by Kaylea Cross
“Oh, Brock, yes,” she whispered, tugging harder at his head.
Loving the sound of his name on her lips, he obliged, capturing her nipple between his lips and drawing it into his mouth. She moaned and arched into him, demanding more. He was only too happy to give it to her.
He did the same to the other one, followed every cue she gave him, used his instincts to build her arousal higher. Every tiny moan told him what felt best, every arch of her body told him what she wanted more of. And when he slid a hand down to cup between her legs, the sound of need she made sliced through him like a knife.
She helped him undo her jeans, lifted her hips so he could slide them off, leaving her in just a pair of black lace panties. Every muscle in his body tightened as he stared at them, his nostrils flaring as he drew in the sweet scent of her arousal. God he wanted to rip the flimsy material off her and bury his tongue in her folds.
His breathing came faster as he bent back to her breast, teased her nipple while he trailed a hand up and down her silky smooth thighs. Only when she was whimpering and squirming did he slide his fingers under the edge of the lace and lightly trace them over her sex.
Their groans mingled together as he touched soft, wet heat. She gripped his shoulder now, her head tipped to the side as she watched him, her eyes heavy-lidded, lips parted.
Brock stroked lightly through the silky softness of her folds, grazed the edge of her clit on the down stroke. She whimpered and closed her eyes, her hips lifting into his hand.
His heart pounded out of control as he slid back up to circle her most sensitive flesh. Tiny, light circles.
She was panting now, her fingers digging into his upper arm, almost as though she was afraid he would stop. But he was almost beyond that, needing to make her come. And God, he needed to get his mouth on her to finish this properly.
The blood roared in his ears, the need to possess her screaming in his veins. Grasping her hips, he pulled her to the end of the couch and knelt in front of her, pausing to drag her panties down her legs before setting her calves on his shoulders.
She pushed up onto her elbows. “Brock…”
“Shhh,” he whispered, dying to go down on her. Make her melt under his tongue. He nipped gently at her inner thigh, stroked his tongue across the spot to soothe the tiny sting as his hands closed around her hips. Holding her in place while he dragged his tongue up—
A solid hand landed in the middle of his chest and pushed. Brock stopped and raised his head to look at her, battling the roar of hunger lashing his body. And then the tension in her thighs registered. The way her other hand was no longer clamped on his shoulder, but braced against it instead.
Fuck. Fuck. Taking charge in bed was simply how he was wired, and he hadn’t received any complaints yet. But Tori wasn’t like anyone he’d been with before.
She’d survived weeks of sexual violence that kept him up at night thinking about it. She was edging back from giving in because he’d just asserted his dominance without even being aware of it.
He exhaled and sat up on his knees, silently berating himself. Dumbass. He’d scared her, pinning her and looming over her like that. God dammit.
Pushing aside the frustration, he set her legs down and straightened. The instant he backed off she curled in on herself, covering her breasts with her arms and tucking her legs up.
No…
Sick at the thought that he’d scared her, he immediately grabbed a throw blanket from the chair beside the couch and handed it to her. Tori wrapped it around her body, covering herself, and sat up, not looking at him.
“Hey.” Scooting to his knees in front of her now, he cupped her cheek, bringing her gaze to his. “You all right?”
She huffed out a frustrated breath and nodded. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened.”
“Don’t apologize. Hell, I should be the one apologizing.”
“No, you didn’t do anything wrong.” She reached up to grasp his hand, threaded her fingers through his and pressed her cheek to their joined hands. “It all felt really good. I’m not sure what went wrong.”
What was wrong was this whole damn setup. Her forcing it before she was ready. The clock being against them. “Tell me what you need.” His voice was a deep rasp.
“I think it was the position maybe. Me on my back and you…”
Him acting like a sex-starved guy who couldn’t wait to dive between her thighs. God. This hadn’t gone at all the way he’d hoped. Worse, he’d let her down. He hated that most of all.
Chiming bells echoed through the room. Tori’s head snapped toward the kitchen. “It’s my phone alarm. I set it for ten minutes before six.”
They were out of time. God dammit, now he’d left her hanging on top of everything else. “I’m sorry.”
Her expression turned sad, tender. “No. Brock, I swear it’s not you. Trust me, you did everything right.”
If that were true, she would be coming against his tongue right now instead of wrapped up in a blanket trying to explain herself.
“It’s me,” she whispered. “Maybe I’m…broken.”
“You’re not broken,” he protested, unable to hide the heat in his tone.
“Well. I’d better get dressed.” Holding the blanket around her with one hand, she reached down to gather her clothes.
Frustrated, wishing he could do this all over again, he didn’t know what to do or say to make it better. So he handed back her panties and jeans and got up to get her a bottle of water. She met him in the kitchen, took it with a murmur of thanks and drained half the bottle.
He gently gathered her into his arms, needing to hold her. “Maybe it’s because of the time limit. Too much pressure.”
“Maybe.” She didn’t sound convinced.
Brock hugged her close and kissed her temple, breathing in the scent of her shampoo. The position had triggered something. Her on her back. A feeling of helplessness, likely.
