by Cherry Adair
The inside of the cave, dark and shadowy, smelled of moss and damp. It was a hell of a lot cooler than the temperature outside. The smell of Riva’s skin, clean sweat, the coppery tang of blood, and the faint, unmistakable scent of herbal shampoo filled his senses, even as his attention remained on the glimpses of the men gathered right outside their hiding place.
Clearly they’d switched allegiance to Maza. How had he not noticed? When had the betrayal begun? How many of his men were involved? Or had Mama finally snapped and decided she wanted to run the ANLF without his interference?
Jesus. He was fucked. He didn’t know who to trust, who to get answers from. Or where he’d be safe until he figured it all out. If he figured anything out before they managed to kill him.
To compound the problem, he had Riva with him.
Protect her or let her go? Would she go straight to Maza if that really was her plan? Could she make it to his nemesis in one piece without him riding shotgun?
Was she an innocent in all this, or was she the precipitating event that had set everything in motion?
His head ached like a bitch as he strained to listen to the muffled convo while he peered through the tiny slit in the thick veil of vines. Eventually the men’s voices faded, but Sin stayed where he was.
After several minutes, Riva turned to face him. “They’re gone. Now, let’s figure out what just hap— Why are you looking at me like Simba looking at a gazelle?”
“Wrong continent.” Lifting his hand, he gently brushed a strand of hair off her cheek. He paused for her to stiffen, brace, watched her eyes for fear, refusal, or any number of other get-the-hell-away-from-me signs. Tough to read her in the semidarkness. She didn’t jerk back, but she did tuck her SIG in the small of her back.
Progress.
Riva’s lips parted as he bracketed her head between his hands, shivering erotically under his touch as he brushed his palms slowly against her ears. He stroked her hair, most of which had come loose from the braid, pulled and tangled by their race through the trees. “Of all the uncertainties,” he murmured, lowering his head. “With all the confusion and doubt, one thing I knew for sure. I wanted you the moment I saw you.” He cradled the back of her head as she curled one hand around his waist. “But could you please hold off shooting me, stabbing me, or otherwise ruining the moment until I’m done kissing you?”
Riva brought her cupped hand up between their mouths. “Is this a one-sided sport or can we both participate?” she asked, voice husky.
In the midst of trouble and darkness, she amused the hell out of him. It was worth taking the risk she’d kill him while in such proximity. He whispered, voice thick with need, “Move your hand. I’ll show you.”
Then the barricade of her fingers was gone, and Riva fisted in his hair. “No, Diaz.” Her eyes dropped to his mouth. “I’ll show you.”
The naked hunger Sin saw in her dark eyes matched his own. His heart hammered against his breastbone as their mouths met. Petal soft, and damp, her lips parted as he swept his tongue inside the hot cavern. She was there to welcome him. When he explored, she reciprocated.
Sliding his hands down her slender back, he gripped the globes of her ass in his palms, pulling her up higher and tighter against the pulsing hardness of his erection. It wasn’t enough. Not nearly.
He felt the heavy strum of her heart, the soft brush of her lashes on his cheek as she angled her head. Her hot, salty, female scent was intoxicating.
The sharp stinging nip of her teeth on his lower lip shot directly to Sin’s already painfully hard dick. She shifted against him, curling a leg around his like a jungle vine. Mouth avid, slick tongue exploring, she drove him insane as she gripped his hair.
Despite the exertions and hellish heat, the perspiration and humid perfume of vegetation, she smelled-delicious. No lotions or perfume, just the natural fragrance of her damp skin. Pheromones, he knew. Inhaling her was intoxicating, and his body reacted as though he’d been given a shot of high-octane adrenaline.
Riva’s body was sleekly muscled, with graceful curves and slopes. Smooth, hot skin came alive under his hands. He wanted her naked. He made do with rediscovering the shape of her breast, full, small and responsive. The cleft between her legs, behind the barrier of cloth was already damp. She moaned, as he moved urgent hands over her, her breath as rapid as his own.
