by Karr, Kim
“Oh, Gemma, so beautiful. So beautiful.”
I often wonder if he comes in his pants because he never pulls his dick out, no matter how hard he gets. He’s so disciplined, it’s scary. Me, I’m not disciplined at all. I press a finger inside myself and my lips form a perfect O. Tingles erupt at my nerve endings, and I want to get lost in the feeling. Fuck myself senseless. Forget why I’m here and what I have to do to make this crazy man happy. Forget everything and just chase the feeling of leaving this world behind, if only for a short while.
He clears his throat. “That’s enough, Gemma.”
I don’t stop. I want this. I need this.
“Gemma!”
This time his angered tone gains my attention. It’s not that I’m afraid of him. I don’t care what he does to me. It’s just, I need him to want me, so I stop.
“I don’t have time to take things any further right now.”
Frustration tears through me. I want to come. I want to come so badly I can taste it. And when my fingers stop, a part of me dies. It’s a feeling I can’t hide.
“Don’t worry, angel. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. You should dress now,” he prompts. “In whatever you like,” he adds.
I feel myself come back to life. I know what that means. “You won’t be back tonight or tomorrow either?” I ask.
“I already told you, Penelope and I are taking the boys to Mexico for Thanksgiving, so I won’t see you until Monday.”
Oh, I hadn’t forgotten.
Filled with so much happiness I can barely contain myself, I reach for my silk robe. Still, for his benefit, I frown. I almost want to clap my hands together for my performance. I can’t believe how good I am at this. “It’s just, I’ll miss you.”
He takes a step closer. I’m Starry Night. Flawless. And he’s appreciating his unrestricted view. “Yes, I know.”
I force a tear from my eyes.
He stares, looks, watches as I slide the robe over my shoulders but allow it to hang open. My body is my weapon, and I use it whenever I can.
Soon though, he blinks back to reality and then grabs for the silk sash of my robe, pulling it tight around my body. “I really must be going.”
The tie is a little too tight, but I leave it alone.
“Gemma,” he says, touching my cheek, “I almost forgot, until I can brief your new security detail on my requirements, I don’t want you leaving the condo.”
My jaw drops and I momentarily forget my character. “Until Monday?” I balk.
The fine fabric of his suit rubs against the extravagant silk of my robe. “Yes, it’s just a weekend. Don’t fret. And not to worry, I’ve made certain you have everything you need until then.”
My hatred flares. I turn on my feet to storm from the bathroom, knowing objecting isn’t the best way to remain on track.
Still, this is unacceptable.
I’ve been his object of desire for almost a year. At first, I didn’t understand him. But I do now, and I know nothing I say will change his mind.
Nothing.
Not offering to suck him dry or fuck him hard or lick him from head to toe.
Nothing.
You see, I know this because I know him. After over two years of coincidental meetings at the museum, I finally gave in to his advances.
Of course, I did, but only after learning the things I did. Married or not, I knew being his was the only way to move forward and even the score.
Once I conceded though, I thought I would be his mistress, thought he wanted sex. That fucking him wild would be my way in.
Yet, when I came on to him, he reprimanded me. Correcting me for my actions, he told me he couldn’t be unfaithful to his wife until the time was right. Until I was pure enough that our treacherous act wouldn’t taint his sacramental marriage.
His precious marriage.
I didn’t understand it then. I still don’t, but I also don’t care. All I know is once I agreed to his terms, I became his.
In fact, I’m more than grateful for his oddity. My skin doesn’t have to crawl while he hovers over me and drives his dick into my pussy, my mouth, my asshole.
Instead of being his mistress, I’m his possession . . . a piece of art like those in his private collection—to be seen but rarely touched. To be looked at. Admired. Gazed at. I am a bird in a gilded cage. His cage. A woman in a glass box. His glass box.
The sound of his fine leather shoes echoes on the floor as he follows me into the bedroom. “Oh, and Gemma, now that we have that piece of business out of the way, I have a favor to ask of you.”
