Dark Hunter (A Zeta Cartel Novel Book 4)

by AJ Adams

  But clever or not, she was at screaming point. I poured two dark rums over ice, topping them up with coke. Mine was a normal shot but hers was practically neat. It would have anaesthetised an elephant; it was bound to soften the edges of the girl.

  Handing one to Morgan, I smiled at her. “I’m going to enjoy having you around.”

  Chapter Fourteen: Morgan

  I was sitting on the sofa, drinking my rum. It tasted mercifully strong, so I went for it. Anything to numb my senses. I was wishing I’d never come out of my crazy haze. Reality was scary as hell, and I was low on courage.

  Rip was next to me, his arm around my shoulders. “I’m going to enjoy having you around,” he’d said.

  I wanted to down the rum in one. With no tolerance, I’d be drunk. Maybe I’d be out completely. Looking down, I could see his cock bulge in his jeans. The thought of being at the mercy of this man terrified me.

  As I sipped at the iced rum, that awful beating came rushing back.

  Mitch snarling, “Don Valentine says she’s to disappear.”

  “She won’t come back from where I’m taking her.”

  A boot in my ribs. “Make sure you fuck her up the ass from me.”

  They had planned to have me tortured as a sex slave for the rest of my life. I’d escaped them, only to land in exactly the same kind of trouble. It made me sick to my stomach. Was a rape worse than a beating? Soon I’d find out for myself.

  “Just relax, Morgan.”

  Rip’s mind-reading skills were working overtime. I took a large swig and hoped he’d get absorbed in a movie. Or maybe a language class. It was flooding back now. Hours and hours of lying in his lap, in a happy haze, thinking I was in heaven. I really was a fool.

  “Let’s see what’s been happening in the world.” Rip was putting his feet up. He flicked through news channels.

  He stopped at CNN where a toothy blonde was squawking, “Christian Navarro was buried today in a quiet ceremony. Although it’s been three weeks since the gruesome murder, the authorities appear to have no leads.”

  Rip was smiling, and I had the awful suspicion he was involved.

  “Survivor Sylvia Roth is the cousin of Sinaloa cartel enforcer Angel Roth,” the blonde continued. “The victim Christian Navarro was a Gulf capo, thought to be behind more than a dozen deaths.”

  The visibly excited anchor was trying to look shocked and failing miserably. “There is speculation that this may have been a cartel hit, but whether it is Sinaloa or Gulf is unclear.”

  A police chief came on. “This was a professional hit.” And then, clearly lying, “We have the situation under control and are following leads.” They showed a picture of a blood-splattered room. I just stared at it; it didn’t look real.

  “A rave review.” Rip didn’t even pretend innocence. “Oh good! They’re doing a special.”

  I was getting my reprieve, but I wasn’t liking it.

  “These brutal killings might be a sign of bad times to come,” the blonde explained carefully. “Authorities fear the Sinaloa-Gulf cartel alliance is in trouble, in which case the violence may spread.”

  They had a series of images, hyping how bloody gang warfare could be. I hadn’t known Navarro or Roth as their territory had been too far away from Dawson Heights, so I was tuning out when a shot of the gutted headquarters of Los Osos flashed up.

  “Gang warfare includes arson attacks like this one that destroyed a drug factory and stolen goods repository reputed to belong to the Los Osos gang,” the newsreader went on. “Last month the entire building was destroyed in seconds as the explosion was transmitted through the ventilation system. Authorities say it was a miracle nobody was hurt.”

  I’m sure I didn’t move, certain I didn’t speak, but Rip’s eyes were instantly fixed on mine.

  The blue was intense, scrutinising me. “Friends of yours, Morgan?”

  “No.” If he made the connection, it would be certain death. I put my hand on Rip’s knee. “You said you wanted a girl?”

  He smiled. “Yes, but you’re not at all what I was expecting.” The eyes were probing. “I want a nice, quiet girl. I’m not sure you’re suitable.”

  Certain death or uncertain life. It was a no-brainer. “I can be whatever you want.”

  “Is that so?” He spoke softly, but that bulge in his jeans was writhing.

  I pushed away the flutter of fear. “Yes. You wouldn’t regret it.”

