“I wasn’t going to hurt her.”
“No?” Lazaro asks, then eyeballs me.
One scene plays out in my head over and over again—the gun aimed at Serafina. Lazaro and I live by different rules, grew up in very different families. He’s Mexicano and I’m white. My father is a popular state senator and his papa is a federal fugitive living in Mexico. But some beliefs are universal. Innocent women are off limits.
Tito knows he’s in trouble. “I’m sorry Mr. Mendoza, it won’t happen again.”
“Get up,” Lazaro barks.
Tito staggers to his feet.
“Give me your pistol.”
Tito lifts the hem of his button-up shirt, revealing his weapon tucked carelessly inside the front of his pants. He surrenders it.
“Who do you trust most?” Lazaro asks.
“Juan,” Tito answers without hesitation.
“Juan Flores,” Lazaro calls. “Come here.”
Juan is a twenty-year-old with a scruffy beard and a shaven head. A winged Satan is tattooed on his skull. Lazaro hands Juan the handgun, whispers in his ear, then signals for me to follow him outside. Before we clear the doorway, a shot goes off. I turn. Tito screams. He’s holding his mangled hand against his chest.
I grin. Lazaro is getting soft—in the old days, he would’ve ordered Tito’s execution. But tonight is his bachelor party, so maybe he’s more inclined to exercise restraint.
“Where’s the girl?” Lazaro asks me again.
“Gone.”
“Do you want to find her?”
“I’d like to get my hands on her escort first.”
Lazaro knows what I’m thinking. “I’ll take care of Tony.” He digs in his front pocket. “Here.” He dangles the key to his Mercedes in front of me. “Your car is blocked. Go.”
Serafina
I don’t know why I shared any personal information with Eagle. When he left me alone in the cabana I changed into my jeans and tennis shoes, determined to get away without ever seeing him again. He makes me weak. Our past tempts me to revert to the girl I used to be. And being in our hometown makes it that much easier to slip.
Now I’m walking aimlessly up the Gulf Beach Highway in the middle of the night without a jacket, hoping Ben will fire me when I get home. I’m already on his shit list. Tonight confirms my complete distaste for this job. Once I was locked into the contract I tried to make the best of things. I make good money, but not enough to entertain drug lords and gang members.
I’ve lived through that kind of savagery before. Seen firsthand what kind of violence happens when you keep company with soulless men.
Sixteen years ago on a Friday night my father came into the living room with a bowl of popcorn. Mom had a girl’s night out once a month, so Dad and I made it a habit to watch a movie together . . .
“Ready, kid?” he asks. He plops down next to me on the sofa.
“Let me guess,” I say. “Star Wars or Revenge of the Nerds?”
He grins. “Wrong on both counts.”
“Return of the Jedi?” Dad never outgrew the Star Wars craze—he just handed it down to the next generation.
“Bambi,” he says.
I nearly choke from laughing so hard. “Really?”
“It’s your favorite.”
A loud bang stops our conversation. Dad sets the bowl of popcorn down, rises slowly, and tells me to be quiet. “Get in the closet.”
I hesitate, I don’t want him to leave me alone. “Daddy . . .”
He turns. “Do. It. Now. Baby girl.”
It’s a tiny space covered by a drape. I sneak inside it, arranging the curtain carefully. I peek out, but he’s gone already. I hear loud voices in the kitchen. I creep to the doorway. Pop. Pop. Two shots, no three. I rush into the kitchen. The front door slams shut. My father is on the floor, bleeding from his nose and mouth. I scream, throw myself on top of him. “Daddy . . . Daddy . . .”
A cold wind brings me back to the present.
A truck zips by and I hear a whistle. Assholes. Guys have one thing on their minds. I’m not the girl to give it to them. I have enough shit going on inside my head. That’s why I’m studying to be a psychotherapist. Forget providing therapy for all the other fucked up people out there. I need serious help, and the only place I’m going to find it is inside me.
