BOUND

by Akeroyd, Serena

  “We are if you want to keep that brain inside your skull.”

  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

  He stared her down. “What do you think?”

  Refusing to be cowed, she cocked a brow. “I think I'm the one with the gun and the police badge. You should get the hell out of my apartment.”

  “I will, I will, but not until we have a deal.”

  “The NYPD doesn't do deals with gangs.”

  “No, but cops who fly a little too close to the sun really need to.”

  “Get to the point, Martinez.”

  “Don't bullshit me. You know what my point is... I wanted you. All those fucking months, you pranced around me, eyeballing me, but never getting too close. You knew the score.”

  She clenched her jaw. “I did not prance around you.”

  “I notice you don't deny looking at me.”

  “I have eyes, don't I? Where was I supposed to look when you talked? At your feet?”

  “Now is not the time for more bullshit. You should be grateful I do want you. You sent my brother to jail, querida. You sent close friends, guys who were like family, to prison. They're not going to see daylight without bars clouding their view for decades.

  “You screwed up at least three deals. You lost the Lobos a cool five million in profits, and you think I'm just going to let you get away with it?”

  She swallowed as his voice went from ice cold to a bellow. “I'm a cop. Shit like this happens when you're into the kind of games you play. You don't want to go to jail then don't break any laws.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Spare me the bullshit.”

  “You don't want to hear my reasoning, I don't want to hear yours. It works both ways.”

  “I don't want to hear anything but your screams.”

  It was a testament to how well she knew him that her heart skipped a beat. Otherwise, his words would have triggered no reaction. “Excuse me?”

  He misconstrued her tension by breezily telling her, “Oh, don't worry. I'm not into torture.” His smirk made her want to slap him. “Screams of pleasure, querida.”

  That was what put her on edge.

  Pain, she could deal with. Pleasure? Not so much.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” she bluffed.

  “You're going to work off your punishment. In my bed.”

  She scoffed. “You have to be crazy. Why the hell would I do that?”

  “Ricardo? Juan?”

  They slipped behind her, out of nowhere coming to cage her, to trap her with Martinez. Ricardo's slimy hands came up to grab her arms and force her to stillness—and it was Ricardo. She knew it without even looking at him. He was Martinez's butcher. His right-hand man, especially with Matteo, his brother out of the picture.

  She hated Rico, and had from the early days when she'd had to work as a mule. He was a lech. He'd even tried it on with her. Worse though, he made the whores scream—not in pleasure, not like Martinez was discussing.

  He only got away with it because it was a sex game. If a pimp had done any of that shit to one of the girls, Martinez would have had their hide.

  In her days as the purser, too many of the girls had come to her asking for money to go see a doctor as a result of a session with this sick fuck.

  “You'll do as you're told because there are plenty of pissed off lobos, querida, and I'm the only one stopping them from putting a bullet in that pretty head of yours.”

  Ricardo spat, “Qué suerte tengas, Lucia. Me gustaría hacerte sufrir como mis compañeros sufren en la carcel, y luego, darte el castigo último—matarte.” How lucky you are, Lucia. I'd like to make you suffer like my guys are suffering in prison, and then, mete out the ultimate punishment—kill you.

  At his words, she wanted to sneer, because for all his big talk, he was frightened of her. Had been ever since she'd stuck a knife to his balls and told him if he tried anything with her again, he'd be putting his cojones in danger.

  With Martinez here, he was acting like the big man. The arrogant schmuck knew she was in deep shit and was taking advantage.

  She could have shrugged him off, spun on him, and kneed him in his oh so precious balls, but with Martinez watching, there was no use. She'd seen him work out. Knew that if she managed to detain Ricardo and Juan, Martinez would be waiting at the end.

  Even knowing that was the case, she couldn't resist dropping her shoulder out of his hold, quickly twisting around, and slamming the base of her hand into his nose. When blood spurted, and Juan reached for her, she held up her hands in surrender and backed closer to the bed, nearer to Martinez and the relative safety he offered.

