gardens.

  “What the ever-loving fuck is this?”

  “This is where I’m going to get you to tell me everything I want to know.” The confidence in his voice grated her nerves and she shifted her wrists, causing the handcuffs to clatter softly.

  “As I told your boyfriend, I’m not telling you idiots anything.” Camille turned to face him and his dark eyes sparkled in the light.

  “Eddie doesn’t have the same… talents that I have in getting people to say things they don’t want to.” His hands landed on her waist and she fought the urge to hit him as the door shut behind her and a clear locking sound filled the silence.

  “So, you like tying men to things like that too?” She nodded her head towards the large X-shaped piece of wood embedded in the wall, brightly adorned with red leather straps.

  “Oh, no. I talk to men in a different room.” Mateo’s hands drifted over her hips and then his lips brushed the span of skin between her shoulder and her neck. Shrugging her shoulder she jerked away from him and he released her.

  “And here I thought you were an equal-opportunity asshole. My mistake.” Her voice was still coming out confident, but inside she was twisting in the wind and she knew it. The cuffs were on just a notch tighter than she’d need to slip out of them, even if she did feel like dislocating her thumb, and Mateo knew what he was doing.

  Knew very well what he was doing.

  But if he expected her to quail at the sight of his elaborate torture room he had no idea who she was. It wasn’t the first time someone had wanted information from her and it wouldn’t be the last. This was just part of her world, and it was a fact she had long ago accepted. No matter what, Camille Devereaux didn’t break. It just wasn’t how she was built.

  “This room is less about what it will take to get the answers from you, and much more about how much fun I’m going to have getting them.” His voice was a low, sinful rumble as he stepped around her and walked over to one of the racks on the wall, lifting up a whip, then a thick belt, and then another many-tailed whip. A tingle rushed down her spine that made her shiver.

  Scare tactics.

  Just scare tactics, and they weren’t going to work.

  Camille stood up straight, evening her weight between her boots and testing the give she had in the cuffs. He was going to be up for a fight if he tried to put her on any of those things in the room, and if he wanted to use one of his little toys on her he was going to have to work for it. Lifting her head she shook out her white blonde hair, keeping her chin high, because when Mateo turned around he was going to know exactly who he was dealing with – and it wasn’t some idiot at the bottom of the totem pole.

  On a normal day, under normal circumstances, she’d have taken him out smiling before he even saw it coming. Then she would have gone to get her nails done.

  ‘So, bring it on,’ she thought as she stared at his broad back.

  Mateo’s heart was pounding inside his chest and no amount of self-talk was convincing his pulse to do anything but race in the presence of this girl. She was … vexing, confusing, stymieing. The way she had burst from the chair in the warehouse, immediately stalking him just as he was stalking her – it had made his cock hard.

  Having the opportunity to chase her down and actually fight her? Well, he was just lucky the shots she’d fired at him had killed the steel inside his pants before he’d pinned her to the floor and embarrassed himself by rubbing his erection against her mid-fight. She hadn’t shown an ounce of fear, even with his knife against her throat. This girl was more than just some random employee of Patrick Callahan, the head of the Irish mafia. She was a fighter. A killer.

  Just like him.

  Mateo lifted the strands of a deerskin flogger and let them flow through his fingers. Those could kiss and sting skin in equal measure, but he wanted to hear her scream. He wanted to make her cry. He wanted to hear her beg, to hear her say his name as she pleaded for him to stop. Because Eddie had been right about one thing, she had a smart mouth, but he could only think how lovely it would be to hear her voice crying out instead of spitting insults. If only that wasn’t yet another thing that turned him on to the point where he could barely think straight. He shook his head and went back to pick up the thick strap, lifting the weight of it in his hands, flexing the leather until the ends warmed in his hands.

  This would work.

  He turned and found her standing with her back straight, her chin lifted, her blue-gray eyes focused on him like she didn’t have a care in the world while she was handcuffed and mostly defenseless in his private room. The dark leather boots went almost to her knees, bleeding into the tights that he’d purposefully snagged with his knife just to see a hint of the honey skin underneath, still sun-kissed from summer. Her skirt was clea
rly chosen more for function than fashion, as she’d proven when she’d planted her petite boot in his chest and knocked the air from him in the midst of their fight. However, that skin-tight top had no other purpose than to serve her breasts up on a platter, probably meant to distract any man in the vicinity – and fuck him if it wasn’t working.

  “Ready?” He asked, and his voice came out as an even lower growl than he’d expected. His cock twitched inside his pants, as if it wanted to confirm for her that she was going to submit to everything he demanded of her.

  “For what?” Her lips were even more perfect when they moved. Pink and full, and it took all of his self control not to skip the interlude of the strap and jump straight to fucking her against the soft floor. Or on the bed. Or bent over the spanking bench, with all her limbs tied –

  Focus.

  You have a job to do. She’s a job.

  “To tell me where Callahan is.”

  She laughed, a strangely bright sound in his house that he wished he could bottle to hear again even as she taunted him. “You’re going to need to do a lot more than hold a belt ten feet away from me to get me to tell you shit.”

  “Oh, really?” Mateo moved towards her, measuring his steps so that he could watch as each of her muscles twitched in anticipation of what he would do to her. This one was smarter than any of the others – she had no disillusions of his intent. She knew he was going to hurt her, and yet she was still standing on her own two feet, not running, but facing off with him like she was challenging him to do his worst. Snapping the thick leather across his palm made her jerk back slightly, and he smiled. “Well, I can tell you that I have no plans of just holding this strap.”

  “If you want me to spank you with it, you’re going to need to uncuff me. I’ve never done the dominatrix thing, but if it will get me out of here I’ll do my best.” She smiled, tossing her hair back over her shoulder, her voice taking on an irritating sultry quality. “Has someone been a bad boy?”