Dark Hunter (A Zeta Cartel Novel Book 4)

by AJ Adams

  “But Morgan—”

  I put a finger on his mouth. “No buts. We’re in this together.”

  “But the Bratva are after me. I might get you killed.”

  “We’ve both got quite a history.” At that, I was hugging him. “Come on upstairs and get your kit off.”

  At that he leaned into me, cradling me as he drawled, “What a delightfully romantic expression.” Typical Rip, all that emo was covered by sarcastic English humour.

  “Yeah, can’t think where I picked that up.”

  “I can.” The heavenly eyes were squinting with tiredness, but Rip’s conscience was working hard, no doubt making up for lost time. “I don’t know how you can even look at me.”

  “I’m planning to close my eyes.” I pushed him up the stairs. “I don’t sleep when you’re not around.”

  Anyone else would have been humble while consumed with guilt and promising the earth, but Rip is always different. “I meant it when I said you can’t leave.” He was stripping neatly as always, folding his clothes before putting them away, and reminding me of the facts.

  “I know.”

  “That promise I made to Arturo—”

  “Won’t come up.” I was dropping my clothes on the floor and getting under the covers. My eyes were closing as I spoke. “I get it. Everyone is after me. I’m not going anywhere.”

  He was sliding in beside me, his hard embrace exuding security. I was home and safe with my angel.

  “I thought I had you figured out, but I don’t understand you,” Rip sounded puzzled.

  “I’m complicated.” I pulled him around me, breathed once and sank into blessed sleep.

  I slept like the dead, and when I woke up the next day, the room was flooded with sunshine, but the space next to me was empty. From the scent drifting up the stairs, Rip was cooking bacon. From the hiss and sizzle, there were also eggs.

  I was up, washed and dressed in seconds, flashing down the stairs. “I’m starving.”

  “Good.”

  Chumillo was sitting at the kitchen table, coffee in front of him. “Guapa! How you doing? Sleep okay?”

  I was back in favour, and it felt good. “Yes, thanks. How’re you doing?” The counter was loaded with fresh bread, milk, and even chocolates. “Wow, it’s a feast!”

  “The chocolates are a guilt gifts from the guards.” Rip was frying a hog’s worth of bacon. “Chumillo says Solitaire is sending a group of apprentices at ten.”

  “Awesome.”

  “We’re going over security.” He was loading a tray for me. “The parasol by the pool is up.”

  He was smiling, but the muscles were rippling under the crisp blue shirt. Rip was all business.

  “I don’t get to listen in?”

  “No.” He was pushing me out of the door. “Go on, Morgan.”

  Tucking into a glorious meal, I reflected that the new Rip was pretty much like the old one. And the implacable intention to keep me safe meant he was still planning on ordering me about.

  How bad that was became clear an hour later when a minivan filled with apprentices came rolling up.

  I bounced out, ready to go, and found Rip barring my way. “You can see them in a minute.”

  A minute later I was watching in horror as the halcones went to town. “They’re just kids looking to learn how to do an oil change. Are those pat-downs and metal detector wand searches really necessary?”

  Rip was scanning the group intently, his whole body watchful. “Yes.”

  “They’re intimidated already by the guns and the dog patrol.”

  “Good.”

  “Oh, come on. This is crazy!”

  Of course I got nowhere.

  “Rip’s just being careful,” Chumillo said cheerfully.

  That’s the cartel for you: macho to the bone. While I mouthed off a little, I have to admit that I was secretly touched. Papa had fussed in the same way, and I was remembering how good it felt to be cosseted.

  Rip is generally so contrary that he’d float upstream, but all that day he hovered over me, spot-checking security and generally behaving as if I were more precious than diamonds. With all the gut-wrenching emo of the weeks past, it gave me a warm feeling of security.

  At the end of the day the minivan went off, Rip went off to double-check the river patrol, and I went inside. I was messing with the massive smart TV, seeing if I could get the YouTube app to work, when it occurred to me that I might take a sneak peek at Facebook. You know, just to see a glimpse of home.

  I was just trying to remember my password when Rip came cruising in. “What are you doing?”