  To Rico's howl of pain, she spat out, “Tu quieres matarme? El sentimiento es igual. Es tú a quien lo merece por el dolor que causas a las putas que maltratas. Un día, sufrirás como ellas, y espero que estuviere allí para ver el espectaculo.” You want to kill me? The feeling is mutual. You deserve it for all the pain you cause the whores you abuse. One day, you'll suffer like them, and I hope I'm there to watch the show.

  Taking advantage of her approach, Martinez grabbed her hand and pulled her down to the bed—she let him, when she would have fought kicking and screaming if Rico had done the same. “Get out, Rico, Juan. I can handle it from here.”

  “But, jefe?” Rico garbled, blood spluttering out and bubbling as he tried to stem the flow.

  “Get out.”

  Lucia kept her face turned away from Martinez, if anything, she kept her gaze glued onto his ludicrously nice loafers. It was either that or laugh at Rico's look of fury at being forced to leave.

  “That was a stupid move to pull.”

  She shot her head up to glare at him in anger. “I spoke nothing but the truth. That SOB wants me dead? Do you know how many girls came to me for money to see a doctor after the shit he pulled? He's the one in need of corporal punishment, not me.”

  Martinez frowned, the black wings of his brows furrowing. “We all know Rico likes it rough.”

  “You consider cigarette burns a fun part of sex? If that's the case, I'll take my chances out on the streets rather than with you.”

  He launched upward and hissed. “He burns them?”

  “I told Matteo to tell you.” She peered at him in confusion. "A few times."

  Martinez's grimace said it all—it was the reason she'd been able to shop Matteo but not him. “My brother was many things, but a tattletale was not one of them. Rico is a respected member of the gang—”

  “So he can get away with shit like that?” She leapt on his words, disgust lacing them.

  “No. But Matteo is laxer in that regard than I am.”

  She snorted. “Lax isn't the word.” It was why she'd felt no guilt in slamming his ass in jail.

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “You understand what's going to happen here, don't you?”

  “You're going to make me your whore,” she said it matter-of-factly, and her tone was enough to make him study her, his confusion becoming an almost palpable entity between them.

  Maybe it was her ease in making such a statement that had him saying, “Only if you agree. And whore isn't the word. This isn't a transaction. It's a deal.”

  “Some deal. It's either your bed or the Hudson river as the next place I lay my head, right?”

  He shrugged. “I never said there were multiple choices. But hopefully, you've been panting after being in my bed the same way I've been panting over having you in it. It shouldn't be too hard for you. I don't have many complaints.”

  “I never wanted anything like that from you," she lied. "You disgust me. Everything you do, everything you stand for, revolts me. And if you're that popular, why are you coming after me? A woman who doesn’t want you?”

  She made to stand, to stride away from him and the bed, but he grabbed her hand again, pulling her roughly to a halt. This time he swung his legs down and got ready to stand.

  “If I really believed that, I'd shout for Rico to get back in here. You're lucky I can te
ll when you're lying now.” His thumb stroked her palm, stirring up the most bizarre sensations. “I know your tells now.”

  “I'm no one's whore.” She jerked her hand from his, surprised when he just let go.

  “You want to label yourself that, then fine. That's going to be past tense soon enough.”

  “All I have to do is go to my lieutenant—”

  “And what? He'll assign a uniform to your door?” He choked on a laugh. “You've been deep undercover, you're as wary as a fucking coke head on a downer, and you didn't find me in this flat.” He reached forward and raised a hand. She flinched when it connected with her chin but slowly relaxed when his touch was gentle. He pinched the bone, making sure she was staring directly at him and nowhere else. “If you couldn't see me, didn't know how to find me, how the hell is a uniform, inexperienced and unknowledgeable, going to protect you?”