A black Mercedes SLK stops a few feet ahead of me on the shoulder. A tremor shoots down my body. Some hard dick looking for fun, really? The car door opens and I see a black boot hit the pavement. I do a 180 and start walking as fast as I can in the opposite direction.
“Serafina.”
I freeze. Oh my God, it’s Eagle. What does he want? How did he know where to find me?
“What?” I ask without stopping. I hear his heavy footsteps following me, closing the gap between us.
The next thing I feel is his jacket slipping over my shoulders. “I didn’t ask for your help.” I quit walking then, pulling the soft leather tighter around me. It smells like him—that citrusy cologne I miss.
“You didn’t have to,” he says gently. “You’re shivering.”
I loathe the good ol’ southern boy bullshit that most men in Louisiana use to seduce women. All manners on the surface, but underneath, they just want to fuck me. Not Eagle—he wants all of me. He’s genuine, like a treasured piece in a museum. Born in the wrong century and just trying to deal with it. I twist around. “What do you want?”
“Stop fighting me,” he says. “We have more important things to do right now.”
I laugh. “We are done. I met you at a bachelor party, you helped me out of a sticky situation, and I thanked you. End of story.”
“Didn’t your mother raise you better? Where’s that southern charm?” he chides.
“I left it in Arkansas.”
A moment of uncomfortable silence passes between us before he speaks again. “You’re not walking alone on the highway in the middle of the night. Besides,” he says, “you’re going the wrong way.” He points. “Unless you want to visit the Rockefeller State Wildlife Refuge?”
“Listen, biker boy . . .”
“Me?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” I gaze at his patches. “Iron Norsemen MC?”
He chuckles. “We can argue later, darlin’. Get in the car.”
I look around nervously. It’s me against the world, has been for a long time, so I’ll risk the road if it means getting away from Eagle. I pull his jacket off, fold it in half, and then offer it to him. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
His eyes narrow. “I’m trying to be a gentleman, Serafina.”
“And I’m trying to be a lady, Eagle. Fuck off.” I drop his coat on the road and turn around. Before I can think, he lifts me from behind and throws me over his shoulder. “Put me down!”
A car whizzes by and honks.
In any other state they’d stop to see if I was okay, not in Louisiana—there’s all kinds of crazy-ass people in the country. I kick my feet, but he holds on tighter. Then he bends at the knees and scoops his jacket off the ground.
“You’re a handful, darlin’,” is all he says as he heads for the car.
“I’ll call the cops.”
“Want to use my cell phone?”
He opens the door and drops me sideways on the driver’s seat. I clip him in the chest with my right foot. He growls. I’m wedged between him and the hard center console. It hurts my back. But not more than his angry gaze; those eyes threaten me in every way.
His full lips are mere inches above mine. “Kick me again and I’ll hogtie you. Understand?”
Overpowered, I give up and nod.
“Good,” he says. “Now get your sweet little ass in the passenger seat—or do you need my help?”
Somehow, I manage to roll over the console. I cross my arms over my chest and stare out the windshield.
“Seatbelt,” he commands.
I don’t move.
“All right.” I hear him shuffling around. Next thing I know, he reach
es across and connects my belt. His arm grazes my breast. I feel his body tighten on contact. “My God . . .” That’s all he says as he gets comfortable in the driver’s seat.
He does a U-turn and heads back to the house.
“I’m not going inside.”
“You will.”
“I won’t,” I say defiantly. “Why are you doing this?”
“Principles.”
I laugh bitterly. “You hang out with drug dealers and principles are your excuse for kidnapping me and taking me back to a place I was assaulted? That’s priceless.”
“I didn’t kidnap you.” He stares at me. “I’m performing a civic duty.”
The shit keeps getting deeper. “Really?”
“I saved your life,” he offers with a dreamy smile. “Twice.” He pulls into the driveway. “Shall I carry you?”
“Right.”
He gets out, struts around the car, and opens my door. “The best choice is walking on your own.”