  He knew. That piercing intelligence was telling him I was trying to distract him. I was waiting for him to destroy me, for that vicious streak to come out again, as it had earlier by the pool.

  The silence stretched, and then Rip smiled. “Life with you will be very interesting, Morgan.” He was gazing at me. “Drink up,” he said. “Let’s go to bed.”

  I tried to remind myself of my wild days when I was in care. I’d been so drunk on despair that I’d slept with complete strangers. This would be no different.

  Despite the internal pep talk, my knees were knocking together. This wasn’t a teen bad boy out for some fun. Rip was a devil who could reach through a capo’s security and slash him to death. And now I was his and offering to play any game he wanted. There was no way I could handle this.

  His glass, still half full, was on the table. I downed the rest of my drink in one, grabbed his and sank that too.

  “Steady on!” Rip was too late. The extra booze hit me like a bomb shot. The rum went straight to my head and took out my knees too. Rip moved fast, or I blacked out. Either way, I found myself upstairs, sitting on the edge of the bed and feeling reassuringly dizzy.

  Rip was taking off his clothes. He was systematic, neatly folding his shirt over the back of a chair and placing his jeans on the seat. Dressed, he looked preppy, lean and athletic. Now I could see he was rippling with muscle. His cock was standing up, excited at what was to come.

  The room was swirling. The rum was kicking—and hard. If only it would knock me out. But my fear kept flooding in, piercing the numbing haze and anchoring me to the present.

  “Morgan.” He was standing next to me, smiling a little. His scent, grass and earth mixed with ginger, drifted over me. I reminded myself this was my choice, and a good one. Making him happy would keep me safe and buy me time. I’d make a plan, and then I’d run.

  “Let’s take a look at you.” Rip was lifting my pyjama top and pulling it over my head. If I breathed deeply, maybe I could pass out. “You’re lovely.”

  A sweep of his arm and I was on my back. The sudden movement made the ceiling spin. A tug and my bottoms were gone.

  He was leaning over me, his eyes shimmering as he looked down on me. “Hands over your head, Morgan.”

  Oh fuck. He was going to tie me down. He gathered my wrists in one strong hand, leaning over me and pinning me with his body. I stifled the impulse to scream. Pride, I think. Or maybe knowledge it wouldn’t help.

  “I found a fun shop in Boys Zone.” Rip was chatting. “I stocked up on all sorts of goodies.”

  Cuffs, with velvet lining. There was a click, and then my body was arching, acting instinctively. “Get off me!”

  He was on top of me, pinning me. “Calm down, Morgan.” His weight was crushing me. “You promised, remember?”

  “Not like this!” The pride was ripping away, and fear was taking over.

  Rip was sitting tight. “We’ll have a good time because you like to fight.”

  He was definitely insane. “I do not!”

  “Sure you do,” he said. “You survived, Morgan, because you’re a fighter.”

  Some fighter. I was gasping in fear. The extra air was fuelling the boozy fog. The room spun, and I almost blacked out. Almost. Then, horribly, everything came back into focus again.

  Rip was resting on top of me, keeping his weight on his elbows as he looked into my eyes. “We’re playing a game,” he was thumbing my hair, “and you’re much better than me, so you’re bound to win.”

  “W-what?”

  He was moving h
is hips, his erection rubbing over my clit. “I want this to last all night. You want it over fast.”

  “I don’t like games,” I heard myself say. “At least, not with you.” Yeah, cuffed and at the mercy of a killer. I’m an idiot. Maybe it was the rum, giving me Dutch courage.

  Rip didn’t care. “You’ll love this one.” He was flexing slowly, teasing himself as he talked. “If you let me play for an hour, I’ll let you pick the next game.”

  “What?” His body was hard against mine. Rip was enjoying himself. But it didn’t hurt. I could ignore it.

  “You heard.” Rip was leaning up, pushing my legs farther apart so he could get better leverage. “Winners decide what happens next.” The hardness rubbing my clit was heating rapidly. “You tease me, keep me on the boil, and you win.”

  Some game, right? Either way, I was fucked. I’d get it over with, quick.

  Then he leaned down, whispering, “If I win, my choice will be to turn you over.”

  “Get off me!” I bucked and almost had him off. Almost. And my pelvic bones missed bashing his cock by a whisker.