  “Just taking a look at the Barnyard page.”

  Instantly the remote was whipped away. “Are you insane?” The cold eyes that belonged to the old Rip had gone. Instead I got a full display of heaving chest, wildly waving hands, and rip-snorting fury. “You’ll bring those Gulf bastards right to you!”

  I held on to a rock-like arm and tried to talk sense into him. “They can’t track me if I don’t post.”

  “How would you know? The Gulf have excellent hackers.”

  I couldn’t be mad at him. He was looking out for me. “Sorry, I was just a little homesick.”

  He was zoning out again in that maddening way. It took just a few seconds, and then he was back. “I get it.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes.” He was sliding on to the sofa and hugging me. “You’ll be fitting in with the Zetas soon, Morgan. They’re your kind of people.”

  I was snuggling into the strength of him. “I used to cringe when people said that, but I guess it’s true.”

  “It’s who you are,” Rip shrugged.

  “Who are you?” I was talking randomly, you know how it is, but once it was out there, he was trying to unwind himself from me. From the sudden tension I knew he was ready to bolt. I held on to him. “Don’t run away, Rip. We’re just talking.”

  But it was no good. “I have to spot-check the dog patrol.”

  His past hurt so much that he couldn’t even bear a mention of it. That’s when it finally occurred to me that I should be doing some checking up of my own. I found a browser among the smart TV applications and, remembering the night before, searched for Rip Marston Berkshire.

  Two minutes later I was sitting there, tears running down my face. Not all deaths are reported, but the newspapers had gone all out on this one, and it wasn’t hard to see why. The golden family in their beautiful home, burned alive after a botched robbery, had shocked the nation.

  The photos that went with it were heartbreaking. They’d found plenty of them, seeing the family made their living on the stage. His mum was a lovely blonde, sweet and willow-like in crinolines and period costumes, and his dad tall and elegant in what looked like highbrow dramas. But it was Rip who made me cry.

  They focused on a publicity snap and first-night review showing a still-angular teen, dressed in a hyena costume, playing Banzai in The Lion King. “New shining light in the popular West End production only survivor” the tagline read.

  In the other photos he was laughing, hugging his mum after a standing ovation, and drinking champagne with his dad, who was clearly bursting with pride.

  “Morgan?”

  I hastily switched it off, hearing the kitchen door open.

  “The patrols are all in place.” The boy was still recognisable in the man, but it was a portrait traced in irony. The beautiful bones and colouring were there, but the love and joy had been drained out of him. “You okay, Morgan?”

  Before I could respond, his phone was buzzing with that signature jaunty tune. “Arturo, hi.” Rip glanced at me and vanished. Clearly his new conscience was telling him I was to be cut out of all business.

  I had it together again by the time he got back.

  Or at least, I thought so. “D-do you have to go out?”

  Jesus. I was catapulted back in time. I’d said the same thing to Papa a million times. Do you have to go out? meaning Are you off to do God kno
ws what that might get you killed?

  “No.” Rip was his usual cool and collected self, but I saw a flicker in his eyes. He put out his hand, helped me off the sofa, and tucked my arm into his. “Come on. Let’s have a drink before dinner.”

  I reconsidered. Not all the love and joy had gone. Under the stony exterior there was still a thread of the other Rip, the lanky teen with the big smile. The one with a heart.

  “While you and the lads were tooling around, I made a chicken pie,” Rip informed me.

  What’s more, I was reaching through the ice and to the man.

  “I’ve double- and triple-checked everything, and you’re perfectly safe,” he was assuring me.

  I hugged him. “Thanks, Rip. You’re the best.”

  Standing in the garden, surrounded by roses, the river, and birdsong, I had an epiphany. This life wasn’t right for either of us. Somehow I had to rescue myself—and him too.

  “You sure you’re okay?” Rip asked.

  “Absolutely.”

  It wasn’t going to be easy, though, not with our pasts chasing after us. I spotted the dog patrol, making their outer perimeter round. The other guard would be making his way along the inner perimeter, and counterclockwise, so that no area would be left unmonitored at any time.

