His mother had turned tricks to help the family survive when his father died. It was a period of time no one spoke of in his household. If they dared mention it, they'd probably lose a fucking hand.
Prostitutes, whores, whatever the fucking title, they did not deserve to be treated like meat.
He'd set the rule right at the very start.
At the very fucking start when Rico had been at his side forging the rules.
He should have known better, but he hadn’t, and that meant he had to pay.
That one of his own cabinet had disobeyed something that was an important law in their gang had to be punished. That Matteo had covered up Rico's crimes made him glad his brother was in prison. It would save him the beating he had coming from his elder brother.
Martinez's fists clenched as he watched Juan gather the limp limbs of a friend and with brute strength alone, and heft the weight over his shoulder. Lucia hissed when he shrugged the dead lump over the side and into the water. The splash was audible. The sound carrying to the car.
“I can't believe you did that.”
“You're my woman. I keep you safe.”
“Don't make this about me. And I'm not your woman.”
“Why shouldn't I make it about you?” he murmured silkily. “It's all about you.”
And it was, God damn her.
It shouldn't have been. A woman before his friends, his brother?
He'd never have believed it of himself. Would never have credited it as possible. But in Lucia, he was learning there was a man under the expensive togs he didn't know.
She brought out another side to him.
Whether that side was good or not, Martinez wasn't sure, and he didn't particularly want to find out.
He just wanted her.
All of her.
He wanted to fuck this need for her out of his system. And when he did, she could go her sweet way.
Only, if Rico had lived, that sweet way wouldn't be possible.
The idea of Lucia's body being as awkwardly lax as Rico's made everything inside him clench in rejection. It couldn't happen. He couldn't let that happen to her, and so, he'd taken preventative measures. Painful ones.
Lucia could not be harmed.
It was as simple and as complicated as that.
He’d known that for a while, but knowing and seeing it were two different things. Rico’s visible hatred for her the other night at her apartment had made him realize steps would have to be taken. Steps he had no compunction in taking if it meant having her with him.
Juan returned to the car with an ease, a loose gait that belied what he'd just done—murdered a high-ranking lobo. He slipped into the car, and within seconds, the engine started, and they rolled away.
“I can't believe what I've just seen,” Lucia whispered. She'd lifted her hands to cover her face. “Why did you make me see that?” Just when he thought she felt shame or guilt, she lowered her hands to glare at him. “Why involve me in a hit?”
“What are you going to do? Call 911?” he mocked. “I did it for you. Rico gave me the information, Lucia, on your whereabouts. He was going to kill you that night. It was either you or him. I made the decision for you.”
She shook her head, anger making her dark hair whirl about her shoulders. But bizarrely enough, he saw no disgust on her face. No fear or concern. Then, he realized it wasn't bizarre. She was a survivor, this woman. She'd learned how to roll with the nasty punches, how to turn the bad to the good for her cause.
She'd killed a cop, done countless shit to crawl through the ranks in record time. What else had she done along the way? What had made those beautiful blue eyes of hers turn to frost?
Maybe that should have landed a huge question mark over her head, but most of those queries had been answered the instant she'd killed O'Shea. He'd had diehard lobos find hits hard to make. It wasn't often, but sometimes, he'd get a call from one of his crew, saying they were chicken shit, literally telling him they didn't have the guts to do whatever he needed from them.
Martinez appreciated honesty. He'd rather get such a call than have the hit fucked up. But Lucia hadn't squealed at the task he'd set her—a mean mother fucker it had been too. O'Shea had been a family man, two kids, another on the way.
But with a family to protect, O'Shea shouldn't have stepped into his business. Lucia hadn't known it, and he'd made damned sure she hadn't, but O'Shea had been black to his core. Up to his fucking neck in deals that made his own business look squeaky clean.
When O'Shea had started trying to turn tricks on his patch, there was only one way it could have ended.
This woman knew how to roll with the punches. He'd seen it time and time again with all the minutiae she'd done to gain her stripes.
Maybe it was that, that turned him on so badly.
He did appreciate a fellow survivor.
“Are we going to HQ now?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you trust Juan?”
He smirked. “Juan? Did you hear that? Do I trust you?”
Juan's smile was visible in the rear-view mirror. “Si, jefe, me fias.” Yes, boss, you trust me.
And surprisingly enough, Martinez did. After Lucia's betrayal, his top members had been reshuffled, and Juan had made it onto the squad. With a background similar to his own, Martinez had seen a right-hand man in the making.
Now Rico was gone, that position was open and had already been filled.
“Why do you trust him?”
“Because he trusts me.”
“What the hell does that mean?” she snapped.
“It means I tell him the truth.”
At his exaggerated patience, Lucia glowered at him. “Explain.”
No other woman would have garnered more patience from him. Even with his familia, they knew not to press him. He wouldn't raise his voice. He'd never treat his sisters or mama so poorly, but they knew the limits.
Lucia didn't, and fuck, that made his cock hard.
“It means we're working together.”
“But you're still the head.”
“Yes, but Juan's wage is very high.”
“Not as high as yours.”
