BOUND

by Akeroyd, Serena

  The tubular steel and leather chair she sat in bounced when she moved. The rocking motion was soothing, and she closed her eyes, feeling safe enough to relax while she was alone.

  No one would touch her in here. No one but Martinez, and if he'd wanted to do her harm, he'd had ample opportunity. But harm wasn’t what he wanted to inflict upon her, which added to her comfort levels in this office. Sure, their lies could tumble down like a house of cards, but even if they did, a lobo wouldn’t slit her throat in here, Martinez’s office.

  The serene silence of the study, combined with her fatigue and her dropping her guard, had her unintentionally falling asleep.

  * * *

  She awoke, not knowing how long she'd slept, to the feeling of eyes watching her.

  It was a strange sensation, one she hadn’t felt for a long time. The back of her neck prickled and tingled, her nerves alight with tension.

  Realizing where she was, there was little she could do to defend herself. Martinez had taken her gun from her in the car, and her only line of defense was her fists. No small arsenal but still, against a whole gang? Yeah, two fists—as smart as hers were—weren't enough.

  She carefully opened her eyes and blinked in surprise when she did.

  “Maria? What are you doing up here?”

  Seeing Martinez's four-year-old niece, she leaned forward with frown. “You know you're not allowed up here.”

  Maria jerked a shoulder. Her lips were pouty, and like that, she looked like her father. Matteo was handsome, not as much as Martinez, because there was a dilution to the younger brother's features, meaning he escaped Martinez's potency. But Maria, Lucia knew, would be a beauty when she was older, because she was one now.

  “Aren't you glad to see me?” she teased, when the little girl said nothing, just stared at her mournfully. She opened her arms, wondering if Maria would come to be hugged as she'd done a few times in the past, but no. Another mournful stare.

  “She doesn't talk.”

  Martinez's voice appeared from nowhere. Lucia leaned around and spotted him seated on one of the two sofas that separated his office. He had a pile of papers on his knee and was slowly reading through them.

  That she hadn't realized he was here disturbed her on a deep level. Not that she showed it—that would have compounded a terrible situation.

  “Why doesn't she speak? She used to.”

  “She made a vow, didn't you, chiquita?” he murmured, almost absentmindedly. Maria nodded in answer to his question. Her fervency had a smile creasing Lucia's lips. “She won't talk until Papa comes home.” For the first time, he raised his head to stare at both the females in his very masculine domain. “Even though that might be for a very long time.”

  An odd sensation made her stomach clench—could it be guilt when she’d felt no guilt before?—but the mutinous cast to Maria's face, once again, made her lips twitch. It was so goddamn heartbreakingly cute. Maria's little arms came up to fold against her chest, and she looked as though she'd stand there waiting, impatiently, for her tio, her uncle, to go and get her papa. Now.

  Martinez confirmed it, his head retreating to his papers once more. “She stands there watching me. For hours on end, until she falls asleep, usually in that chair you're sitting in. She wants me to go get him.”

  “Oh, Maria, your tio can't do that. Not without getting in trouble.”

  “Don't waste your breath. We Martinezes are a stubborn bunch, aren't we, Maria? We don't give in, not until we get what we want.”

  While Maria's nod had her head bouncing up and down like those tiny dog ornaments that sat on dashboards, his words resonated with Lucia in a fundamental way.

  She knew them to be the truth, had seen that when he'd come for her that first night.

  There was a time to fight and a time to surrender.

  Had Rico been there, had he been the one doing the talking, she'd have fought with all her marrow. He was a bastard, a bully. He'd have taken immense pleasure in raping her then murdering her. But Martinez had a weird kind of honor, and that thread of obstinacy he'd evidently passed onto his niece.

  Martinez would not rape a woman.

  He probably wouldn't even murder one, not unless that woman messed with his business. A business that kept his family housed, clothed, fed, and watered. Which she had.