  It had been like that many years ago when a turf war had Papa loading our home with security. Like magic, all the knowledge that had made up my early life came flooding back. I knew this life, its risks and rewards. It was in my bones. All our options and opportunities were clear in my mind.

  For the foreseeable future, we’d need to fit in with the Zetas. We needed the protection of the pack. Also, with Rip being the way he was, I’d better be my father’s daughter and take charge. If not, we’d be clipped PDQ. Arturo’s incandescent sister Loli was probably sharpening her knife already.

  “Captain and OJ cocktails,” Rip was handing me a drink, complete with orange slice.

  I took in the azure eyes, slanting bones, and the narrow lips, curved into a small smile. He really was pinup material.

  “After dinner, let’s watch Netflix and chill,” I heard myself say. I took a sip of my drink, icy cold and delicious, and examined the deceptively lean, elegant body. Under that crisp shirt lay long ropey muscles and totally lickable sculpted abs. My breath shortened as I remembered how he’d made me squeal. “I won last time, and so it’s my choice. I want to play a game.”

  The eyes narrowed for a moment as the brand new conscience kicked in, but then he was grinning. “I’ve an idea that may amuse you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five: Rip

  I stood there after that first party at Arturo’s and let her know she was safe from me. She should have brained me with one of those wrenches she wielded so well, but Morgan forgave me. After all that I’d done to her, she simply shrugged, “Never mind, Rip. It’s okay.”

  It was a miracle. I’d been bracing myself for her to rage at me, but instead I found myself watching her drop her clothes and get under the covers. “I don’t sleep when you’re away,” she murmured. And before I really got it together, she was lying in my arms.

  Morgan was trusting me, embracing me, even though she knew what I was. It staggered me. I couldn’t get my mind around it. Channeling her didn’t get me anywhere either. She was a mystery to me.

  I fell asleep, not understanding what had happened, and when I woke up, I was no wiser. Gazing at the trim lines, admiring the smooth silky skin, and the sweet curve of waist and bottom, I decided I didn’t care. I would simply be grateful.

  She was totally out, loose-limbed with relaxation, but the circles under her eyes reminded me of the strain she’d been under. At that, I thought I understood her. She’d forgiven me freely, but it had been fuelled by fear. She was alone in a hostile world.

  Yes, I know. I got her totally wrong. I was so far gone that I couldn’t even conceive the concept of true forgiveness that arises from generosity of spirit. What a fucking moron, right?

  Although I wasn’t getting it, I did at least listen to my conscience. I slid out of bed and renewed my vow. I could never even begin to pay for the evil I’d done to her, but I’d guard and protect her with all that I had. And if having me sleep next to her brought her comfort, I’d rejoice in that too.

  “She’s brave.” Chumillo pitched up as I put the kettle on. He’d brought bread, milk, and bacon, too, and was clearly inviting himself to breakfast. And being Chumillo, he was chatting away, regaling me with gossip on what the Zetas had said about my girl after we’d left the party. “The way she said she’d pay her own dues? Well, that really takes one hell of a woman. The jefe was totally blown away by that.”

  Just the night before, I’d told myself that I’d be happy if one of the Zetas would look after Morgan, but now Chumillo was just admiring her, my knuckles were white with jealousy. I wasn’t letting her go. I wouldn’t. Couldn’t.

  “You okay?” Chumillo asked.

  “Of course.” I picked up the teacups. “Yes, Morgan is quite a girl.”

  At that he was grinning at me. “Do I hear you saying paws off, pendejo, because she’s all yours?”

  I had to laugh. “Well, yes.”

  All the other times I had pretended, but this time it came from the heart. When it came to Morgan, I was like a dog with a bone.

  “It won’t be easy,” Chumillo warned me, “but I think it’ll all work out.”

  On cue, the halcones knocked on the door. “For your lady.” The dog handler handed over a box of chocolates. “She’s a generous person. Real class.”

  It was a huge relief. I’d told Arturo I trusted his men only because telling the truth would scupper our relationship. But now I wasn’t worried anymore. These guards were definitely on Morgan’s side. They’d do a good job from now on.

