Savage Secrets (Titan #6)

by Harber, Cristin

  That wasn’t him. Or her. She spun. A man in his boxers walked out of a darkened bathroom. Their eyes met. His mouth opened, and a single yell hollered before Rocco’s silent shot dropped him. But a silencer wasn’t silent.

  Lights turned on. Men called out, muffled by the four closed doors. They were surrounded, but ACG was split and unaware. Straight ahead had to be the master bedroom. She moved fast, kicked open the door—El Mateperros. He was pulling on pants. Their eyes clashed. He lunged for the nightstand, and she pulled the trigger. The bullet met his hand in a muffled explosion. It was the same hand that had held her down. That had touched her naked body.

  “That was for touching me.”

  She pulled the trigger again, smiling as the round ripped into his knee, dropping him to the ground with a roaring cry of pain. “And that was for holding me down.”

  Now it was her turn to be the sick one because it felt way too good to have that power. She stepped forward, weapon pointed at his chest. His twisted, flawless face screwed tight in pain. In shock. Mouth agape, silently screaming. The bloody pulp of a hand stretched out in front of him.

  Behind her, shots poured rained from and toward Rocco, Roman, and Winters. She heard it all through her earpiece: their voices, commands, warnings. So loud, so chaotic, but somehow so organized. She pulled out her earpiece, wanting to be alone, wanting it to just be her and El Mateperros in this little room.

  He writhed on the floor. One steady footstep at a time, she had him pinned to the ground, weaponless and bleeding out. “I’ve waited so long.”

  She pulled the trigger again. The bullet whizzed by his head. Intentionally. “You feel that?”

  The Dog Killer moaned. “Stop! No!”

  “Feel that fear? Imagine being a little girl. Imagine the sound of death and the sight of loved ones, dropping all around. Imagine that hell.”

  The crack of bullet whizzing through the wall, into the room made them both jump. Excruciating pain exploded in her shoulder. She cried out, slamming her teeth together, absorbing the bite of a stray bullet. El Mateperros lunged off the floor. Her 9mm scattered across the room.

  Hell no.

  A punch hit her cheek. His good hand found her bleeding shoulder, grabbing into the wound. She screeched. Stars exploded in her eyes. Caterina grabbed another sidearm strapped to her, pulling the triggered as his already bloodied hand slid over her skin.

  El Mateperros pushed the weapon down, reaching for it—needing to steal it to survive—and there was no way she was giving it up. Caterina growled. Thrashed. Cursed. They were blood soaked, and his hand found her grip on the gun. They struggled back and forth.

  Bam! A round exploded, lighting the darkened room and slamming through an outer wall. Grunts and growls. She bit into his shoulder and kneed him as hard as she could. The gun skittered across the floor. Both reached for it. Neither found success.

  His unwounded leg pinned her thigh. Her leg was at such an angle that she could reach the sheathed knife at her boot. Grabbing it, Caterina pulled it fast, and El Mateperros drew up, arm angled to slam his fist into her face. The knife was new to her but with practiced precision, its handle comfortable in her grip, she slammed the blade into him, sinking through his clothes, into his flesh.

  He stilled. Shouted. Hollered. Fell back. The knife stuck out from his groin.

  That hadn’t been planned and wasn’t fatal. But it was karma.

  He looked down. Horror. Complete and total terror. She stared, mouth open, thinking it more traumatic and appropriate than a kill shot. But she still would take one. In a minute. She just needed to absorb the perfectness of their violent collision.

  The door opened behind her. The fire fight just feet away sounded as though it had finished. She’d know more if she’d had kept her earpiece in, but Cat wasn’t at all concerned that Titan had been taken out. Nothing would happen to them. She believed it.

  El Mateperros’s teeth were bared. He hissed. Rage burned in his eyes. “Fucking whore!” He rolled to the side, ripping the knife free. A shout fell from his lips like that of a wounded, dying bear. She grabbed the gun from across her chest, blood coated fingers trying to find the trigger and sliding as his knife wielding hand dropped toward her.