Chapter Four
Eagle
God, she’s stubborn—and incredibly hot when she’s pissed off. We’re sitting in the kitchen drinking bottled water. Diaz sent someone to get Lazaro. I have no idea where Tony and the other dancers are. A few minutes later, Lazaro appears—he’s buzzed.
“You found her.”
“Yeah.” I hand his keys back. “This is Serafina.”
Lazaro gives her a lopsided grin and offers his hand.
She reluctantly shakes it. “Nice party.”
I grumble to myself. Why can’t she be polite? Is she going to push his buttons the way she has mine? Does the girl understand who she’s talking to? Stupid question, she’s completely unimpressed.
Lazaro scratches his head. “About what happened . . .” My best friend’s good ol’ boy charm fades. He takes things as personally as I do. Lives by the same laws. Responsible for any guest under his roof, the disrespect and violence Serafina has been subjected to must be rectified.
“How about I save you the trouble of an apology,” she offers. “Can you make arrangements for me to catch a ride home?”
Lazaro throws me a look.
“I don’t think you understand,” I say. “Lazaro intends to make things right.” I try to settle her down with a reassuring smile. She deserves every consideration after what happened to her. That’s why I demanded she return with me. I know she’s not thinking straight after what Tito did—I’ll protect her, see her safely home.
Her lips form a straight line. “Where’s Tony?” She has no intention of acknowledging my friend’s effort.
“Downstairs,” Lazaro answers. “I didn’t feel the need to stop the other girls from dancing. I sincerely apologize for my cousin’s cruelty. He’s been disciplined.”
She looks at him in confusion. “You’re related to that psycho?”
“Hey.” I wrap my arm around her waist, wanting to provide more comfort. Lazaro isn’t the bad guy here. “Take it easy,” I whisper in her ear. “Let’s get through this together, then you can do whatever you want.”
She pulls back and stares at me, but her body relaxes slightly. “Okay.”
“Where did you get ready for the party?” I ask her.
She looks toward the dining room. “One of the bedrooms off the hallway.”
“How about we head that way, then I’ll get Tony.”
“Great idea,” Lazaro says, rubbing the back of his neck, getting soberer by the second. I’m sure he appreciates my effort to get Serafina out of his face. “Stay with her, bro. Diaz will find her escort.” He gets up, slaps me on the shoulder, then disappears down the stairs.
She stands abruptly and pushes me aside. “I did my duty, kept you out of trouble with your friend. I’m leaving now.”
“No, you’re not.” I grip her wrist, still hoping she’ll see the wisdom in staying with me for now. But since she wants to stir the pot some . . . “What the fuck were you thinking? He was trying to be nice to you.”
“Nice? Sorry I’m an inconvenient reminder of his fuckup. The thugs in that guest house weren’t the kind of guys I expected to see here. Pretty sure a few of them are regularly featured on the FBI’s Most Wanted list.”
My shoulders stiffen at her continued rudeness. “Am I supposed to believe you typically entertain the kind of men you’d take home to meet your parents? Get over it, darlin’. There’s more important things to worry about.”
“Like what?” she slants her head.
“Like what I’ll do to that beautiful mouth if you don’t shut it.” Her eyes go wide and I can’t hide my satisfaction at seeing her struggle to find the right words to shoot back at me. “Come on.” I grip her arm and lead her out of the kitchen, through the dining room, and down the hallway. “Which bedroom?”
“Third on the left.”
We stop and I open the door, gesturing for her to step inside. “Ladies first.”
She makes an unattractive snorting sound and shuffles inside. “I can’t wait to get out of here.”
I follow her and close the door and lock it. “Could be a while,” I warn.
“Define a while.” Serafina flops onto the end of the bed, looking like she’d rather be anywhere else.
I can’t blame her, that shit in the guest house would make most girls curl into a ball and cry for weeks or seek relief in an endless stream of wine. This woman is different. Brave to a fault. Stubborn. Insulting. Clever. And fucking gorgeous. Unbelievably so.
“Last time I saw him, your escort had his lips wrapped around a longneck.”