  “Told you!” Chumillo was grinning. “She’s winning hearts already.”

  She was, and mine belonged to her entirely. She had reached out to me and given me a second chance. All that day I was seeing to her security, making sure nobody could get to her, and surrounding her with men who knew crossing her would mean blood—theirs. I did it out of love, but I wasn’t expecting anything back. I was grateful just to be able to look after her.

  I nearly had a heart attack when I found her fiddling about, trying to get a line on her old friends at their club, and when I got her to settle down with a cocktail, she threw me for another loop.

  “I want to play a game,” she said. The gold flecks in her eyes were sparkling as she sipped her drink.

  I must have been gaping at her for a year. Then I got it together. “I’ve an idea that may amuse you.”

  She couldn’t tell, but the light words hid the fact that my gut was suddenly churning and my hands shaking. I’d thought my job was to look after her, a dog chasing away the wolves, but it hadn’t occurred to me that she’d ever let me touch her again.

  “I never thought I’d say this,” Morgan was idly sucking the orange slice adorning her glass. “But it turns out that I’m kinkier than suspension springs.” She smiled at me. “Guess that’s working out good for both of us, huh?”

  How I didn’t throw myself at her feet in complete abasement I’ll never know. I’ll never remember what we did that evening, either. I must’ve cooked, and I guess we watched the idiot box, but honestly, it’s a mystery. All that went through my mind was that I didn’t deserve her and that I was sure to fuck it up.

  By the time we got upstairs, I was a wreck. Morgan, on the other hand, was giggling. “Same rules? An hour and I win?”

  For a split second I felt guilty, but then she stripped and stretched, her body twisting deliciously in front of me. At that, the need for possession flooded through me. “Face down and wrists behind your ankles,” I heard myself say.

  She swallowed with sudden nerves, and then her nipples puckered with excitement. “Ohmigod, here we go,” she moaned.

  Power surged, sending my senses reeling. Lust and domination took hold, bringing in the famil
iar sparkles. My cock was up like a steeple too. “You’re mine,” I whispered. “There’s no escaping now.”

  Call me a monster if you like, but she loved it. I had her face down, wrists cuffed behind her ankles, legs up in the air, and completely at my mercy. Then I took complete advantage, settling over her and taking what was mine.

  “Say you want me. Beg me to fuck you.”

  The soft smooth limbs writhed helplessly as I tweaked, teased, and titillated. Her gasping squeals turned into moans, and then she was wailing, begging me to never stop as I fucked her. I drowned in her, our bodies and souls melding before we soared in unison and exploded.

  Later, when she was curled up against me once more, I couldn’t help myself. “Aren’t you afraid, knowing what I am?”

  She was snuggling, pulling my arms around her, and humming happily. “You won’t hurt me.”

  “You’re surer than I am.”

  The moment I said it, I wished the words undone. But Morgan was serene. “Do you want to see me frightened and hurt?”

  “No.” Just thinking of it put a block of ice in my gut.

  “See?” Morgan was stroking my arm, eyes half closed. “We’re just playing games, Rip. I’m perfectly safe.”

  But I was thinking that our games were uncannily like my hunts. That feeling of possession and domination was the same, except that Morgan was wailing with pleasure and my victims… I didn’t want to think about it. I saw myself, a creature of evil, and I recoiled.

  But Morgan was lifting her head and seeing straight into me. “You’ve looked into the darkness so long that it swallowed you up.” Her hand took mine, and she rubbed her cheek against it. “It will be okay, Rip.”

  I couldn’t speak. I just didn’t have the words. She knew what I was, and she accepted me. It was a miracle.

  Soft, sweet, and smiling, she settled back against me, her bottom rubbing into me as she wriggled luxuriously. “Tomorrow I take a look at the Cayenne,” she mumbled. “It’s leaking oil everywhere.”

  And that was the start of my new life. With the Zetas getting their grip on Modesto, my work was on hold. It meant we could do what we liked. As the days drifted by, we settled into a happy routine, with Morgan giving classes or fixing the car, the boat, and the bikes while I roamed around and got the vegetable patch into shape.