Favor.
That’s laughable.
A favor means he has a task I must perform. Stand naked in the sunlight. Turn. Bend. Touch my toes. Arch my back. Step into the moonlight in a white gown. Wear a black teddy. Show him my come face. Lie on the bed and fuck myself with my fingers, a vibrator, or whatever toy he’s found that interests him. Push a plug into my ass and tell him how it feels while I use a dildo in my pussy. His fetishes border X-rated pornography, but he covers them in silk and lace to make them appear more innocent.
He’s never crude or rude about it. The expensive devices are always gifts wrapped with big red bows. And like them, I must remain elegant.
Yes, his favors are endless and his demands bottomless. Kinky. He might be curious, but he’s not willing to do any of it himself. Still, his favors aren’t really favors, they’re sugarcoated demands.
I bet he fucks Penelope missionary-style, on the rare occasion his wife allows him inside her golden pussy. I asked about his sex life once and got in trouble.
His punishments, unlike his favors, are true punishments. Although they are rare, I actually prefer the pain to being his own personal porn star. When, on the odd occasion, I can’t take his demands, and rebel, I’m immediately ordered to bare myself and lay across his lap so he can spank me. Sometimes I come. He doesn’t know it though. And I’ll never tell him. He also gives me the silent treatment as a form of punishment, and guess what, I like that too.
I turn around near the large bed and force another smile. “Anything.”
Stalking in my direction, his eyes are hard as he speaks. This isn’t about my body. He’s in business mode. This is unusual. “I’d like you to meet with an art broker on Monday to arrange for the purchase of the unsold pieces of Andrés Baisden’s collection.”
I loosen my robe so I can breathe. “As far as I know, they aren’t for sale.”
He’s up on me and he tugs my robe free, letting me know he’s in charge. “Everything’s for sale, Gemma. You of all people know this. Find out what it will take and arrange it. I want them.”
His comment is rude. “You didn’t buy me.” I want to shout it from the rooftop. But I don’t. I can’t.
Right now, I’ve never wanted to cover my naked body more. To snatch away from him what he thinks is his. What he thinks he bought. But doing that will only irritate him.
Yes, of course he thinks everything has a price tag.
He thinks my price was a promise for a ticket to a position I really want, money to pay for my brother, my father, for things I could never afford in my lifetime, a beautiful place to live, and of course, him—the most powerful man in San Diego.
He’s never been more wrong.
He doesn’t know it yet, but he will.
“Of course.” The inflection in my voice threatens to inch a little too high, so I say nothing more.
“Good,” he condones with a nod of his head and then circles me like the inanimate object he views me as. “Be ready Monday morning at nine. I’ll have your new security guard here to meet you and he’ll take you.”
“Where?”
“He’ll have the address.”
Stunned by this announcement, I jerk my head over my shoulder. “What about the museum? Isaac will be expecting me at work.”
He’s back in front of me. He skims a finger up the center of my chest and then stops at my chin. “Yes, about that. Starting
immediately, you’ll be taking a leave of absence. I’ve already notified him.”
Rage flares like an inferno in my soul. “Enrique, you know how much I love my job.”
“Yes, and it will be there for you when the time is right for you to return.”
I drop my gaze. “What if Isaac won’t take me back?”
His laugh is dark. “Gemma, he’ll do whatever I ask. But to put your mind at ease, I’ve informed him your skills are needed full-time to help Penelope prepare for the benefit. I told him your assistance is vital to its success.”
It’s not like I haven’t already had to drop everything whenever he needs me. Now it seems I’m to be at his wife’s disposal night and day, as well. “Is that true?” I ask.
He gives me a slow nod. “Yes. Penelope is at a breaking point and has asked for your help.”
“My help?” I find that hard to believe.