  Lucia was probably fortunate he wanted to fuck her. If it weren't for that, maybe he would kill her. She'd been the one to bring chaos into his house, after all.

  And there she went.

  Down the fucking rabbit hole.

  Explaining away the man's right to have her killed.

  Dear Lord, what was happening to her?

  Sleeping in the man's office, him not waking her up when he got here, this was like a skewed start to a relationship.

  The man was blackmailing her.

  She needed to get that.

  It was fuck or be fucked over.

  Lucia Ana Kingston needed to get real.

  “Maria, why don't you go and find your mama?” Martinez eventually said, not looking up from his papers. “I'm not going to find your papa today.”

  The sorrow in the little girl's eyes made Lucia want to hide from what she'd done. It was all well and good saying that she had the law on her side. What did that matter, when a little girl wouldn't be seeing her father outside of an orange jumpsuit for the next fifteen to twenty?

  The little girl wouldn't be so little.

  She'd be a woman. A child raised without her father.

  Because of Lucia.

  Guilt was an unusual entity for her to feel, but she’d been little once, and her father had been away more often than he was at home. It sucked, but she’d at least known he slept in the bedroom down the hall even if he got in so late she never saw him. Maria didn’t have that luxury.

  Nibbling her lip, she watched as Maria slouched out of the room, shooting a glare at Martinez on her way out. His head was bowed over his papers, but she wasn't surprised to realize he hadn't missed anything. His sigh was poignant.

  “She hasn't spoken since Matteo's arraignment. And she hasn't kissed me goodnight since then either.”

  She could see how that had really affected him. How that one small act of defiance on his niece's part twisted his insides.

  Man or monster?

  How could a monster react so sorrowfully to his niece's anger with him?

  It didn't make sense. But Martinez never had.

  He defied logic and all rationality.

  He screwed with the lines of black and white, giving gray a semblance of respectability.

  “I'm sorry,” she whispered, unable to help herself.

  “I'd like to say it's not your fault, but it is. Or it would be in the eyes of the familia. I, on the other hand, realize we all make our own decisions. Matteo chose his path as I have mine, and therefore, it's his fault he is where he is. Especially when he has a family to care for.”

  She cocked a brow at that. “Would you change what you do if you had children?”

  He hesitated a second, then dismissed her question by returning to his papers.

  She got the feeling that he would, but he wouldn't admit it to her. Her lips twitched in reaction, amused by his hesitation. But she had bigger conversational fish to fry. “What's the general buzz about me?”

  “That the Cobras need to pay. But next week, they will.”

  There was a coolness to his tone that didn't bode well for the Triad gang. “In what way?”

  “What are you going to do? Inform your boss?” he asked, tone bland, without looking up from his papers.

  She gritted her teeth. “No, I'm curious.”

  “I'm working with the law this time. The Scarlet Ink, the tattoo parlor in Soho, is their front. They haven't paid taxes in forever. The IRS are going in next week.”

  Lucia clapped her hands. “I love it.” She did appreciate sneakiness.

  His smile was wicked. “I do like manipulating the law for my own end.”
<
br />   More like he preferred sparing bloodshed when he could. She'd seen his reaction to Rico's murder. He hadn't liked it but had seen it as a necessary precaution.

  One thing she could say about the lobos was they weren't the wild beasts their counterparts were. Wolves, they were not.

  At least, Martinez wasn't, and any of his men who were, he had them culled from the pack.

  Hence Rico's termination.

  The day’s madness diverted her attention. “What am I really doing here, Martinez?” The question was posed softly. She didn't want to trigger his anger. Lucia had seen him in a rage, and that was the last thing she wanted to incite. Not because she couldn’t deal with it, but because it wouldn’t have been politic in her current precarious position.

  “Why do you think, Eva?” She wasn't sure why, but it hurt hearing her other name on his lips. “You think because you've seen Maria, that I've killed to protect your secret, I don't mean business?”

