Complicate
Page 25
He crossed through the spa next. Tula, Martin, and Ricky sat in massage chairs, receiving pedicures. Evidently, men did this sort of thing, if he could call their targets men.
Old, fat fucks lounged in the other chairs, talking among themselves as women scrubbed and rubbed their feet. They had no idea they were about to die in those seats after spending their final moments on earth getting their toenails clipped.
Fuck them.
They would never touch another child again.
Ricky looked up, grabbing his gaze and giving him a chin lift. All clear.
Cole continued his perimeter sweep through the halls, his attention flicking to the shadows, to the opened and locked doors, and other possible escape routes. He and the team had scoured the property from end to end and every dark corner in between. This operation was a year in the making, and he didn’t want any surprises.
There were three pool areas with vast spaces for their targets to congregate. He found Matias and Camila sitting at the edge of the first pool.
Camila looked stunning in her red bikini. Her husband, on the other hand, stood out like a douchebag with his floppy sunhat and white sunscreen slathered on his nose.
Fucking ridiculous. But necessary. As the capo of the Restrepo Cartel, he couldn’t risk being recognized.
“Nice hat,” Cole said in passing, biting down on his smile. “Can I ask where you got it?”
“Yeah, you can pick one up for yourself at…” Matias gave him the finger. “Fuck off.”
“Behave.” Camila elbowed her husband and glanced at Cole, whispering under her breath, “We’re ready.”
She rested a hand on the bag beside her, her eye glimmering with excitement.
With a nod, he followed the paved pathway to the next pool. Tate and Lucia stood at a high-top table, drinking colorful cocktails while surveying the area.
Lucia gave him a thumbs-up, and his heart rate accelerated, his blood thrumming for a fight.
He located Tiago and Kate in the final pool, their positions in place and expressions calm.
Everyone was in their assigned zones, locked on their targets.
There were targets they couldn’t account for, the ones who were in their rooms or lingering in areas of the resort that required a key. That was where he came in.
And his favorite thief.
He picked up his pace, making a beeline to the outdoor bar at the center of the property. As he turned the corner, the first thing he saw was her fire-engine-red hair.
The thick waves tumbled down her back in lavish, unbridled glory. She sat on a stool at the bar, her spine straight and legs crossed like a lady. But that was where her decorum ended.
She wore an ultra-sexy rockabilly swimsuit, black with a cherry-themed print. The sweetheart neckline and figure-hugging shape drew the eye to her voluptuous tits, where they swelled up and out to here as she leaned toward the man beside her, whispering shamelessly in his ear.
A rush of heat tightened between Cole’s legs as he prowled closer, his gaze raking her body, soaking in every dip that he knew so well.
Her beauty was just as bold and arresting as the first night he met her. Only now, he knew that gorgeous face wasn’t just makeup and eyelashes. Beneath the cosmetics, she radiated. Her fair complexion, her natural red hair, and those sexy little freckles that dotted her nose—all of that only added to her badass perfection.
He was so fucking in love with this woman he made her his wife last year.
She was his forever. His happiness. And right now, she was instrumental in finishing this job.
Stalking around the perimeter of the bar, he listened to her conversation with the man at her side. Her Russian accent had improved over the years, and she laid it on thick, drawing her target under her spell.
She ordered him another drink, never once making eye contact with Cole. They were so attuned to each other, she knew he was there without lifting her fake eyelashes in his direction.
Watching her employ her seductive powers on her targets shouldn’t turn him on as much as it did. But there was something really fucking satisfying about seeing every man in this bar openly gawk at her and knowing that no one could touch her. She was his. Period.
He waited for the moment she would make her move. Her target was the only man at the resort who held the codes to the property’s top-notch security system.
Her target owned the resort and ran his multi-national child trafficking organization within these walls. He was paranoid by nature, and never removed his fingers from his phone on the bar.
Until she slid a rope of cherry licorice from her purse. She looked away, feigning innocence as she sucked it between her lips, conjuring the image of a blowjob.
Her target homed in, leaned in, his attention on her mouth, forgetting himself, and at last, forgetting his phone.
She held his gaze, licking on her candy as her free hand swapped his phone with a lookalike from her purse.
Just like that, she fucking did it. She had the codes.
His pulse raced as he slipped away from the bar, watching as she started coughing, hacking, pretending she was choking on the Twizzlers.
With a wobbly exit, she grabbed her purse and pounded on her chest. “I’m okay. I’m okay. So sorry. I’m just going to use the ladies room.”
The lookalike phone she left behind was locked and uncharged. It would distract the owner for a while as he tried to power it on. By the time he realized she’d stolen his codes, it would be too late.