The kiss was unlike any Sin had ever experienced before, not in his recollection anyway. The taste and feel of her, her avid responses, shot the hot, devouring melting of teeth and tongues, of frantic hands and harsh breathing, to another level.
Dick, taut and hard, his pulse thrummed relentlessly as he pressed his hardness against her moist heat. If they didn’t stop, he’d be fucking her right there on the dirt floor of the cave. A tasty meal for any creature using the cave as a refuge.
He placed his hands on her upper arms, and dragged his damp mouth from hers, letting her go with some reluctance. He’d felt the hard nubs of her nipples pressed against his chest, the heat of her body even through the cotton clothing she wore.
“I want you more than my next breath.” He didn’t recognize the gritty sound of his own voice. “But we have to secure the area. Anyone could’ve walked in and shot us point blank.”
Looking as dazed as he felt, Riva unwound her leg from around his waist and cleared her throat. “God. That was unprofessional.” Stepping back, she ran her hand over her hair, which was gloriously untidy. Her lips looked bee-stung, her nipples, sharp points beneath the close-fitting black tank top. She took another step back, putting space between them that was filled with pulsing, pent-up need.
“It won’t happen again,” she said, looking him straight in the eye. He knew it for the lie it was. It would happen again until they got each other out of their systems.
Sin drank her in, then noticed that the wound on her upper arm had started bleeding again. “Shit. We have to patch that up.”
“Believe me, I didn’t feel any pain.” She glanced down at the oozing blood. “It’ll stop in a minute. I’m good.”
Yeah, she was. More than. “We’ll get a few hours’ sleep, then head toward the river.”
Riva grabbed the straps of her backpack, slinging them over her shoulders, then picked up the guns, brushing off a few damp leaves as she did.
“They’ll be back with reinforcements.” He took his Glock from her and tucked it in the small of his back. “They’ll reconvene where they attacked us, spread out from there at first light. I have some supplies stashed behind that rockfall. Food, water, flashlight.”
He indicated the wall of rocks, collapsed from the ceiling. All but hidden was a narrow opening, just wide enough for him to squeeze through sideways. Just a week ago, he’d fixed a heavy tarp across the narrow entrance from the other side. Pushing through it, he held it aside for Riva to pass through, then dropped it back.
It was pitch-dark. Sin was going more by memory than by sight. Riva bumped into him as he paused to let his eyes adjust. She stepped away immediately. But not far, as he felt her heat close by. “Hang on to me until I find the flashlight.”
She slid her fingers into his waistband, fingers hot against his skin. What he really wanted, needed, was her hands on him everywhere. And being in the dark with her touching bare skin gave him a boner he was grateful she couldn’t see, especially since she seemed to have recovered from the kiss just fine.
“Those were your own men.” She pitched her voice low. “Do you piss off everyone, Diaz?”
“Apparently.” He found the boxes of supplies and fumbled for the latch, then held on to the lid so it didn’t fall back against the rock walls and make a noise. He’d left a flashlight and a loaded H&K MP7A1 submachine gun on top. Just in case.
Fuck. His life was made up of a series of questions, but “Am I in danger?” was not one of them. He was constantly on alert, always looking over his shoulder, ceaselessly aware that he had enemies. Always in danger.
He retrieved, and clicked on, the powerf
ul flashlight, filling the cave-like area with light. “Put the weapons down, you’ll need both hands, and put the bags down on the rock next to them, not on the ground. This section of the mine is twenty feet wide and sixty feet deep, to the next cave-in.” The ceiling of rough-hewn rock fifteen feet overhead.
He waited as Riva put their weapons and the bags on a nearby slab of rock. He handed her the submachine gun. “Loaded,” he cautioned. She placed it beside the others with exaggerated care. “Hold the flashlight.” He adjusted her aim so he could see what he was removing. “We’ll spend the night here, then head out before first light.”
Riva shone the light around the walls. “Two cave-ins? Is this place safe?”
“Happened decades ago. We’re good. I need that light over here.”
She returned the beam to where he was taking things out of the plastic container. “Shouldn’t we check to see if anything’s lurking back there?”