  The gun fell into place in her sticky, wet hands. Finger on the trigger.

  A blast exploded.

  But—

  She hadn’t pulled the trigger.

  El Mateperros, knife in hand, dropped to the floor.

  Her head dropped back, hitting the floor. Breaths and sweat and blood poured out of her. Rocco stood above.

  He’d made the kill shot. He’d taken out her nightmare and saved her. Too bad he had stolen her moment. A wild, desperate mixture of gratitude and jealousy ripped through her, tearing her into conflicting persons. She should’ve said gracias. Should’ve thrown her arms around him and asked for help with bandaging her arm.

  But instead, she stayed on the floor, panting, bleeding, closing her eyes, wondering if it were really over, why didn’t she feel closure? Or at least better?

  He dropped to a crouch. “Kitten, you with me? You okay?”

  Her shoulder pounded, throbbing pain and pulsing blood. But that was not what was on her mind. “No.” No on so many levels. No because she’d been shot. Not because she didn’t get what she’d wanted more than anything. Not because she’d never have a chance again.

  Just… No. No. No.

  Rocco gave orders in his comm piece. He was supposed to be what she wanted more than anything. Rocco. She needed Rocco. Wanted him. But right now, she hurt for wanting to be mad, hurting for her vengeance.

  He scooped his arms under her and lifted to his chest. Their weapons knocked together. Her blood seeped into his clothes.

  “Well then, let’s get you out of here.” He spoke into his mic. “All clear. We’re coming out, and I need a medic kit.”

  The conversation continued, but she ignored it, watching El Mateperros’s dead body leak blood onto the floor as Rocco carried her out. “There’s a knife in there,” Rocco said to Winters as they passed. “Leave anything else identifying?”

  She shook her head, making her shoulder flare. It felt good, a distraction from herself. They walked out of the house as Jared brought the chopper down.

  “Your truck.”

  “Who wants to drive the truck home?” he said into his mic, then to her. “It’s taken care of.”

  That easy. Everything in Rocco’s all-American life was always that easy. He made it look easy, as though she should’ve been able to do it long ago. El Mateperros was gone. Taken away by the man who said he loved her—who did love her—who’d put his life, his team’s lives, on the line for her sick, sad desires. And now she was ungrateful that he’d saved her life? What the hell was wrong with her?

  “I’m completely fucked up,” she whispered. It wasn’t for his benefit or really even for him to hear. He just happened to be there. But it was an acknowledgment of all that was wrong with her.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  The chopper lifted quietly and sailed into the black night sky. Caterina was tucked under Rocco’s arm, asleep after a quick bandaging and shot of antibiotics and pain killers. They’d get her a doctor, let Homeland Security clean up their mess, and be done with this chapter in their lives. More often than not, on ops like this, Rocco manned the chopper. Sitting back there, away from his comfortable panel of controls and gauges, an empty feeling filled his chest. He’d seen it in Cat’s eyes. As soon as she’d realized El Mateperros had been shot, and not by her, her eyes went cold. Distant.

  Goddamn, he wished he could’ve given her that shot, but if he’d waited another second, it wouldn’t have been a terrorist who died in that room. Rocco pulled her tighter, trying not to cause discomfort but scared that when she awoke, she’d be done with him. Split second decision. He’d had no choice and had acted before the consequences weighed in his head. That was how he was trained: see, react. If he had taken the time to bask in an indecisiv
eness, to think about how badly shit would go if he took this away from her, then he’d be mourning her. If Cat walked away, at least she was alive to do it.

  The next few hours passed quickly. They made it to the hospital without problems. Caterina was wheeled away, asleep as he held her hand until they passed through double doors. Roman had to hold him back because, even though he knew better, Rocco fought the docs and tried to stay with her. There was nothing he could do but wait. It was a simple surgery to remove bullet fragments. She’d be in recovery before he knew it. He just had to wait. And wait. And it was taking a hell of a long time. Roman sat with him, and they waited.