  “Hey! Watch it!” The azure eyes were flinty. “Want to play rough, Morgan?”

  “N-no.” And like a complete coward, “S-sorry.”

  “No biting, punching and kicking, Morgan.”

  “Undo the cuffs!”

  “We made a deal. You said you could be anything I like.”

  The rum was blurring my wits. “I must’ve been crazy. It’s not worth this.”

  I shut my eyes, certain he’d bash me, but incredibly, Rip chuckled. “So I’m a fate worse than death? How rude!”

  The rubbing started again. I lay totally still, aware of his body over mine, his breath quickening, and his cock growing hotter. It didn’t hurt. I was so relieved that I was sucking in air.

  He was all over me; his presence enveloping me completely. The memory of being safe with my angel surfaced again. The booze was surging too, taking the edge off my fears.

  “Look at me, Morgan.”

  He was staring down at me. I arched instinctively, suddenly scared again. Rip’s eyes shimmered, “Hmmm, delicious.”

  My fear was turning him on. It made me angry. My courage flooded back. “Fucker!”

  “That’s right,” Rip encouraged me. “Get mad, and fight me.”

  I was moving, my hips thudding against his, making him groan. He pushed against me and leaned down, pinning me as his tongue flickered over a nipple. I was expecting him to bite, so I gasped in panic, surging against him.

  “God, that’s fucking amazing.” Rip was moving over me, licking and sucking. “Keep doing that.”

  His enjoyment of my fear roused my anger. “Bastard!”

  “Hmmm, yes, I know.” He wasn’t remotely upset. “But I’m winning.”

  He thumbed my breasts, his tongue flickering over the taut tips, beaded with fear. My breath was exploding out of me in frightened gasps. But as he licked and nuzzled, I realised he wasn’t even considering biting, pinching, or doing anything nasty.

  I breathed again and lay still, willing myself to sink into the rum haze.

  “That’s right.” His head dipped again, his breath in my ear as he whispered, “You’re getting wet, Morgan. Soon I’ll be fucking you. Then I’ll come and when I do—” The hardness pulsed against me as his hands ran down, cupping my ass suggestively. “You need to get your game plan in place.”

  He was enjoying himself, the bastard. But as his tongue traced a line from my ear to my collarbone, setting off shivery ticklish tingles, I knew he was right. I could set the pace. I’d ruin his game by playing dead. Then I’d win and he wouldn’t have any fun.

  As I thought it, I was certain I’d crossed the line and gone insane. I was flat on my back in bed, cuffed, and I should’ve been screaming, not plotting. The scent of the rum steaming out with every breath told me why: I was drunker than a monkey’s uncle.

  “A pleasure deferred is a pleasure intensified,” Rip murmured. “I’m going to make the most of you, Morgan.”

  Determined not to participate, I shut my eyes and lay still. But pretty soon I was discovering lying still with my eyes closed heightened my senses. I became aware of the hard abs over mine and the lips and tongue that were busy exploring.

  He really was taking it slow. His mouth was moving over me inch by inch, softly and leisurely. The gentle touch was exquisite. Time stopped, and then I was floating. My breasts were slowly warming, teased into the edges of delight, their peaks suckled into anticipation.

  The hot hardness was working away down south too. The warmth of the booze was now centring, flaming deep down—and powering up a slow beat of pleasure.

  Rip was enjoying himself. His skin was hot now, the muscles bulging and flexing as he moved over me. “You’re soaking wet, Morgan.” He was looking down at his hardness, his thighs solid against mine.

  I was suddenly afraid again. “Rip, wait.”

  The eyes were on mine, “Want more, Morgan?” His hands slid up and then he was holding my wrists, his thumbs rubbing my palms. “More is good. You’re delicious.”

  The hips were moving again but now his body was dancing on mine. The muscles were hard, but his lips were soft as they pressed on my cheek and trailed down my neck. The delicate touch sent shivers rushing through me.

  That signature fragrance of earth and musk, clean and sweet, swirled around me. I leaned in, comforted by the familiar scent I’d connected with my angel. It was ludicrous, but that feeling of protection came rushing back.