  It was an odd mixture of irritation and discomfort that coagulated in Lucia's gut.

  This was Martinez.

  A man with more armed soldiers on the streets than some cities’ police forces. A man with millions at his disposal, a man who most considered evil incarnate thanks to the goods he pimped. But, it was the man she'd drooled over at the gym. The man, as he'd apparently realized, she watched at the business meetings.

  In so much as was possible, he was fair. That was one of the reasons she'd not turned out any evidence on him, even though that would have meant a huge promotion for her. Slamming Martinez behind bars would have been a career-worthy coup. She'd have been celebrated until the day she retired, infamous in all the departments for her work.

  Instead, she'd led herself into this situation.

  A situation where Martinez had her in his crosshairs.

  That wasn't to say the leader who might have taken over in Martinez's place wouldn't have had the same idea. Her name had remained in radio silence throughout the investigation that had imprisoned some of his key personnel, but somehow, he'd found her.

  She'd been Eva Fernandez to Martinez, during her time with Los Lobos. Lucia Kingston was a stranger to this man. But he was intent on bringing that to an end.

  Absentmindedly, her nerves tingling at the gentle trace of his finger on her chin. She wondered who'd sold her out, but instead of asking that, she stated, “I won't let you share me.”

  His smile was slow. “I love how you're in no position to make demands, yet you try to make them anyway.”

  His free hand disappeared for a second, but then, she heard the unmistakable click of a safety catch being released. The butt of the gun he'd just armed appeared in front of her. He burrowed the barrel into the soft flesh under her jaw.

  The threat didn't make her stiffen. In fact, she barely tensed at all. This wasn't the first, nor would it be the last time her life was endangered. If the gun went off, it would be a far nicer end than the one fate had planned for her eight years ago.

  “If I want to share you, I'll share you.”

  She slowly turned her head, ice blue eyes staring deeply into his. “You share me, and I'll fucking cut off your dick. With a table knife.”

  He grinned, pulled back the gun and reset the safety. She’d impressed him. God, men were weird bastards. “By the time I'm done with you, you'll have better things to do with my polla than cut it off.”

  Lucia snorted. “Yeah, I'm sure.”

  Fuck, was she really acquiescing to this?

  The short answer was yes.

  Momentarily.

  He was right. The lieutenant would set armed guards on her, but the lobos were better trained than some of the cops out on the beat. It killed her to make such an admission, but the lobos were like a private army. It was what made their gang so fucking watertight.

  When others were running around blowing rivals out, shooting them down, the lobos were working hard, maintaining form, and going where the money was.

  They were like a motherfucking corporation. Only, they dealt in the black market rather than the money markets that would have made them oh, so respectable.

  The lieutenant might set her in some kind of witness protection, but Martinez's resources obviously meant they had a rat in the department—what a fucking surprise that was.

  Who was to say he wouldn't come after her if she had another name?

  He'd find her.

  She could feel it in her gut.

  Their business wasn't over, and until that point, until he'd had enough, he wouldn't let her go.

  Lucia should be frightened, concerned even, but she wasn't. If anything, her panties were slick at the idea of being in this bastard's bed.

  The chance to feel something, anything, was too delicious an opportunity to turn down.

  Christ, there really was no hope for her.

  Chapter Four

  “A sabbatical? You want to take a goddamn sabbatical?”

  “Want isn't exactly the right word, sir.” Before her lieutenant's fury, she remained calm. Something that seemed to piss him off all the more. “More like need.”

  He glared at the papers in front of him, one of many towers stacked at eye level on his desk. He was surrounded by a miniature city, one that would make any tree mourn and give pencil-pushers wet dreams. “And that pain in the ass agrees with you?”

  By that, he meant the department shrink. “Yes. She says I'm going through a faint variation of PTSD.” Talk about understatement, but Lucia had sold her various symptoms in such a way she’d fooled even the experienced psychologist who worked for the unit.