“Trust me, if anything’s sleeping in here, it would’ve woken up and come to investigate the second we came inside. Doesn’t mean animals won’t come in later, though. We’ll keep our weapons close at hand and I have deterrents so we can sleep safely.” He started loading her arms with supplies. The meager light reflected on the loose hair around her face and shoulders so that each strand looked like a silver filament. Dark eyes unreadable, she watched his face.
Reading him? Sin wondered what she saw.
“This isn’t a cave, it’s a played-out emerald mine. I’m starving, and want to take a look at your arm before we bed down.”
“My arm’s just fine. I’ll slap some Neosporin on it in a minute. Where do you want me to put all this?”
He lit the small camping lantern. It gave off just enough light to see their surroundings. He’d tested to see how far the light could bleed to the outside of the tunnel, waiting for a pitch-black night, and nothing could be seen from outside. “Right where you are, tough girl. If you open that top plastic container, you’ll find a sleeping bag and a camp stove. I’ll get the tent and the food.”
She put down the things he’d handed her, went over and lifted the top plastic box off the short stack of similar containers. “You planned for this?”
“I plan for everything. Don’t put that bag on the ground until I have the tent set up.”
She removed the stove and a handful of freeze-dried, ready-made meals. A five-gallon plastic container nearby held fresh water. “We’re inside a cave. Why do we need a te—”
Sin pointed to a large, hairy, brown Tarantula the size of his fist, scurrying across the mossy ground away from the light.
Riva pulled a face. “Tent it is.”
He set it up quickly. With its thick floor and solid, canvas walls, nothing short of a saber-toothed tiger could get in once it was zipped.
They worked in silence for several minutes. By the time he had the tent up, and lined with the unzipped sleeping bag, she had a couple of MREs open. Not that appetizing, but filling, and high in protein. He started the coffee, and her mouth watered in anticipation.
After closing the lid on the supply box, he told her to take a seat. “Let me attend that scratch before it gets infected. Here, hold this.” He handed her the open, well-stocked first-aid kit and removed antiseptic and gauze as she sat down. “Hold the light, keep it steady. While we’re at it, how’s the leg?”
“Leg?”
“You fell out of a helicopter, remember?”
“Oh. That leg. Fine.”
He’d check that as well. “Let’s clean this up and see what we’re dealing with.”
After sluicing the four-inch gash on her arm with water, he patted the wound dry with the gauze, then dabbed on antiseptic liberally. She hissed in a breath, but remained stoic.
“You need stitches. All I have are butterfly bandages.” Hell, she needed more than stitches, she needed a hospital and antibiotics. Untreated open wounds could kill you in the jungle. Topical antiseptic and a couple of bandages weren’t enough. Now the urgency to get her to Santa de Porres was imperative.
“That’ll be fine. I’ll live.”
She had as many scars on her body as he did. He wanted to kiss all her hurt places, the cuts and scrapes, the new bruises and the old scars. But it was the ones on her slender wrists that made his balls clench, and his stomach turn over.
Cupping her hand in his, Sin ran his thumb over the scars on her left wrist. Some had been neatly stitched, and healed well, others were irregular. “What or who caused you this much pain?”
Riva swallowed the tightness in her throat. “He’s dead now.”
“Who?”
“Not a story I share—”
“Who?”
She’d never told anyone all of it. Probably never would. But here, in the stillness, and darkness, with Sin so close, there was an intimacy she’d never allowed herself to feel before. What harm could it do? In a few days they’d part. “One of my mother’s boyfriends physically and verbally abused me from the time he showed up when I was twelve until he died four years later.”
“Abused? Physically? That’s why you have these?” His eyes in the dim light were keen, intense. He looked…tempered. Contained. Holding it together. It was remarkable to watch him gather himself like that. That was control. Incredible inner strength.
He touched the scar hardly anyone ever noticed under her chin.
Bent over the kitchen table, her mother sobbing as she held her screaming child down so her lover could beat some sense into her. Joe standing between her flailing legs, that metal-tipped whip rising and falling on her bare back for hour after hour.
