BOUND

by Akeroyd, Serena

  It was enough to detonate a bomb.

  His thick, ruddy shaft parting the wet lips of her sex.

  His fat cock invading her willing pussy.

  That fucked with her mind like his dick was fucking her cunt.

  Her head flew back, almost of its own volition, because she sure as hell couldn't support it. A few more times, he almost abandoned her, and then, on every thrust in, his fingers pinched her clit, and that was it.

  Done.

  She was out of there.

  A wailing mewl she hadn't thought herself capable of making escaped her, ricocheted around the room as unrecognizable pleasure ricocheted around her brain.

  This was like nothing she'd ever known. Even the other three climaxes he'd gifted her.

  This was an explosion. An implosion. Her body shut down, her senses hibernated, and everything that made her Lucia Kingston went into sleep mode.

  Because Martinez, gang leader extraordinaire, detonated her senses and made her, irrevocably, his.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  For so long, Lucia had been walking on a tightrope. Telling everyone she had PTSD because that was the most politically correct mental trauma a body could go through without someone gawking at her like she was a sociopath. Technically, she was one, hell, she suffered with antisocial personality disorder to add to the list of disorders that had been on her chart, but she didn't want the world to know that, did she?

  But she'd told Martinez, admitted the truth to him because he was different.

  She'd always known that, but she hadn't realized that to her, he wasn't just any man. A part of her wished he was, but he wasn't.

  When he'd held her down, his scent had filled the air around her. It had been Martinez. Not Josiah, no other man, no other creature weaker than her. Martinez was strong. To her, he was the physical embodiment of power. It was impossible to mistake him for anyone other than himself.

  That helped. When he'd touched her, imprinted her skin with his massage, when he'd made her come with his fingers, his tongue, his cock… all of it could have fucked with her head. But it hadn't. Because it was Martinez.

  And what that said about her dependency on the man, she didn't know. But it didn't bode well.

  She wasn't sure if Martinez was talking long-term here. Some things he'd said, she could hazard a guess that he thought they could go somewhere. But, to be truthful, Lucia didn't even know if she could cope with any kind of ongoing relationship. The one she had with her parents was atrocious, and the only healthy one was with her Pops.

  She had no friends.

  The ones she'd made in the gang had, at the time, felt like lasting friendships, but her real reason for being there had stopped her from getting too close. She was capable of making friends, just not as Lucia. As Eva.

  The dissociative partition between the two guises under which she lived would have concerned her, but she was about as mentally stable as she was ever going to be. And that was the truth of it.

  Why pile on more shit when the view wasn't exactly rosy anyway?

  She'd survived this long by being a pragmatist and by being realistic. Dreamy views of the future with a husband at her side and two point five kids playing with the horse, dog, and cat in the background weren't for her. And her little foray, her attempt at motherhood, obviously hadn't been sanctioned by the Gods, because she wasn't pregnant. That one nighter with Martinez all those months ago hadn't been fortuitous.

  That was probably for the best.

  She was as normal as she was ever going to get, and she'd accepted that a long time ago. This little attempt meant she wouldn't go to her grave with the last man to ever touch her being a serial killer. It was a man she respected, a man who understood her. And a man who she recognized, in normal circumstances, she could probably love.

  After rubbing her nose at the thought, she squinted at the low morning sun and reached for her shades. All around her, rolling fields lay like green velvet blankets. Cows brayed, their bells tinkling, and she could hear cockerels hollering their pleasure that dawn had finally broken.

  Martinez would probably be pissed that she was on the road rather than in his bed, but that had been a step too far for her. Weird, maybe. Especially after everything they'd done together, what he'd made her feel, but waking up together was just too intimate. She wasn't ready for that, and who knew if she ever would be.

  A part of her liked to think she would, and maybe with time, and if he was patient, be able to work her way up to that possibility. She was still here, wasn't she? Her mother had predicted she'd commit suicide before she got on the right track, but she'd proved her wrong, hadn't she? Why couldn't she in this?

  Despite herself, the idea put a grin on her face. She had a feeling that Martinez would be patient with her, and that he'd see to it she was ready for a relationship with him. After what he'd allowed her to do to him, what he'd manipulated her into doing and feeling, it was a good indication that his feelings for her would be strong enough to let her grow into whatever relationship she could manage.

  She had a bounce to her step when she parked the truck Juan had had driven over for her yesterday, and headed over to the diner. Buying a few Danish pastries, she didn't stop to chat with Jessie, wanting to embrace the weird feelings she was currently experiencing in private. Plus, she had shitloads to do with the paper.

  These two free days would have royally fucked up her schedule. Even if she hadn't wanted to talk about the incompetence in the sheriff's office, she might have to if no other tidbits slid under her door.

  After crossing the street, she unlocked the store front and headed straight into her office. There were papers on the floor, but the dead silence of the place reassured her no one was about. She picked up the notes and shoved them on the desk with her breakfast. Snooping through the office and then upstairs, she assured herself she was alone, properly this time, especially after what Martinez had told her, then retreated to her computer.