Cole stepped out of view, following her at a distance as she made her way toward the beach. Her gorgeous ass swayed in the swimsuit, her gait graceful and confident.
His stomach tightened as he pursued her, waiting for the hand-off. A few feet ahead, PaulVer stepped out of the shadows of a pool house. She dropped the phone in his hand and continued walking, slapping her flip-flops along the pavers.
The night PaulVer had unleashed the shit storm surrounding Vincent Barrington, Matias had offered him a position on the team. The kid hadn’t hesitated, and he’d been invaluable ever since. Especially in operations like this one.
Now that he had the owner’s phone, he would scrape the codes to break into the security system. In about three minutes, the faces and identities of his team would be wiped from the security footage, like they were never here. The entire system would be hacked, and every door in the resort would be unlocked for their attack.
Cole’s chest expanded with the rampant, pounding beat of his heart. He quickened his strides, chasing Lydia to the beach. Their weapons waited there, buried in the sand near Van and Liv.
They had a few minutes before PaulVer gave them the go. So Cole stole one.
He stole a moment with his wife, grabbing her from behind and wrenching a beautiful laugh from her throat.
She spun toward him, smiling, showering him in sparks of brilliant chaos. It took courage to walk this dangerous life with him, and she was built for it, born for it. His perfect mate.
“What are you doing?” She leaned up, running her nose along his whiskered jaw. “We have bad guys to kill.”
“So bloodthirsty,” he growled. “Kiss me, woman.”
She tilted her smile heavenward, offering up her glossy cherry lips.
The instant he kissed her, he breathed all the more deeply. Together, they shone brighter. A serenity of souls, fighting in a dark world and reaping their forever.
“I’m in love with you,” he said.
“I’m in love with love, and you, Cole Hartman, are all of that.”
“Ready?”
“Forever or bust.”
“Forever it is.” He kissed her again and laced their hands together. “Let’s go.”
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CHAPTER ONE
Jake
The terrain of childhood shapes the soul, and the soul never forgets.
It doesn’t forget the fields of Julep Ranch under the watercolor sky.
The earthy scent of grass beneath Barnabe’s heavy hooves.
The chirp of insects in the parched summer breeze.
Or Conor Cassidy, the sexiest girl in Oklahoma, soft and snug against my back.
I clutch the edges of my landscape and wrap it around me, taking nourishing breaths.
Barnabe, my chestnut stallion, twitches powerful muscles between my legs as he lopes along the dusty trail.
Behind me, Conor presses her tight little body against mine and slips a warm hand beneath the front of my shirt.
Now I’m twitching, too, restless and hungry. That’s what she does to me. One touch and I feel like an ungelded horse, a beast with fire in his veins, bucking and panting at the whiff of a mare in heat.
I don’t have to glance back to see her expression. With her chin tilted skyward, red hair ablaze, and guitar strapped to her back, I know she’s curving those plump lips into a serene smile as she soaks up the fading warmth of twilight.
She loves this land as much as I do.
She loves me.
And this is our night.
I’ve memorized the contours of her body as thoroughly as the terrain of our ten-thousand-acre ranch. In a few hours, I’ll know her even better. Deeper.
I’ll know her in the most intimate way possible.
Awareness crackles beneath my skin like it always does when she’s near. But tonight, the static feels sharper, more frenzied, and lower. Christ, the knot of electricity between my legs makes my jeans achingly tight. My cock is raging, swollen, throbbing like an angry heartbeat.
To think, I jerked off twice before I headed out. Lot of good that did me. If I bust a nut before I get inside her, I’ll never forgive myself.
The cantering stampede of two horses approaches from behind. Jarret trots past, veering his black gelding along the trail while blowing a kiss at Conor.
My twin brother might look like me, but we’re not identical. His hair’s darker, his eyes a paler shade of brown. Some say his smile is bigger and more charming, and maybe that’s true. The local girls trip right out of their panties whenever he winks at them.
“I thought Emma would be with you tonight,” I say at his back.
He kicks up a shoulder, a noncommittal shrug, as Conor’s brother, Lorne, brings up the rear.
“Jarret’s thinking about liking Emma.” Lorne slows his horse beside mine, grinning.
“I already liked her. A lot.” Jarret holds up a hand in a peace sign. “With these two fingers.”
“What a heartbreaker.” Conor smothers her chuckle against the back of my shirt.
“You look beautiful, sis.” Lorne tips the Stetson on his head, his expression doting.
“Thank you, darlin’,” she drawls. “You’re stag tonight, too, huh?”
“Yep.” Lorne gives me a knowing look, adjusts the guitar case on his back, and rides ahead to join Jarret.