  “I just can't see you going through with it.”

  “Is that a challenge?”

  His scorn lashed her. “No.” She quickly shook her head. “I didn't mean it like that. I just... I don't understand why you're doing this. It seems out of character to me.”

  “I'm doing it because I can, and because you have to do it. Because you want to do it. You feel guilty, don't you, Eva? You betrayed us all. We took you in, made you one of our own. You lived well, ate well, partied hard. You lived a good life. Made friends, and in a short time, I invited you into the inner circle.

  “You betrayed that. You know my family, you know Maria and my sisters. You know where they sleep, where they eat. You looked after our troops. And yet, you threw that trust away. Tell me you don't feel guilty.”

  His eyes ensnared hers, trapping her in his anger. Her mouth trembled at the dislike buried in his gaze, at his distrust and his lack of understanding at how she'd betrayed his people. He didn't seem to understand why she'd done what she'd done.

  “Matteo was your brother, but he was a bad man,” she whispered, and when his temper snapped, breaking in those caramel orbs of his, she weathered the tempest. “The lieutenants I betrayed were bad people.” And if she classified them as bad, they were the lowest scum imaginable.

  “And that's how you justified it?” he gritted out.

  She worked her bottom lip with her teeth. Jumping up from her seat, restlessness overtaking her, she strode over to the windows and stared out at the city in front of her.

  How could she make such an admission?

  She was a cop. Born and bred. Being the guiding hand of justice was all she'd known how to be until the Lobos. Pops had told her she needed the rigid laws of the PD to keep her on the straight and narrow, and she’d listened. More than that. Had found a niche for herself until she’d found an adopted home here.

  The Lobos’ justice was of the jungle variety. It was kill or be killed, raw and basic. She didn't want to admit how much she'd fitted in. If she did, it would destroy everything she'd lied to herself about for the last eight years.

  Shuddering, she cupped her elbows, embracing herself, needing that support. The world she’d forged under Pops’ guidance was quivering at the roots. Going against his dictates was harder than pulling a hit.

  “That’s how you forgive yourself, is it? You were the Lobos’ judge, jury, and executioner? You decided if they deserved jail or not, is that how it worked?”

  God, it had. Since when had she become a one-man band? A fucking vigilante?

  He stood, strode over to her. She could feel his heat at her back. It scorched her, made her want to lean back into it, because she felt so fucking cold. But he wasn't safety, Martinez was danger. She needed to remember that, and what better way than to feel him throbbing with rage at her back.

  He grabbed her shoulder and spun her around, when she remained facing the glass. Her head bowed, but he grabbed her chin and tugged her up to look him directly in the eye.

  “¡Dime!” Talk to me.

  She shook her head.

  “Admit it. Tell me the truth.”

  “How can I?” she spat.

  “You just say the words.”

  She tugged her chin from his grip. “Leave me alone.”

  He grunted. “I guess the big question is, why spare me? Because admit to it or not, you did.”

  At his words, she looked at him. For the first time since he'd dumped her in his office, she glanced directly at him, fell into his stare like a rabbit gawked at the hunter who had the creature in his crosshairs.

  With their gazes caught in a trap of their own making, the frisson that arced between them descended like a lightning bolt. It struck her belly with a ferocity that made her wince.

  He felt it too. His eyes widened, the gold flecks surrounding his pupils changed, shifted as the small black dot dilated into a gluttonous orb. As the energy seared him, he backed off, crossing the room to put distance between them.

  That distance hurt. It made the tenuous connection between them quiver weakly. She pressed her back into the wall, needing the support. She'd hate herself later for the weakness, but for now, she could only admit that energy between them was why she'd spared him. Why she had faith in him despite all the wrongdoing he'd committed in the name of earning a crust to feed his family.

  He turned his back on her to face the windows. The city lights cast the side of his jaw into shadow. His tone was gritty, rough. “You know where my bedroom is. Go there and wait for me, Eva.”