  Before she could settle and finally eat her breakfast, she dragged the computer desk into what she was sure was a more secure position. As it was, the chair had been to the wall, her outlook the office. Now, she cursed and swore as she shoved the creaky orange pine monstrosity over dusty floorboards into the front corner of the room. In that position, there was no way in hell anyone could approach her without her notice.

  Taking a seat, she grabbed the antibacterial hand wipes from her desk then, after taking a few bites of her Danish, checked her voicemail. She never usually had all that many messages. People preferred the anonymity of written notes and letters. Today, however, was an unusual day.

  “...you have fifteen missed calls and four messages.”

  Surprised, she pressed play. “Lucia, it's urgent I speak with you. Call me as soon as you can. I love you, baby girl.”

  She didn't even bother waiting to listen to the rest of the messages, instead, she hit the callback button, concerned when he immediately answered. “Lucia? Is that you?”

  “Pops, is everything okay?”

  “Thank God. I've been trying to get in touch with you for the last two days.”

  “You have? Shit, I'm sorry, Pops. I haven't been in the office, and I didn't have my cell with me.” She couldn't exactly tell him why she'd been out of the office now, could she?

  “No matter. There's no time. You need to get out of there.”

  “What? Get out of where?”

  “That town, that state, and preferably, the goddamn country.”

  “Whoa! Slow down. What the hell's going on?”

  “Your father came to see me two days ago. I knew something was up, because he'd only called in a few days before that. He was edgy, nervous. Took an age to finally spit out what was bothering him. I'm not proud of my son, Lucia. You know that. He's a damned fine cop, but he's been a crappy father. After this, I've changed my mind.”

  “Pops, what's going on? Just tell me.”

  “You're being investigated, Lucia,” he told her, voi
ce grave. “Some prisoner has implicated you in a detective's murder. A friend of your father's in the Fifth dropped him a hint, and he came straight to me.”

  “But there's no proof.”

  Silence throbbed down the line. “You did it, didn't you?”

  “What?”

  “You didn't say that was ridiculous, that the accusations were unfounded. Just that there's no proof.” Pops sucked in a breath. Its shakiness made her bite her lip. Shit, she should have been more cautious with her words. “Tell me true, Lucia, did you do it?”

  “I can't talk about this over the phone.”

  “You sure as hell as can,” he snapped. “You're going to head out of the country as soon as you put this damn phone down. You're going to go someplace that doesn't have an extradition agreement with the US, and you're going to live your life as best you can there.”

  “This is ridiculous. Pops, there is no proof I've done anything.”

  “Apparently, there is. They're obliged to give a rudimentary investigation into all claims, especially when it's about the murder of a cop. But they have a goddamn photo. The poor son of a bitch's head being dangled in front of the camera. The arm holding it is scarred, Lucia. I didn't want to believe it was you, but with the way you're talking, I have to believe it is.”

  “How many people have scarred arms in the city, Pops?” she scoffed, even though she knew the fucking photo he was referring to.

  It meant one thing and one thing only…someone in the Lobos had ratted her out.

  Shit, she guessed it served her right. Double cross the double crosser. Danish forgotten, the few bites she'd had congealing in her gut, she scrubbed at her forehead.

  “It doesn't matter how many there are. If they compare it with yours, then they're going to see whether it's you or not. You have to get out of there.”

  His stern voice had tears pricking her eyes. “But we had plans. I wanted you to come live with me,” she moaned.

  “You should have thought about that before you murdered a cop, Lucia,” he bit out. “A goddamn cop. How could you? My baby girl, how could you have done something like that? To one of your own? I-I thought you were being set up. For your dad to come to me, I thought it must be serious and that you needed to get out. I didn't realize you'd done what he'd said.”

  Pops had been the only person to ever get to her with his words. Her mother or father's disapproval or disappointment had flown over her head. But Pops? Christ, no.

  His chastisement tore at her heart, but she had to defend herself. Even if there was no real defense for what she'd done. “Pops, you don't understand. You think just because he wore blue, he was a good man. But he wasn't. He was running a prostitution ring, and he murdered one of the girls.”

  “So? You shop him, Lucia. That's the way to work. You find evidence, and you arrest him.”

  “It was while I was undercover.”

  That seemed to stymy him. “What the hell else did you when you worked for that gang? Sell your soul to the devil?”

  “Maybe I sold it a long time ago to get out of Josiah's clutches,” she whispered.

  “Don't try to turn this back to that time. You're over that now, that's in the past.”

  “Is it?” She laughed bitterly. “Is it really? You're just like them. Just like mom and dad. You think what he did to me is something you can get over. I live with it every day, Pops. Every damn day. And it's twisting me inside. I'm not your baby girl. I stopped being that the first night he took me.”

  “Don't say that,” came the pained whisper.

  “It's the truth,” she bit off. “It's always been the truth. I'm not right. I never have been. All I see is a world full of corruption, and in all the years I've been free, I've never felt like I fitted in until the Lobos. There, the world was right. If someone was an evil SOB, if he did wrong, if he hurt others, then he was taken out. Like the animal he was. Jungle justice, it works, Pops. It works.

