My Every Breath

by Brittney Sahin

  At least, for today.

  My patience is running out, though.

  Monster inside me or not—I want her, and I won’t give up until she’s mine in every way possible, even if I don’t truly understand what that even means right now.

  In the plaza, I look up at the sky, and it’s as if the sun is burning the buildings as it lowers to the ground. “Sure he wasn’t hitting on you?” I ask once at her side. “A little odd for him to be asking for help near the women’s changing room—don’t you think?”

  “So what if he was flirting?” She stops walking and faces me.

  I almost laugh. “What? You think I’m some young kid who will throw down with a guy for making a pass at his woman?”

  Her head angles, and I can tell she’s fighting a smile. “Based on your personality—yes.”

  But the sudden warmth in her eyes disappears in a second.

  She’s got her walls back in place.

  They’re walls I learned to break down, which means I can do it again.

  “I want to get drunk. I need to get my mind off everything while we wait for news from Jessica.”

  I assume I’m also classified under the everything category.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  She ignores me and points to a bistro up the way where a band is playing near an outdoor seating area. “Well, too bad for you, because I don’t need permission.”

  She nearly skips out of reach, her hair whipping up behind her as she moves away.

  A low laugh blasts from deep within my chest and hits the air—if she’s purposefully trying to get a rise out of me, she’s succeeded.

  Two hours later, she begins to dance, and instantly gathers the attention of everyone with a pulse.

  I leave the table after a few minutes and reach for her elbow.

  My patience is officially gone.

  “You need to sit. Drink some water.”

  “What?” She holds her hand to her ear. “I can’t hear you.”

  She spins away and continues to sway her hips, doing some ridiculously sexy salsa moves that have me considering ways we could use some of her talents in the bedroom later.

  “Dance,” Gia shouts over the music and comes closer. There’s a passionate plea in her eyes that the alcohol has helped to unmask.

  I go to her, unable to stop myself, and our fingers lace.

  I pull her in so close I can feel her heart beating against my chest, and the way she starts to move her body, grinding against my cock a few minutes later, has me wondering if we’ll even make it back to the house.

  The thumping of the Cuban music and the loud sounds around us from other people dancing and singing along—it becomes background noise.

  All I can see is her.

  And I know all I’ll ever see is her.

  I wrap my arms around her hips and drop my mouth over hers, suddenly not able to give a fuck about our argument last night.

  Once back at the house, I pin her to the wall without hesitation and hold her in place, commanding her eyes to meet my gaze.

  She’s breathing hard, nearly panting, and some nagging in my gut is telling me this is our last time. But I ignore it. How can I not?

  “Tell me you’re mine.” I can smell the tequila on her breath, and it mixes with mine. I haven’t drunk this much in a long damn time, and it’s not normal for my head to feel so foggy, but she kept pushing the drinks on me, and tonight, I didn’t say no.

  Her lips part, but she doesn’t say anything.

  She doesn’t have to, though.

  Her eyes say it all.

  The brightness is there—the lie has been lifted, and I can see how she feels, now more than ever before. She can throw bullshit at me and try to push away all she wants, but I’m never letting go.

  I lean forward and say, “I don’t have a tie or cuffs, but if I did, I’d be using them tonight.”

  Her mouth finds my ear, and her breath has my balls tightening even more. “I’ll hold on to the headboard tonight. I promise.”

  * * *

  Sunlight hits my eyes like a flare being shot right before me, and I jerk my hands to try and cover my face, but something hard rubs against my wrists, stopping me from moving them.

  My vision is off, but I squint, trying to figure out what the hell is going on right now.

  Handcuffs?

  How much did we drink last night?

  I blink a few times, attempting to focus on what I’m cuffed to, while I try to remember last night.

  Gia and I were drunk, dancing near Revolution Square, when—shit, where the hell is she?

  “Gia,” I croak out in a hoarse voice.

  After a minute, a semi-lucid state starts to lift some of the fog from my brain, and I realize I’m cuffed to the steering wheel of the DeSoto.

  What the hell is going on?

  I twist in my seat to look around, my head spinning like I’m on a tilt-a-whirl, but I’m alone.

  My stomach is doing somersaults. My body is shaky like it hasn’t been since . . .

  I’m on drugs. But—how?

  I bang my head against the back of the seat and pinch my eyes closed for a moment, needing to remember what else happened last night.

  The sudden tap-tap-tap on the driver’s side door has my body flinching, the noise like a jackhammer in my ears.

  A man circles the DeSoto with something in his hands, and it’s not until he’s holding a lighter in front of the car do I realize what I’m smelling.

  Gasoline.

  20

  Gia

  “I made it.” I wrap my arms tight around Mya, almost breaking into a sob.

  “Connor promised me his guy in Cuba would come through for us.”

  “And you’re sure we can trust Connor?” I ask after stepping back.

  The memory of Cade, lying on his stomach with his arm slung over me as I wiggled free without him noticing creates a rush of guilt down my spine.

  My stomach clenches, so I press a hand there, trying to dial down the pain so I can get through this and do what needs to be done.

  Mya tips her head in the direction of the hotel door. “Why don’t I let you decide for yourself? He’s across the hall with his brother, Mason.”