If this was going to work for her, he needed to do something to shift the balance and give her what she needed. She had to be the one calling the shots. Next time—if there was a next time—he was going to have to go way outside of his comfort zone and hand her the reins. She would have to be on top. In control. And shit, with her the idea was insanely hot.
“Hope this hasn’t changed your mind,” she said finally.
He frowned. “About?”
“About…helping me still.”
He closed his eyes, unsure if he really deserved another shot. “You sure you want to do this again?”
“Yes.” Her phone chimed in her purse. She glanced at it. “My detail is on the way up.” She started for the door.
He stopped her, refrained from caging her against it the way he wanted and settled for grasping her hips. Those dark eyes flashed up to his, and he was relieved to see no fear there. Just a deep loneliness that he ached to erase. “Saturday night. Are you busy?”
She gave a sardonic laugh. “Uh, no.”
“Come spend it with me.” He pushed a lock of hair away from her face.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“Yes. But the deal is, you have to stay the night with me.”
A frown creased her forehead. “I’m not sure they’ll allow that.”
“I’ll handle it.” He’d figure out a way to make it happen.
For a moment she looked doubtful, then gave him a little smile that turned his heart inside out. “All right.”
The tension in his muscles eased. He lifted a hand, traced his fingertips over the shadows beneath her eyes. “Text me when you arrive safely.”
“I will.”
“Hope you sleep well tonight, angel.”
Surprise flashed in her eyes at the endearment, then the edges of her mouth curved upward. “I’ll try.”
“When you stay over Saturday night, I’ll make sure you sleep like a baby.” A knock interrupted the rest of what he was going to say. He checked to verify it was one of the marshals, then stole a sof
t, quick kiss before opening the door.
She searched his eyes. “Bye.”
“Bye.” Closing the door behind her, he expelled a long breath and leaned his forehead against the wood. Maybe now that the monster who had caused her so much pain had gotten what was coming to him, she would finally be at peace enough to get a full night’s sleep.
Unfortunately, where the Veneno cartel was concerned, there were plenty more monsters still out there for him and his team to slay.
Chapter Seven
“I just got word.”
Manny Nieto turned from the small table in the tiny cabin kitchen to face his head of security, the only man he trusted to watch his back now. They’d been waiting for this all day. “And?”
“Ruiz is going to die in jail,” David said, satellite phone in his hand. “Doubt he’ll make it another month, even in max security.”
Well, at least that was something. Though it was a better fate than he deserved. Manny would have preferred to learn his nemesis had been tortured, shot full of holes and left to die an agonizing death over a period of days. “He’ll appeal. But it won’t do him any good.”
“No.”
“And is there any word on whether he’s been in contact with someone in his old network? Or Montoya?”
“Not that we know of.”
“Well, find out for sure.” Unfortunately, Ruiz being locked up for the rest of his life didn’t help Manny much. Even with that headache gone, he had new, equally big ones to deal with. Whatever information his daughter and mistress had given the Americans months back, it had put an unprecedented amount of heat on him and the rest of the cartel. “Anything else?”
“Nothing.”
He’d expected as much. Still, each day that went by without any new information about Oceane aged him beyond his fifty-two years. Exhaling a long breath, he leaned back to survey the Spartan hunting cabin he’d been staying in for the past two nights up in the mountains. “Is the perimeter secure?”
“Of course.”
“We’ll move at first light.” Spending another day here was too risky. He had to keep moving, never let his guard down. There were too many enemies out there hunting him now, some of them former friends. That was cartel life. A constant struggle for survival of the fittest.
Manny waved David off, wanting some time to himself. When the front door shut he sank into a chair at the table and put his head in his hand.
Everything had unraveled so fast, blow after blow raining down on him. He’d left his treacherous wife months ago, along with the luxurious existence he’d made for them. Now his life’s purpose was twofold: evade the authorities and enemies hunting him, and find his daughter.
He had as many feelers out as he dared, searching for Oceane. But even after all this time and the reward he’d offered via his network, he was no closer to finding her. Last he’d heard, she was somewhere in the D.C. area. Now she could be anywhere, perhaps even on the other side of the globe.
It was hard to believe that even he, with all his money and contacts, had been unable to locate her. The Americans must have found Oceane’s tracking device and disposed of it long ago, because he hadn’t received a single hit on the beacon since Anya was killed.
He dragged a hand down his unshaven face, the guilt burning under his sternum like a branding iron. He had loved Anya. Would never have ordered her execution if she hadn’t betrayed him. Oceane didn’t know enough to pose a threat to him or his vast empire.
He’d ordered a clean kill with a bullet Anya would never see coming. Instead the men of his former enforcer, Montoya, had violated her and stabbed her, leaving her to bleed to death in front of Oceane. Manny felt sick every time he thought about it.
It’s too late. You’ve lost Oceane. She’ll never forgive you.
Rage and terror blasted through him. He shoved to his feet, began pacing as he did whenever he became agitated. He thought best on his feet, always had. And he was determined to figure out a way past this.