  “You think I should lose sleep over taking out that piece of shit, O'Shea? I won't. I'll never lose a minute's sleep. He was scum, and if that makes me scum because I took him out, then I'm okay with that label.” She swallowed. “I love you, and I didn't want you to know this about me. I really didn't. But I can't be ashamed of it, because everything I've done, I've done to survive. Whether that's for the right or the wrong, it doesn't matter. I'm here, and that's more than I thought possible when I made it out of Josiah's.”

  She could hear Pops' ragged breathing and knew she'd made him cry. If there was something she was ashamed of, it was that.

  The only man to still believe in her, to still love her, and she'd turned him against her.

  “Thanks for the head's up. I'll make my way out of town now.” She paused, waited for him to say something, anything, but he didn't.

  With poison eating at her heart, she put the phone down. The urge to weep was intense. It overwhelmed her, the need to release the terrified fury she was feeling, but she couldn't. She didn't have time.

  Three days since her father had warned her Pops… They could be after her, even now. If Juan had been smart enough to put one and one together, then the cops could too.

  Jumping up, she eyed the pin board that contained the different pieces of gossip and the news items she'd intended to use in this week's edition. She'd like to say it didn't sadden her, leaving it, and leaving this place, but she couldn't, because it did.

  In such a brief time, she'd grown to like it here. She'd felt a semblance of peace, and for someone like her, that was like Mohammed and the mountain finally coming together after a long, long walk.

  Now, she was going to have to leave and live like a fugitive.

  It was probably what she deserved, but it pissed her off that she'd become just like the monster who'd done this to her. Because this was just proof of it.

  Someone, somewhere was trying to cage her. And some person was bemoaning her, hating her for what they'd done to their loved one.

  The latter didn't overly disturb her, but she had to free herself before that cage door closed on her.

  With that in mind, she left her office and ran back to her apartment. As she'd done five months ago with her place in New York, she emptied it of all her worldly goods worth saving, but this time, she pulled out her documentation and spent a few precious moments organizing herself.

  She'd earned a small fortune working with the Lobos. All the hits she'd pulled, she'd made a lot of cash. Some of it, she'd saved. Some of it, she'd stored as cash, and the rest, she'd used on papers.

  Maybe she'd known this day would come, because she was prepared for it. But then, she was prepared for a lot of things. There was a reason her safety deposit was in South America, not North.

  Lucia Kingston was no more. Neither was Eva Kingston, or the Eva the Lobos had known.

  She looked through the two passports she had, with their corresponding social security numbers, and decided on Elena Martinez.

  The surname had her lips curling. It was a sick twist of fate that her forger had given her a new identity with that name, right?

  Her snarl of anger was blurred by the sad smile that crossed her mouth. She packed her other papers, shoved them into her luggage, and put the documents she was going to use in her carry-on. With it, she had a bank card and access to a few hundred thousand. The other identity had the same. It would be enough to get her settled in Ecuador, where she'd bought a small villa last year.

  All to safeguard her future.

  Well, that future was coming to fruition.

  Scraping her hair behind her ears, she grabbed her shit together and started out of the apartment, then made her way through the office. She left it as was, not even shutting down the computer. Maybe she didn't have to leave it to rot. Maybe Jessie could run it for her and take the small profits for her own. Just because her life was ending here didn't mean Jessie's was, and she and Harriet the librarian had been the two kindest people to her here in town.

  The notion popped out of nowher
e, but she knew she'd call the friendly waitress on her way to the airport. She dumped her case on the ground then locked the door. Bending over, she slid the key under the mat, so Jessie could retrieve it later and nearly jumped out of her skin when a cool voice murmured, “I thought we'd gone past this stage?”

  “Martinez! You scared the shit out of me,” she groused, picking up her case and starting toward her truck.

  He grabbed it from her and glared at her. “Where the hell do you think you're going?”

  “I've no time, Martinez. Put that in the trunk and get in the car. I'll explain on my way to the airport.”

  “The airport? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I have to go away,” she ground out. “Now get in the goddamn car!”

  He scowled but did as she asked. The truck bounced with the force he used to throw the case in the truck bed, and he hurried around the cab, almost like he thought she'd drive off without him. If this was about him and what they'd shared, then maybe she would have.

  As it was, she waited for him with the engine running. The instant he closed the door, she took off, her wheels screeching. Before he could say a word, she reached for her cell and, with one eye on the road dialed Jessie's number.

  She was grateful when it hit voicemail. “Jessie, hey, this is Eva. Look, I've run into a problem in New York. You know how it is with family. But I'm going to be away for a while, and I need someone to run the paper for me. I know this is short notice, but I'm dealing with an emergency back in the city. If you could run it for me until I get back, I'd really appreciate it.

  “You can contact me on this number if you need anything, but it runs itself. If you look in the filing cabinet, you can see the instructions, Dave, the previous owner left me, and figure it out from there. Any profits the paper turns over are yours. I just don't want to shut the paper down while I'm out of town, and it could be a long while. If you need help, maybe Harriet would enjoy it? You can find the key under the mat. I'll be in touch either by email or phone. Speak soon.”