  “Fuck, man.” Threading fingers in to his hair, Rocco dropped into a seat after another lap around the waiting room.

  Cash joined Roman, and they took turns trying to say the right thing and telling him to calm down. They just didn’t get on how many levels he was scared of losing her.

  “She’s tough as she is hot.”

  Rocco glared at Cash, but it wasn’t about her living through a routine surgery.

  Roman threw hands in the air. “You get my point.”

  “And you’ve missed mine. She wanted that shot, and I stole it.”

  His buddies had nothing to add because there was nothing to say. They sat there and watched middle-of-the-night reruns until the morning shows came on. Roman and Cash fell asleep in their chairs. Rocco’s head hung down after asking a nurse for yet another update. It’d been too long, and Jared wasn’t answering his phone—

  Jared and Mia walked in the door. Mia? She held bags of fast food and coffee. Rocco’s gut twisted. Mia the therapist. She was all let’s talk about feelings because that’s how we survive nightmares. Her cute face wasn’t empathetic or pitying. She was all business, and she was facing him.

  “Roman. Cash. Out.”

  Rocco’s head dropped back. “What’s wrong?”

  “Rocco.” Mia sat in Roman’s vacated seat.

  “Yeah, whatever. Say what needs to be said.”

  “She’s having some trouble—”

  “And that’s why you’re here, to help me understand.” He rubbed his hands on his thighs. “News flash. I don’t need help to understand. I’m sorry Boss Man dragged you out of bed. No need to prep me, let’s go see her…”

  “She needs time.”

  What the hell did that mean? He shook his head. “She needed a kill shot. I took it. She doesn’t need time. She needs that notch in her belt. She’ll never get it. So where the hell is her room? No one will tell me anything. She can yell at me. You can yell at me—”

  “Roc, it’s not that simple.”

  “The hell it isn’t.”

  “Rocco—”

  “She’s alive. That’s all that matters.” He slapped Jared on the back on his way out. “So if that’s all you needed to say, I’m gonna go break down some doors until I find my girl.”

  “Cut the crap, Rocco.”

  He spun, walking backward. “No crap to cut. I wouldn’t change a damn thing. I saved her life. I’ll chalk it up to my good deed of the week. Let her bust my balls.”

  “Don’t. She doesn’t want to see you.” Jared’s face was tight. “I’m sorry.”

  He hurt like hell because the woman he loved couldn’t even tell him to his face that it was over. Screw that.

  “Rocco.” Mia’s professional face faltered. “It’s not you, and it’s not over. You just need to give her a chance to sort things out.”

  “But—”

  “Rocco, look man, given… how everything is, you’ve just gotta walk away. Give her a day. Or something. Don’t make me toss your ass out of here. Trust me on this one. Just do the right thing.”

  His jaw hung open. “You’re telling me that’s… to walk away. You want me to walk the fuck away.”

  Boss Man blew out. “I need you to.”

  Rocco slapped the door. Fuck it. “Totally fine. I don’t give a shit. I’m gonna go home. Watch some Duck Dynasty. Work out. Get back to a normal freakin’ life. No head trips. No women making themselves at home. Nothing.”

  “Roc—”

  He punched a vending machine on the way out, accidentally shutting Mia up in the process, but not giving a fuck. Sure, he would hear about that from Winters later, but screw it.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Antiseptic and pancakes. Caterina woke, groggy and uncomfortable. In the background, the sounds of everyday life unfolded. Sugar was laughing. Jared was laughing. Their adopted daughter, Asal, was laughing. Everyone seemed to be having a great Saturday morning. She’d had no place to go after she’d left the hospital—well, she could have gone home, but she couldn’t face Rocco—so she’s asked Jared and Sugar to borrow a guest bedroom. Even that was a mistake. Clutching her stomach, Caterina wanted to fade away. Life was just too complicated.