“So? He’s allowed to have a couple drinks on the job.”
“Not if he worked for me. That’s the first rule of any good bodyguard. You don’t join the party, sweetheart, you stand out. Earn the respect of the guests so they don’t fuck around with your merchandise.”
She crosses her arms over her chest, looking more pissed off. “Is that what I am, Eagle? Priced to sell?”
So much for honesty. Why do women get offended by simple truth? “Under these circumstances, yeah. You’re not here to generate great discussion topics. That body . . . that face . . . your mouth.”
“Don’t leave anything out.”
“Everything seems to lead back to that goddamned mouth of yours.” I head to the bed and sit down next to her, wanting to get closer—to smell her again. “You talk too much.”
“So do you, especially for a one percenter.” She eyes the diamond-shaped patch on the front of my leather vest, a distant look in her eyes.
“What do you know about bikers?”
“Nothing,” she snaps. “Just an intuitive observation.”
“What else do you know, Serafina?” I love her name.
She inches away from me. “That you’re invading my personal space.”
I chuckle. “Anything else?”
“Yeah. If I’m stuck here, you should leave so I can take a dip in the hot tub.”
I look at the barrel-styled Jacuzzi, remembering when Lazaro had several installed during a major remodel a few years ago. “Nice try, Serafina. The last time I left you alone, you ran away. There’s no way I’m making the same mistake again.”
“Stand guard outside the door.”
“And give you a chance to crawl out the windows?”
“Fine.” She jumps up and crosses the room, kneels in front of a suitcase, and unzips it. She shuffles around in it, then pulls out an iPod. “If you’re staying, you’ll have to put up with my taste in music.”
Expecting something girly like Justin Bieber, I’m impressed when the smoky beat of a classic Sade tune blasts out of the speaker on the nearby dresser. I reposition myself on the bed, sliding up to the headboard and arranging the pillows behind my back. I lace my fingers behind my head, ready to let Serafina do her thing. The hot tub is in plain view, so she’s not going anywhere.
I watch as she approaches the side of the Jacuzzi and reaches in to test the water temperature. She nods in approval, then retreats a step. Satisfied she intends to
chill, I relax and stretch, closing my eyes for a second. Instinct tells me to open them immediately. I do, catching her slowly unbuttoning the jeans she slipped into while we were in the cabana. Nothing tops seeing how this girl shucks clothes. Her fingers move gracefully, practiced and hypnotizing.
That’s the seasoned stripper in her—everything she does screams sex.
I sit up as the fabric of her shirt slides from her shoulders, revealing flawless, tanned skin. Then it falls to her feet. Whether intentionally or not, she shoots me a seductive look, the kind I know too well. It’s a subtle invitation to admire her body. I fist my hands at my sides, my palms staring to sweat. I want to bite one of her tits while I pump inside her. Fuck! But then she angles her body so I can see that beautiful ass. She kicks off her heels and instead of climbing into the steamy water, she bends at the waist and slides her G-string off like she’s on stage.
Should I grab a handful of twenties from my pocket and shower her with bills?
When she sucks on her bottom lip, I’m about done.
“What are you doing, Serafina?” Besides tempting a man who’s been on the edge for too long. With one word, I’ll join her and show her what she’s doing to me. I know this girl wants to fuck me. But she’s in for a surprise, because I’ll do all the fucking while she screams my name.
She whips her long hair to one side, looking over her shoulder at me. “Getting comfortable. Doing what you wanted me to do.”
I’ve had an erection since I threw her over my shoulder on the highway, but it’s throbbing painfully now, begging for relief. Begging to be inside her. “What’s that, darlin’?”
“The show might be over for the assholes out there . . .” She gestures toward the door with her head. “But for you . . . You’re a VIP now, right?”
“Hey,” I say. “Did I ever ask for anything in return for saving your ass?”
“You didn’t have to. Kind of goes with the territory, right? Nothing for free in our little world.”
One Taste of Angel Page 3