  Not that the lieutenant cared. He huffed his disgust then blew out a breath. “How long were you undercover again?”

  “Forty months.”

  “And that wasn't enough of a rest, I suppose,” he grouched, scratching a hand over his moustache. It quivered with his displeasure.

  “Yes, it was a real piece of cake, sir.” Her sarcasm sailed over his head. The prick. Did he think it had been a fucking holiday working with a gang who ate paranoia for breakfast?

  Apparently fucking so.

  She wished he knew she’d sacrificed the few goddamn morals she’d possessed for this case. Not only had the monster been let out and was refusing to be caged in again, but while screwing Martinez might have been on her list of things to do before she died, it had also been on the bucket list of things that would never, ever happen.

  Until now.

  Well, tonight.

  Was this really happening?

  It seemed so.

  Four days after Martinez's visit, she'd had her first summons. As well as her first orders.

  She was to ask for a sabbatical. Martinez didn't want a pig under him when he fucked her.

  That could have been a request for her to lay off the donuts, but as she had trouble maintaining a healthy weight, she'd taken it as a request she take a break from her job.

  The four days since her return to active duty hadn't been fun. It had been easier working her way up the ranks of the gang than it had been to be re-accepted by her fellow cops.

  Did that infuriate her?

  It sure as hell did.

  What was wrong with these people? She'd got into bed—not literally, until tonight anyway—with the gangbangers because she'd had her orders. That seemed to have been lost in translation, however.

  Now, her fellow brothers in blue looked at her with suspicion. She half wondered if she needed a new bottle of deodorant the way the water cooler cleared whenever she passed by.

  As the lieutenant rattled on like the self-obsessed prick he was, Lucia worked hard to keep her eyes open. Sleep hadn't been coming easily of late. Uncertainty over the fact another lobo might find his way into her apartment before the deal with Martinez was fully realized had pushed at her limits.

  Fear wasn’t the primary factor behind her insomnia, though. It was the unusual position she found herself in. More accustomed to being the predator, she found being the prey once again was a curious sensation. It brought back memories from a time she knew better than to thi
nk of.

  Her fatigue was proof positive that her mind was dwelling on those unfortunate moments, however, when she’d been in another sociopath’s lair...

  It would amuse her if the exact minute the deal was about to be secured, her safety guaranteed—because no lobo would mess with the jefe's woman—she fell asleep under Martinez. The notion was enough to have her hiding a smile.

  Sighing at the necessity and utterly bored by being rebuked, she tuned into the prick's words when she saw him sign her release slip. “I want you to continue seeing the department psychologist until your return. Either that or I want weekly reports from your own private psychiatrist.”

  “I'll stick with the department's shrink.”

  He nodded then gritted out, “Enjoy your break.”

  She had to refrain from shoving two fingers in his face. “I will, sir. I'm feeling a little...irate.”

  Irate wasn't the word.

  He pulled a face at her. Expecting the, 'I fought the Vietcong’ speech, she was saved the retelling of his tales of war and woe by the phone ringing.

  He shooed her out with a crinkled hand, and she willingly escaped.

  Unbidden, she recalled the time one of the lobos, Damian Jimenez, had come to Martinez to ask for a breather from the gang when his sister had been killed, and he'd been left with his nephew to care for...

  Martinez had offered the Lobos' checkbook. Anything Jimenez had needed, Lucia had been ordered to give to the man and his nephew.

  What had she just been given after forty months of undercover slog?

  A one-fingered salute.

  It was total shit when a gang handled their 'staff' better than a government department.

  As she walked down the grim corridors, gray linoleum squeaking underfoot, the only farewell she got was from the fluttering papers on the pin boards she passed. Every desk she neared, the heads almost smashed the damn surface in their desire to avoid eye contact with her.

  Bastards.

  She reached her own little corner of hell, grabbed her shit together, the few bits she'd stored in her desk on her first day, and without a word, strode from the open office.