He crossed the small room to push aside the curtain and look out the grimy window. David was fifty yards away checking the property, standing guard as always. It was already getting dark, the sun behind the trees, leaving a brilliant blaze of orange and pink. Soon it would be pitch black here.
He hated the nights the most. That was when his conscience pricked him like merciless needles, making sleep impossible. He always pictured Anya’s face. Oceane’s face. The terror and hatred in their eyes when they looked at him with identical accusing expressions.
He shook his head, refusing to accept that all was lost. Oceane was his only child. His sole heir. And he’d risked everything, clawing his way through the muck of poverty to get to where he was today.
He’d tried to shield her for too long and it had backfired on him. He needed her at his side. To prepare her for the day when he passed his empire to her. One he’d deliberately kept her ignorant of for her own protection. But it hadn’t been enough. And now she’d suffered so much she might hate him forever. Still, he had to try. Get her back and begin the process of repairing everything. She was his legacy.
His jaw tightened as he glanced at the guns laid out for cleaning on the bench by the front door. Neither he nor David went anywhere without having at least two weapons on them. Because the men coming after him were the most dangerous in the entire cartel. Manny should know; they used to be his.
Montoya was a liability as well as a threat and needed to be eliminated immediately. Except so far, he was proving as impossible to find as Oceane. The head of the cartel had promised to help Manny locate him, but the shadowy El Escorpion had dropped off the grid last week.
So, for now at least, Manny was on his own.
He should have dealt with Montoya long before now. His former enforcer was a loose end he couldn’t afford to leave hanging in the wind. The man was too dangerous. Montoya knew too much about him, about his operations and contingency plans. He was also the most likely person to be able to find Manny.
He stalked over to the bag in the corner and yanked out the bottle of scotch he’d brought, unscrewing the cap and drinking straight from the bottle. He needed to get good and drunk so he would be able to sleep and stop being tortured by all his mistakes.
But alcohol only helped so much. The driving need to find Oceane was always there, burning like a fire in his gut. Before he could look to his future, Manny had to erase his past.
Starting with hunting down Montoya, the man he had asked to be Oceane’s godfather.
****
“You got everything you need?”
In the act of spreading out his bedroll on the dirt floor, Juan Montoya looked up at the elderly farmer who was allowing him to crash in his house for the night. One of a series of contacts who made up a safe network he was slowly working his way through across the countryside to stay under the radar. “Yeah, thanks.”
“My wife will make breakfast in the morning. I’ll bring it to you.”
“I appreciate it.”
As soon as his host left, Juan got up and checked every corner of the guestroom, searching for any cables, cameras or bugs. Not that he expected to find those things way out here in this tiny village, but he hadn’t managed to stay alive this long by being careless. Unlike the men he used to work for, he preferred to work alone. Having men beneath him was useful in some situations, but it was also a pain in the ass when they weren’t disciplined and murdered or tortured without his permission. That was all behind him now.
His actions over the past few months had made him one of the most wanted men in North America. Not only was he trying to evade U.S. and Mexican authorities, but the entire and formidable Veneno cartel network as well.
There was a million dollar bounty on his head. Damn near four hundred times the annual household income down here in rural Mexico. So yeah, he had to look over his shoulder all the time, because that was a lot of money to a poor man. And the lure of money made even the most morally upstanding people do bad shit. H
e knew that better than anyone.
The bounty was being offered by the Mexican government, but Juan had a feeling it was likely backed by El Escorpion and/or Nieto. There were probably other bosses involved as well, but the head of the cartel and Nieto were the two most powerful men in the entire organization. Between the two of them, they practically owned half of Mexico, and as much of the government and law enforcement as well.
He sank down onto his bedroll with a weary groan, going over what he needed to do tomorrow. A tip had come in that Nieto was only seventy miles from here. A two or three hour drive in the jeep Juan had rented. Juan would get some sleep, get up before the sun, then go after Nieto.
His former boss would have David with him, but that didn’t concern Juan. He could get there while it was still dark and be in and out of there before anyone noticed. Two quick kills within a matter of seconds, then be back here in time for that home cooked breakfast the farmer had offered.
He’d already taken steps to mitigate the risk to himself and gain some protection, namely flipping teams and taking over Carlos Ruiz’s old network. Juan had been in communication with him through an unnamed source at the prison Ruiz was being held in.
With Ruiz’s blessing, he was free to use that network and its materials at his disposal. He would begin by going after his former friend and boss, Nieto. It was business. A matter of self preservation. Either kill, or be killed. That was how things worked in the narco universe.
Once he had taken over Nieto’s sizeable organization and territory, he could set his sights on the big prize: el Escorpion himself. He hadn’t figured out who the man was yet, but he would eventually. Juan didn’t have a personal grudge against him, unlike Ruiz. But with el Escorpion out of the way, Juan could make his move.
For a man who had been born into abject poverty in a dusty little farm town in the foothills, the prospect of that much money and control was everything Juan had ever dreamed of and more. Once he eliminated Nieto and el Escorpion, he was going take control of what was left of the once untouchable Veneno cartel.