  Knock. Knock. She didn’t answer, but why would that stop Sugar? It was her house after all. And even if it weren’t, Caterina didn’t think Sugar cared much for permissions.

  “Up and at ‘em, Senorita.”

  Caterina rolled over. “Later.”

  “Thought you might say that.” Sugar flounced on the bed. “Pancake. Eat.”

  “Not hungry.”

  “Don’t care.”

  “Sugar, seriously.”

  “If you don’t want to eat, let’s call Rocco.”

  God she wanted to call Rocco, and she would just die if he walked in and gathered her into his arms. He might just make it all better. But no, who was she kidding? Nothing would be all better. This was life, her new reality. She was happy about it—she had to be. No excuse for not being… Really, she had to get out of there, further away from him so she wouldn’t be tempted. “Fine. I’ll eat.”

  Sugar shook her head. “Does you no good to run from him.

  She hmm-ed.

  “He would absolutely understand.”

  Understand. Ha… “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  “He loves you.”

  “Me, yes. Agree. But what I’ve done…”

  “Oh, Senorita. That’s insane. You haven’t done anything.”

  “Maybe that’s the other half of the problem. I never do anything. Things happen to me. I try but fail.”

  “You’re emotional. Not thinking straight. Eat. Food is fuel, and you need your strength. Then call.”

  She had to get out of there. “Fine. Maybe.” Agree or the conversation would never end. “Eat. Then call.”

  “Mommy!” Asal called from the hall.

  Sugar tossed Cat a cell phone and went out the door, just as Caterina’s mom used to do when she was that age. Laughter erupted followed by too much fun, too much family and love for her to handle. Caterina ached on so many levels. She chewed a few pancakes, not tasting but knowing she needed to eat, and then stared at the phone.

  The one good thing about never having a permanent residence was that Caterina never had the ability to store important documents and files. She’d never received a bank statement or had a check book. Everything was wireless, and everything was memorized, including her bank account numbers and contact lists. She picked up the phone, dialed her favorite North American mover, wired her funds, and had a seat on a cargo plane that would wait for her, just soon as she could wander away from Le Casa De Westin.

  ***

  Asal Westin waved from the fence line, and Caterina knew Jared would kick her ass for pulling a move like this if he ever looked for her, which didn’t seem like a realistic possibility. Caterina had offered to play outside with their kid, and reaching the edge of the property without setting off too many alarms, she asked Asal to count backward from one hundred before telling her parents thank you for the hospitality.

  Feeling like crap on every possible level, Caterina broke into a jog, breathing through the pain in her shoulder, stomach, and heart, and finally she pushed to a run, going until she hit a road with traffic. It took her a few minutes to catch her breath and look less like the psycho she apparently was, then stuck out
her thumb. The first trucker who saw her hit the brakes, and minutes later, she was headed toward a highway before Jared and Sugar could say leaving was a bad idea.

  “You running from something?” The trucker seemed nice enough. Mostly looking for company. “Lots of times I see women running, they’re trying to get safe.”

  “No.” More like keeping someone away from her.

  “Where ya from, anyway?”

  “Puerto Rico.” She lied. Why tell him Spain? There was the slightest chance that Titan, or more specifically, Rocco, would track her. She didn’t need to make it easy for anyone. Maybe he would just give up.

  “Puerto Rico.” He nodded. “I had a girlfriend from Puerto Rico once.”

  The trucker continued to recount his stories of Latin lovers and his appreciation for accents. Rocco loved the way she sounded, and she never told him, but the way he sounded, all American and alpha… He was perfect. Time passed with each new trucker tale until she waved goodbye at a strip mall near the airstrip. She walked along the road, through a security gate, and boarded a waiting cargo plane. Her seat was between wooden pallets, and it would be a long flight. At least she had a small bag from Asal packed with the pancakes they had needed while they played and explored.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  A week had passed since Rocco had seen Jared. No jobs were on the books, so there was no reason for Boss Man to blow up his phone. Finally, a text came through. One look and he hit redial.