  “Morgan,” his voice was hoarse, his breath short and urgent, “I want you.” He leaned up briefly and I heard the crackle of plastic. “Ribbed. Nice!” Rip murmured.

  Before I could gather my wits, he was delving inside me. I arched, gasped, and it was done; he was fucking me.

  “You’re like oiled silk.” He was moaning in my ear as his hands slid down, resting by my face. “Wrap your legs around me.” He was reaching under my thighs, leaning up as my heels slid up over his ass.

  The fear revved again, biting sharp through sweet sensuousness. He was going to be rough. “Slow,” I gasped. “I like slow!”

  His eyes were narrowed with want. “The game’s off. You win, Morgan. Just make this good.”

  “Wait!” I was certain he’d hurt me, tensing up in my fear.

  His eyes were narrowed with lust, but he’d stopped. “Slow it is.”

  I breathed again as he flexed his hips, that massive hardness sliding sweetly in and out of me. His hands were gentle as his body rocked against mine. The room was going round and round now in a rich rum haze. I closed my eyes and was lost instantly, not knowing if I was up or down, conscious or dreaming.

  As the strong body danced in tune with mine, the hardness piercing me began fuelling long forgotten ripples of pleasure. This was what I’d done in my wild days when I’d driven out the pain with sensual overload.

  I floated, lost in bliss.

  “Sweet Morgan.” He was looking down, watching himself drive in and out of me. Each time he plunged deep, he stroked my clit. Then he was talking to me.

  “Arch for me.”

  “Grind against me now.”

  “Rock your hips.”

  The fear vanished. Rhythm and sensation took over. I was on automatic, undulating in harmony with him.

  “That’s right.”

  “Keep doing that.”

  Time stood still. I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling my body tighten. The steady rhythm was pushing me further, transforming pleasure into bliss. Heat was washing through me. The sweetly warming sense of musk and earthy scent was all around me now. Lust and comfort blended in a powerful mist that fuelled my delight.

  “Faster, Morgan.”

  I bucked, taking in the hardness, my body rising to welcome his. Grinding my hips intensified every sensation. We pulsed together, body to body, melding into one. The sweat was now dripping off him onto my breasts and belly before sliding down my sides. Desire was electrifying m
y skin, every drop of moisture setting off a tsunami of shivering ecstasy.

  “Faster!” Not him; me. “More!”

  “Not yet, Morgan.” He was shifting up, tugging me down, stretching me out and shifting my legs higher, so he could spread me wider. The cuffs were tight around my wrists. He had me in a vice. Even bucking was impossible now. I didn’t care; I was moaning like a wolfhound, dying for him to fuck me.

  “Please! Please!” Me, begging.

  His eyes were like the sky. “Very slow, Morgan. Ripple for me.”

  It was exquisite. Rapture or agony, I’m not sure. Pure sensation, perhaps. Each tiny movement flooded me, drowning me in delight. A wail soared into the night air. It was me. I shut my eyes, lost in want.

  “Keep your eyes open as I fuck you.”

  He was riding me slowly, his eyes locked on mine. The cuffs restrained me, holding me down. My legs were locked around him, pulling him close.

  “Please, please.” I was begging again. “Let me come.”

  He leaned down, his lips almost touching mine. “Now I’m going to be rough.”

  At the words, I was clenching. “Yes! Yes!” The hardness heated and swelled. My clit was thumping now, the heat inside me banking and burning.

  “Fuck me, then.” He was holding me up, my heels bouncing on his back as he fucked me. Pounding fiercely, his fingers curling into my ass, he ground deep, his balls slapping hard against me.

  I was on fire, gasping for breath as I clenched with exquisite sensation. The rapture soared, carrying it with me, and then I was wailing as I shuddered and shattered into blistering release.

  “Morgan!” He exploded, pouring himself into me in shuddering pulsing waves. “Oh dear God!” He was clutching me, holding me hard against him, pulling me so close that I could feel his heart thudding as if it were my own.

  We slid to a slow stop, his body collapsing on mine. I was shaking, my legs trembling so much that they were scissored around him.

  Rip was chortling, thumbing my hair off my face. “Who would’ve guessed sex could be this much fun?” He was running a hand over my cuffed wrists. “That was fantastic.”