  “But they’re military. Can we trust more soldiers?”

  “They’re not military anymore. The security business they run specializes in this kind of stuff, and they’ve helped me out of more than one jam before.”

  “Owen was supposed to be on my side, but—”

  She waves her hand in the air, silencing me. “And if Owen really is still military, or whatever, it’ll always be country first. But for these guys, Connor and his team, it’s people first.”

  We talked about Connor weeks ago when we were organizing our plan, but we didn’t have a date at the time. And now, Owen has left a bitter taste in my mouth about the military, even if my feelings aren’t necessarily justified.

  Mya shoves her long blonde hair behind her and folds her arms defensively. She mentioned before that she grew up with Connor and his brother, so she knows them better than she knows me. I can’t blame her for getting protective, but I have reasons for concern.

  I sink onto the couch.

  “Listen, these guys are incredible. They inherited their father’s billion-dollar empire, and they didn’t want it. For real. Helping people is more important to them than money. Hell, they’re here on their own dime right now.”

  It’s impossible for me to believe that anyone would be willing to do something without getting anything in return.

  Cade’s an exception, but can Connor and his brother be exceptions, too?

  “Just meet them.” Her eyes dart to mine. “Okay?”

  “Yeah.” I sigh. “Okay.”

  “I’ll go get them. Stay tight.”

  I stand, head to the window, and pull back the long drapes. All I can see is lush green trees down below. We’re nowhere near a major city.

  But it hits m
e—I’m in Brazil.

  On the flight here, I was so torn up over leaving Cade that I’d nearly forgotten I was heading home.

  My fingers brush over the inside of my wrist. “She has to be alive.” I close my eyes, remembering Mom’s smell: orange blossoms and sunflowers.

  She always put wildflowers all over the house. Our home wasn’t huge, but it was alive and colorful.

  The colors stayed put in Brazil when I moved to New York, and my life became dark. Shadows loomed over me.

  Being home should make me feel better.

  So, why doesn’t it?

  The door opens a minute later. I turn to meet my new saviors, but my conscience eats at me.

  Cade’s my savior. He’s the only one I ever want at my side.

  And I lost him.

  Emotion works up into my throat, and I’m worried I’ll cry, which is ridiculous because I did this to myself. I planned an escape and probably broke Cade’s heart—a heart he claims not to have. But I saw it. I felt it.

  She jerks a thumb to the tall, powerful-looking men at her side. Black boots, fatigues, green tees revealing corded forearms—yeah, former military, all right. Well, minus the buzz cut.

  “These are the guys. Well, the two in charge,” she says.

  “The rest of the team is in position in our mobile units. They’re waiting for my go.” One of the men walks toward me, and I think he’s the older brother based on his eyes; they’ve seen more than the other. “I’m Connor. That’s Mason.”

  I tuck my hair behind my ears and extend my hand. He shakes it with a firm grip. “Hi.” A shy smile curves my lips, and even though he’s handsome and belongs on some Hot Hunks military wall calendar, he doesn’t make my heart flutter, not like Cade.

  “We’re glad to help.” Mason starts across the room, and there’s a slight limp to his walk.

  My cheeks blush when I look up to see his eyes on me.

  “IED, but I’m good. No worries.” He winks, and it reminds me of Owen.

  More remorse floods me.

  My betrayal, my actions, my sins will catch up to me in Hell. But if my mom is alive, it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.

  I owe her. I’ll give up my happiness to save her.

  I blink a few times and bring my mind back into the room, even if every other part of me is still back in that house with Cade. My heart. My breath. Maybe even my spirit.

  “Sorry,” I mumble.

  Mason shrugs and shakes my hand. “War is war.”

  “They’re really amazing, I promise. Mason saved my ass last year when I was covering a story about the drug cartels in New Mexico and nearly got myself killed.”

  “Lois Lane here thinks I’m her own personal superhero.” Mason chuckles. “But she has a good heart.”

  “She does.” I head back to the couch and sit down, not sure if I can stand any longer on my trembling legs.

  It’s hard for me to believe this moment is really happening, that the plan Mya and I started weeks ago is finally playing out.

  “We weren’t expecting to get Mya’s call so soon, but luckily, we were between ops.” Connor reaches into his pocket and pulls out a phone, even though it didn’t ring. “Give me a sec. It’s one of my men calling.” He goes into the adjoining bedroom and closes the door.

  “Did you have a smooth flight out of Havana?” Mason asks.

  “Yeah. How’d you manage that for us on such short notice?” It was a near disaster meeting up with the guy at the boutique yesterday with Cade hanging by so close.

  “Javier is a military pilot, but he’s also in favor of a regime change in Cuba. He does us favors, and we reciprocate.”

  I don’t bother to ask more, because anything involving the government or military will fly right over my head. I got a heavy dose the other day from Owen, and my mind is still reeling.

  I’ve had to deal with the mob for ten years. And my mom was abducted by traffickers.

  But terrorism, espionage, and government coups—too much info is sometimes just too much.

  “Sorry.” Connor comes back into the room a minute later. “Perozo and his team just rolled out of town with five military-style trucks behind him.”