He clicked his tongue. “There is more to the world than money. There is position. Power. I can give him that.” Of course, there'd be more to be had if Juan took matters into his own hands and snatched Martinez's position, but he knew that would never happen.
Martinez wasn't underestimating the other man, it was just his gut that told him to trust.
Juan's father had died five years ago, leaving his mother with over eight kids to care for, and she'd turned to the oldest profession in the book, just like Martinez's mama. Only she hadn't been so lucky with her johns. One had killed her, and the eight children had been dispersed into foster care.
Juan's mission was to get his family back together.
Hook or by crook.
Martinez understood that kind of drive.
It was why he'd invested in Juan's cause and created a stream of unbridled loyalty in the process. Two sisters were already back at the headquarters, tucked away in their princess bedrooms. And Martinez had a right-hand man who would kill for him, so deep was his gratitude.
Not that he could tell Lucia that.
“It is of no matter why I trust him, but I do. I trust him with you. And your secret. That should help you sleep easier tonight.”
She scoffed at that. Her disrespect should have pissed him off. Instead, it amused him. She never did what was expected of her, and the other side of him, the beast that wanted to tame her, loved every second of her disobedience.
“What's this bullshit rumor you've spread about my disappearance? What happened with the Cobras? Why did they take me?”
He jerked a shoulder. “They're being pains in the asses. They know we don't do warfare, but still, they keep on trying. They took you to send a message.”
“Won't that incite more hatred against the Cobras?”
“Probably. But
next week, shit is going to hit the Cobra fan.”
“In what way?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“I know. Explain.”
He smirked at that. “Need to salve your conscience, do you, Lucia?”
“I have to make some sense of this. I can't just blindly accept it.”
“I'm not giving you an alternative.”
She closed her eyes at that, slowly sank back into her seat, and kept her head turned to the traffic for the remainder of the journey to Brooklyn.
With their revenue, they could have afforded headquarters on the island, but Martinez had been Brooklyn born and bred, and the Lobos were Martinez.
That was the way they worked.
His mother lived two blocks away—she'd live on site if he could persuade her, but he never could—and there was enough room in the building for his sisters to live in too.
The Lobos were not average, they were not simply a gang, and they did nothing by halves.
His mama, God love her, would shake her head at him, tell him he could have been a banker, a lawyer, could have earned an honest buck by legally robbing someone blind, and she was right. If he'd had certain opportunities as a kid, who knew where he'd be now. Instead, he'd made his way by means fair or foul. His business acumen meant the gang worked like a corporation. Of the illegal variety, of course. And he’d long since stopped wondering what he could have achieved with the law as his friend rather than his foe.
Their headquarters were a twenty-floor apartment block. In it, there was residential housing for some of the upper ranks and for those at the lower end who couldn't afford anything decent. It was where he conducted business, where he arranged his deals.
He thought of himself as a CEO, and he was damn good at what he did.
Playing chess with people's lives was a part of the job description, and today, he was going to do it for his very own gain. In fact, it would be the first time he'd ever pulled such a move. The gang had come to be out of a need to provide for his family. This, however, as ill-advised as it was, was entirely for him.
It would probably come as a surprise to Lucia that this was the first time he'd used his position to force someone into his bed. But, he was glad to say, it wasn't hard to persuade any woman to fuck him. Not because they were terrified of him either.
In this, Lucia was unusual.
He knew she wanted him. He'd known it for a while. And even though he'd made it known the feeling was reciprocal, not in any obvious way, she'd blocked his advances.
Every. Single. Time.
There were things he wanted to do to her. Things, he'd dreamed of doing to her. Specifically Lucia. Just her and her alone.
He wanted her in a way he'd wanted no other. And now, he was going to have her.
If there was ever a woman made for a man like him, Lucia was it.
The words felt ridiculous, even in his own head, but it was the truth.
There was something raw about her. Something that told him she'd survived more than just her stint undercover. When Rico had found her, told him her location, he'd asked to see Lucia's file.
Cop father, attorney mother—hell, more than just that, but a captain and an assistant DA, no less. Grandfather, still living, a retired cop. Grandmother had been a homemaker.
The report had been rudimentary, and in a way, it had been surprising for all that. The woman he knew did not fit in with the woman standing here today.
On paper, she'd have had a fairly sheltered life. Securely middle class, she'd gone to a good public school, and had gone straight into the academy.
But something had happened.
Something that made the woman studiously ignoring him wear baggy clothes that his mother would throw away. A woman who didn't possess a hint of a heel in her wardrobe—he knew, he'd checked. No gloss coated those pouty lips; no product slicked those beautiful midnight curls of hers—they were a sight to behold as she’d dyed them blond during her time in the gang. Her skin was like gold, but nothing marred the faint shine on her forehead or on the tip of her nose. The only adornment she had was a pair of studs. Two pinprick diamonds that he'd never seen her not wearing.
Her artlessness, her very lack of ornamentation made him want to dress her to please him. He wanted her to want that. He craved it.
This was a punishment. He knew that. She wouldn't be here otherwise. But he knew, deep down, a kernel of desire burned away in her belly for him.