  “How long do you expect me to wait?” Lucia snapped then realized once again, she was no longer Lucia, but Eva. She had to get used to the old name once more.

  “I expect you to wait however fucking long it takes me to get through these papers. Yours is not to question why. You’ve lost that right. It's time you learned that.”

  As the fear and weakness at the alien emotions he’d stirred in her began to dissipate, as her anger overtook any and all things that damaged her inner core of strength, Lucia glared at him then huffed as she stalked out of the room. When the door opened, and she was on the brink of banging it closed, he murmured, in a tone smoother than silk, “Be naked or prepare for the consequences. Put the clothes by the door, I want to know you obeyed the minute I come in.”

  That disarmed her. “But you might not come upstairs for hours,” she half-stammered.

  “Then get into bed.”

  A tremor quaked along her nerves, shutting down certain systems, triggering others into a state of wakefulness. Pops was a weakness she could do nothing about, but here was another. It hadn’t existed until Josiah. Until he’d tormented her, tortured her. Even the monster within couldn’t shield her from the horrors of her time with him.

  They were memories forged in hell, and Lucifer himself never forgot, so how could she?

  “What are you going to do to me?”

  He finally looked up from his papers. The heat in his eyes was such a contrast to the ice of earlier. “Do unto you as you did unto others. Be your personal judge, jury, and executioner.”

  And there, once more, was the cool lash of his temper. Eva knew she’d get no other response, and so, she slipped out of the office, only to press her back to the wall. Smoothing a hand over her forehead, she had to suck in a breath.

  Eva wasn't terrified. She'd been in worse situations than this, and it was why she knew she had no choice but to do as he said. She knew when to run and when to hide. She'd learned that a long time ago.

  Running now would make him punish her all the harder. She couldn't run fast enough to suit a gang the size of the Lobos. Martinez would find her, and his rage would sear her, where now his temper only abraded her sensibilities.

  She was in a prison of her own making, Eva realized. But there would quite definitely be harm in trying to escape a man with such a spider's clutch on the East Coast. For the moment.

  The tide would turn, she just had to wait, and patience was one of her few virtues.

  Sucking in a breath, reasoning
that whatever he did to her couldn't be that bad—nothing like what she’d endured with Josiah—she made to move away from the door then realized she was being watched.

  Immediately, she froze. Clamping down on any and all emotions to state coolly, “What are you doing here, Juan?”

  “I assume that's rhetorical?”

  “It wasn't, but you're right. I'll shut the hell up now.” She started on her way across the hall. “I wasn't going to run,” she informed her watcher.

  “You'd be an idiot to run.”

  That had her pulling on the brakes. “I beg your pardon?” She spun around to glare at him, but he just shrugged.

  He wasn't a handsome man. He was a little too lanky for that, his face a little too lean, but he was attractive. Half the woman in the gang drooled over him, if they weren't busy drooling over the Martinez brothers—it shamed her that Martinez himself had lumped her in with the vast majority of the female wolves. But Juan’s leanness was deceptive. She’d watched him heft Rico about, and he’d been no lightweight. It wouldn’t serve her to underestimate him.

  “No need to beg, Eva.” He put a stress on Eva, but simply cocked his brow in warning. “You'd be an idiot to run, because Martinez would find you. For whatever reason, he's fixated on you. You should be grateful. He'll tan your hide rather than put a bullet in your back. And you know he's quite capable of doing that.”

  His words had her swallowing. Not only were they a confirmation of what she herself already knew, but they were a reminder of what he'd done hours earlier.

  “We've both killed for this gang.”

  “Some of us are more loyal than others, though.” His eyes were filled with scorn.

  “Can I trust you with my secret? Or am I going to wake up with a knife to my throat one morning?”

  “If you do, it won't be because of me. Martinez's secret is safe with me. Not yours. He wants you, and what he wants, I'll do my best to give him.”