Powerless, no way out, too small, too weak to fight both of them, she’d tried to finish off what Mom and Joe had started. Her first attempt with a razorblade had been a few days after her ninth birthday. The babysitter had found her that time.
She had to jerk her gaze away from the leashed anger she saw on his face, wait while her lungs unlocked and she could drag in enough badly needed air to finish. She wished she hadn’t started. Showing him her vulnerability was stupid and dangerous as hell. “Most of them,” she said on an exhale. The next breath came easier. Tie it up neatly. Be done with the confessions. Enough, Rimaldi. Just… Enough. “Some I got on the job, but most were inflicted by Joe.
“A small leather cat o’ nine tails whip with metal tips was a favorite. But he was eclectic. A table, a bowling ball. My mother’s cigarette. Or when he was drunk, his fists.” She ignored the sting of antiseptic as Sin tended her arm.
“My mother started the abuse long before he arrived on the scene. Mostly whatever she could grab. I shared a vision of her banging her best friend’s husband—shared it with her and her best friend—when I was two, so it started about then. But Joe upped the fun when he introduced the whip.” Did he notice what she’d just admitted?
Riva read his microexpressions. Disgust. Fury. Sympathy. She hadn’t even told the full story to the social workers, and her shrink knew better than to let those feelings show. “My mom claimed afterwards that she’d had no clue about his criminal past, but I found out later that she’d met him through a prison pen pal program.”
“Jesus.” He traced a finger along the row of small puncture wound marks on the side of her neck, where Joe had stabbed her with a fork. Then used eyes and fingers to trace her arms until he found the one in the bend of her elbow, where Joe had snapped her arm in a fit of rage when she’d described his death. In minute detail.
It had been worth it.
The small lantern flickered, sending dancing arcs of light and shadow up on the rock walls. “Three murders, and a string of other felonies,” she told him unemotionally as he applied the first butterfly bandage. She’d learned to separate the helpless child from the accomplished, strong woman she’d later become.
“He’d just gotten out of prison when he moved across the country, changed his name, and came to meet my mother… I tried to keep the knowledge of my visions to myself. They already freaked out my mother, and i
solated me from my peers. I could never keep my mouth shut. I was always in trouble, at home, at school… When Joe realized that I was predicting his future with pinpoint accuracy, he went ballistic.” And took up where good old Mom left off.
Sin took up another bandage and applied it gently to the wound, his lashes short and thick and gold-tipped in the lantern light as he tended her.
“You’re not asking if I’m psychic or not.”
“Whether you are or not, is irrelevant,” he said with suppressed anger painted quite clearly in the muscles of his face “These were the very people who should have protected you. They didn’t.
The familiar rich scent of strong, boiling coffee filled the small space. Jarringly normal. Riva’s throat ached. “Joe freaking terrified me as much as I terrified him, and I retaliated by trying to scare him even more. Then he’d use the whip or his fists, then I’d smart-mouth him and tell him more, hoping to scare him enough so that he wouldn’t touch me, or better yet-leave. It escalated…
“After years of therapy, I now know he was shit-scared I’d see who he really was and turn him in. Of course it didn’t help that I relished telling him what he’d be doing in a week or month. But my mother was so in love with him, she would never do anything to jeopardize their relationship, and between his physical abuse and her verbal abuse, I was too scared to do anything.”
Riva swallowed down a dry throat. “I swore I’d never be that weak, that vulnerable again. And I haven’t been.”
“That’s why you became an assassin for hire?”
“I searched out a local martial arts dojo. Hell I didn’t know what I needed to know, just knew I needed to know…something. I was ten. The owner’s grandfather taught me everything he knew for a few years. I tried to teach him English. I perfected my craft, loved the strength and power it gave me.” Loved Sensei Kobbayashi. “That all turned to shit when I told him his daughter was stealing the dojo blind for her drug habit. I moved to Boston after that. Kept moving until I— Never mind.” After joining T-FLAC, Riva had honed her skills with a vengeance. Practice made perfect.