Everything she gave him would, in the end, be freely given.
Because submission didn't work any other way.
Chapter Five
Jump a lot.
Look over your shoulder, be on edge. Make it look like you've just escaped hell.
Those had been her unnecessary orders, and in truth, they hadn't been hard to follow.
Considering the dickhead had told the troops Lucia had been kidnapped, it was easy to shudder every time she heard a banging sound, to flinch if someone came up behind her.
She was with Martinez and, to a certain extent, safe. But, there were diehard lobos, who if they even had a hint of what she'd done, would slit her throat—Martinez or no.
Until she officially became his woman, that is.
Spending the night was enough to make her that, and surviving one noche in his bed was the way to safeguard her survival.
Most of the footmen were pleased to see her and concerned at her nervous state. She knew the jefe had received a lot of strange looks, but they'd weathered the storm her arrival had caused, and Martinez had told her he'd be holding a meeting with his men, one that would update his upper ranks as to her situation. The news would soon spread, and the lobos would know the exact “reasons” behind her disappearance.
She wasn't sure whether that update would include information as to her sleeping arrangements, which would apparently be with him for the duration. However long that duration would be had yet to be mentioned. And she didn't have to worry about gossip.
Gun-toting gangbangers they might be, but they were like old women where gossip was concerned. If ninety-percent of the gang didn't know she'd become the jefe's woman by tomorrow morning, she'd be very, very surprised.
“This is surreal.”
The remark was murmured to herself as she sat alone in Martinez's office.
It wasn't just the circumstances for being here in the office, but also, her solitude that made her feel like Alice at the Mad-Hatter's tea party. Whether he was seeing if he could trust her or not by leaving her in here alone, she didn't know. She'd have to be fucking insane to snoop in his shit with the precariousness of her position. But then, sometimes, people were dedicated to the nth degree. Just as she'd been when she'd risen through the lobos' ranks. Just as the troops were.
Now, though, she was just feeling tired. Weary. The prospect of getting through the next few hours was like a herculean task, and if he expected to have sex with her today, he was very much mistaken. She needed sleep first. Paranoia had contributed to the last few sleepless nights, and she was feeling the pinch. For the first time in a while, she felt drowsy. Like sleep could be imminent, and she knew why.
Lucia, Eva in this building, rubbed a hand over her forehead. She wasn't afraid of Martinez. Maybe she should have been. He deserved her fear. He was a powerful man and capable of a lot as she'd witnessed today. But she wasn't scared of him.
Rico had inspired caution, because he'd been a loose cannon. And loose cannons were dangerous. As had been Matteo, Martinez's brother.
But the man himself?
No, and it was crazy to believe it, but she trusted him as much as she trusted anyone. Which probably didn't seem like a lot but was in fact a big deal.
Maybe she alone sensed his true nature. Maybe it was something about her, only fuck knew what, but maybe she brought it out in him?
Was that a long shot?
Grimacing at the thought but grateful she’d be able to sleep later as she was technically under his wing, Lucia eyed the o
ffice she'd been stashed in while he told his people what had happened to her and realized the place had been redecorated in her absence.
The room was dark. Unlike most of the building which was bright and light. While there was a wall of windows overlooking the city and Manhattan island, the light was stunted somehow. A dark gray carpet ran underfoot; the walls were papered in a gray linen, but a side wall was bright red. On that wall, there were photos. Of his family.
The eye was drawn to that wall, and it was a visual reminder of what the man was. Of what had made him this way. His familia.
He'd do anything for them. They were the pinnacle of his life.
It was hard not to be impressed by that, and perhaps, that was why she felt like he was a decent guy at heart. A man who could go to these lengths to put food on the table deserved some respect, didn't he?
For herself, Lucia didn't come from a particularly warm household. Nothing bad, but her parents had careers, and they'd been important to them. If that meant a case took precedence over a dance recital then 'so be it' had been the family motto.
In her parents' house, there were a few pictures of her on the mantelpiece, and some more on a few console tables. They were all of her success. Lucia dressed as valedictorian, her graduating the police academy, one with her sparkly-new detective's badge.
At her grandparents' home, there were the other photos. Of her covered in cheesecake, a picture her grandmother had sneaked when she'd been seven. The finger paintings her Pops had kept, and the first bird she'd whittled from a bit of wood after he'd painstakingly taught her how to do it. Even though that bird looked like no living creature on Earth, he’d kept it. Her mother would have thrown it away.
Like her grandparents, Martinez had the photos that spoke of the real people. Not the front his sisters showed to the rest of the world. There was Angela with a black eye after she'd won a karate competition, and Thea with purple hair after a dye job had gone horribly wrong.
She could appreciate family, because she’d kill to keep her Pops safe, and she could appreciate a man who felt the same way.
The desk didn't look out onto the city. He sat away from it, like it was a distraction. There were two comfortable, if elegant, sofas, shelves lined with books with cracked spines, and filing cabinets integrated into the fittings. It was all well-appointed and tasteful and, yet, was a very used room. It felt lived in, and despite herself, she liked that even if she hated, on principle, the color gray.
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