Lorne just graduated high school, and for the first time in our lives, he seems…older. I mean, he is older. A year older than Jarret and me. Two years older than Conor. But it feels like he matured overnight, maybe gained a few IQ points, grew some chest hair or something.
Nothing’s changed between us, though. He might be protective as hell of his sister, but he’s also my best friend and number one supporter of my relationship with her.
Our clan of four shares an extraordinary closeness, an inseparable bond that stems from childhood. We grew up on the ranch together. Our fathers own the cattle operation together. Our mothers died fourteen years ago…together. We’ve spent our entire lives playing, working, fighting, and laughing together.
Someday, the four of us will own Julep Ranch just like our parents before us.
Up ahead, Jarret’s voice drifts downwind as he tells Lorne about the girl he banged last night. His graphic descriptions make me hyper-aware that Conor and I are the only virgins.
I’m not jealous. It’s just… I used to think she and I would be the first to go all the way. We were the first to kiss, the first to make out without clothes on. But I hit the brakes on sex. She was always too young.
Insects whir through the grass, humming eager sounds as the sinking sun paints the sky with dark, hungry promises.
It’s Conor’s sixteenth birthday.
The day I’ve waited for my whole life.
Lorne and Jarret know my plans tonight, and they’re here to run interference. All it takes is one ranch hand to stumble upon us and report to Dalton Cassidy that I’m in the south pasture, deflowering his only daughter.
But Conor’s dad isn’t the biggest threat. It’s mine. John Holsten loves her like a daughter, but he’s never condoned our relationship. In fact, he forbids it.
Jarret’s allowed to spend time with whomever he wants, so I don’t understand Dad’s restriction on Conor and me. She’s my past, my present, and my future. I’m everything when I’m with her and nothing without her.
Yet she’s not permitted in my room. I’m not allowed to hold her hand or, God forbid, kiss her. Lorne and Jarret have mastered the art of covering for us while we sneak around the eight-thousand-square-foot home our families share. Most nights, we ride out to the south pasture after our fathers have retired for the evening.
Like tonight.
Lorne and Jarret disappear behind the ridge, and Barnabe ambles slowly after, rocking Conor against me in a cocoon of heat and friction.
I trail fingertips across her thigh, delighting in the clench of her legs around my hips and the rise of goosebumps along her skin. Creamy, silken Irish skin that burns so easily in the sun.
I know every freckle on her body, and I’ve ventured to count them over the years. But the dark one at the edge of her right nipple always distracts me from the task.
Goddamn, I love her tits. The dusky pink nipples. The way they harden against my tongue. I love all her pretty parts—the vibrant green of her eyes, the pout of her lips, the shape of her toned legs, and these shorts…
I run my hand over the frayed denim, intimately familiar with this particular pair of
cutoffs. The worn hole near the zipper has been stretched over time by my prodding finger, and if she bends just right, I can see the crease between her perfect ass and thighs.
“You’re quiet.” I slide a hand under the back of her knee, tickling the soft skin there.
Mosquitoes buzz in the hush, biting my bare arms.
She swats at one on my neck and leans up to brush her lips against the sting. “I’m nervous.”
“If I was a good guy, I’d tell you we can wait.”
Not happening.
I’ve waited years, fantasizing, wanting. I wanted her when her kisses made me stutter. I wanted her when my dick started hardening in my hand. I wanted her when her boobs grew, and dark hair appeared under my arms. I really wanted her when I discovered porn and watched all the licking, sucking, pounding, filthy ways I could want her.
Over the past couple of years, I spent my nights kissing and humping the space in my bed that should’ve been filled with Conor Cassidy. But I couldn’t have her the way I wanted.
Until now.
Some might think sixteen is still too young for what I have in mind.
Fuck them.
I’ll be seventeen next month. We’re the same age for only two weeks, and tonight feels like a long-awaited rite of passage. A momentous coming-together. The beginning of our future.
I don’t know where this sentimental shit comes from. I was raised by a hard-ass man’s man, who has neither the time nor the inclination for romantic ideals.
I’m cut from the same cloth, fashioned from the rugged land on which he raised me. But all my soft parts belong to Conor.
“No more waiting, Jake.” She shifts her hand on my abs, dipping bold fingers beneath my belt buckle.
“Damn right.” My breath runs away from me, chopping my voice.
I might be wildly worked-up and hard as a rock, but this desperation, this need, is bigger than just getting off inside my girl.
She’s the nexus of my world. A world that goes beyond sex and wedding bells and riding off into the sunset. I’ll ride east, if that’s where she’s going. I’ll drive a sedan, if that’s what she wants. I’ll wear fucking loafers, if it makes her smile.