  I sit upright. “That was fast.”

  Connor’s hands disappear into his pockets, and he stands alongside his brother. “We’re going to green-light the mission as soon as the deal with Hezbollah is complete. Once the shipment containers reach Lebanon and Perozo is back, we’ll move in.”

  Owen can still get his guy, and now I can get what I want.

  “Based on our recon, we have a pretty good idea where they’re keeping their records at the compound,” Connor explains. “With technology these days, they won’t risk keeping track of anything online, so they’ll have the data saved to a hard drive or USB.”

  “And you really think you can get it?” I rub my clammy hands together.

  “This is what we do.” Connor nods. “It won’t be my first time on an op like this.”

  “And if my mother’s name is there, and we find out where she is now . . . what do we do next?”

  “We’ll find her,” Mason answers.

  “What about Carlos? What happens to him?” I ask.

  “We won’t turn him over to the police. We can’t risk that he’ll end up right back out on the streets,” Mason says.

  Confidence starts to flow through me, but the guilt is still there, and it’s suffocating almost every other emotion.

  What if I had waited in New York and had never run away with Cade? What if I had waited for Mya to find answers? Cade would have never been in danger.

  But I would never have known how amazing some moments in life, big or small, can truly be if Cade hadn’t been a part of my life these last few weeks.

  If he didn’t open my eyes, if he didn’t open my heart back up after it had stopped working ten years ago, where would I be now?

  “Gia?” Mya arches a brow. “You still with us, hon?”

  “Uh, yeah.” I look back at Connor and Mason. “Thanks for coming up with a way to do this without blowing Owen’s chances at getting the terrorist he’s after.”

  “I know Owen. He’s a friend of mine. He didn’t have a choice, so try not to be upset with him,” Connor says with grit to his voice.

  “Small world, huh?” Mya smiles.

  “Us military people tend to be pretty close-knit, especially when it comes to special forces. Although Frogmen tend to be in their own world,” Mason says.

  “Frogmen?” My lips roll inward in thought.

  “SEALs,” Mason answers.

  “You’re just jealous because you weren’t a SEAL.” Mya slaps his shoulder in a playful way. The jury is still out on whether or not they ever dated, but based on the way Mason’s gaze keeps following her around the room, I’d say he has a thing for her, regardless.

  “I could run circles around those guys.” He pounds a fist to his chest, and his gaze cuts to his brother. “Don’t give me that look.”

  Connor laughs. “Sure, man. Sure.”

  My jaw goes slack, and my mind is skipping around so fast with everything going on, I barely even hear my own voice when I murmur, “Is this really happening?”

  “Yeah, it is.” Mya reaches for my hand and squeezes it, but I’m too focused now on my sketchpad on the end table. I fight the smirk that tugs at my lips as I think about Cade sitting on that stool for me the other night, giving me control over the situation . . . well, for a half hour, at least.

  My gorgeous but slightly broken man.

  I don’t want to fix him, though.

  I just want him.

  Period.

  And somehow, after this is all over, I need to find a way back to him.

  “One question,” Mason says.

  I bury my thoughts as much as I can so I don’t cry when I look at him. “Yeah?”

  “Will this friend of yours come after you?”

  My eyes cut to an image of Cade on Mason’s cell. He’s in a
black suit and red tie. Red, the fitting color for such a powerful man. I’m pretty sure I saw that image online on his office website when I was semi-stalking him after we first met, a night that feels like years ago, not weeks.

  “Um,” is all that slips free.

  I wasn’t supposed to sleep with Cade last night.

  Get him drunk so it’d be easier to slip out of the house and meet with Connor’s contact—that was the plan. Hot, sweaty, and mind-blowing sex with Cade wasn’t.

  “You left him the note, right?” Mya asks.

  I bite my lip. “I, uh—yeah, I left a card.” I put it by the gun because I assumed Cade wouldn’t leave the house without it. “But I don’t know if that will keep him from coming after me.”

  “So we should anticipate a guest visitor?” Connor’s eyes narrow, and I nod.

  “Cade is pretty determined when it comes to going after what he wants.” I’m surprised I vocalized that information, but it’s the truth.

  Cade opened up to me the other night.

  And what did I do?

  I shitted all over his feelings by twisting the blame back on him.

  But I had to hurt him to protect him.

  “I’d say it’s a fifty-fifty chance as to whether he’ll show.” I let out a long breath, hating myself for wanting him to come, yet longing to keep him away and safe.

  21

  Cade

  “You have five seconds to tell me what you did with my daughter, or the car lights up.”

  Begging for mercy isn’t something I can stomach, but that’s not my issue right now—it’s what he’s saying. Where is Gia if he doesn’t have her?

  “Five,” he begins. “Four.”

  “If she’s not in the house, then someone took her,” I yell.

  I push through the haziness in my head to try and figure out what the hell could have happened to her.

  There’s no way one of Rory’s men would grab Gia and not touch me, which means— “Fuck.”

  Her father is back by my side now, resting his hands on the roof and bending down so we’re face-to-face. “Where’s my daughter?” His tone is even and controlled. He’s done this a lot, I’m sure.