He nods. “She can’t take anything else on right now. The extra security is stressing her out. She wants to unload more of the benefit duties onto you. Isaac completely understood and was more than accommodating, even offering use of your office as the temporary benefit headquarters.”
The Benefit—for The Powers of the Higher Mind is now an annual event that has taken on a life of its own.
The Benefit—an occurrence that has made art the new black in this town.
The Benefit—a duty I once loved and now loathe.
Yes, I imagine Isaac was more than agreeable. After all, Enrique is the major benefactor for the museum.
But Penelope—Enrique’s wife—wanting my help doesn’t make sense. She’s a cold-hearted snob who looks at me like the unwanted piece of gum stuck to the bottom of her red Louboutin sole.
So why does she want me around even more?
There has to be a reason.
Does she know about us?
No, she can’t.
Enrique has been way too careful.
Gutted, I stare at him, wishing tiny arrows could shoot from my pupils and land right in his black, beating heart.
I want to argue and scream at him, beg him to not take my job from me. But I don’t.
I want to tell him what a bitch his wife is to me. But talking about his wife is taboo, so I don’t.
There’s a line I know better than to cross. It’s a thin line that makes me disposable. And disposable isn’t part of the plan. Indispensable is what I need.
So instead of throwing a tantrum, I suck in a breath knowing my job is the only thing I have left that means anything to me, besides my revenge, and I can’t risk losing either.
He slides his palms down my breasts. “Gemma, do you understand your priorities?”
I nod, wishing I could make my nipples go hard to give him the illusion I want him, but even the cold of the room can’t stir them. “I do,” I feign arousal in the tone of my voice, instead.
He takes a step back. “Just to be clear, I want that collection, and you will secure it for me.”
I look up. In a small voice I answer, “Yes. I will do the best I can.”
He nods. “I know you will.”
This venture is something I’m unsure of. He’s never asked me to get involved in his affairs.
This is new.
He doesn’t think I pay attention to what he’s doing, but I do—very close attention. I listen. I ask. I snoop.
I figured him out a long time ago.
Discovered he keeps all his treasures in his office at home where he can look at them whenever he wants. I’m fairly certain he’d keep me there too, if he could.
Sending me out to do what he would normally take care of with a phone call tells me he’s even more paranoid than usual. I won’t lie. I’m partly to blame for this. Still, I haven’t done enough to make him resort to sending someone to do his bidding.
I’m not sure what else is going on. What if someone succeeds in taking him down? Killing him first? The very thought scares the living daylights out of me.
If he ceases to exist, so does my chance at vengeance.
Uncertain just how real the threats are, I decide I must move fast.
I have to get back the mind he took from my father, the soul he robbed from my brother, and the beating heart he ripped from my mother’s chest.
To do that, I must first take back the pink diamond he stole from me!
Chapter 6
The Man
Caleb Holt
IF YOU SNOOZE, you lose.
It’s that simple.
Many people sleepwalk through life. If you don’t notice your surroundings, then you’re going to pay the price, especially when you’re being watched.
Make no mistake about it though; my task force surveillance team is lethal. We’re very effective at what we do. We’ve not only got years of experience behind us, we also have massive resources. In any one investigation, the six of us will be watching you. But you’ll never see us and I guarantee if you do—you’ll never see us twice.
The team consists of six of us. We’ve been together since the beginning of this op. There’s Ayden Pierce or Drum as we call him because he never stops tapping his fucking fingers on the desk. Lucas Ferguson or Gin, short for his favorite liquor. Taylor Rhys or Rice. Julian Ryder or Bond because he’s smooth like James Bond. And finally, Liam Stone or Ford since he loves his old pickup truck more than anything. Each has their own story, their reasons for being here, each is my brother, and every one of them I would put my life on the line for.
Our triple-threat surveillance strategy reigns supreme. And our rapid response, managed aggression, and lack of utter stupidity should always be taken seriously.
That’s how it always works.
Until now, anyway.
My foolproof strategy seems to be failing on all levels when it comes to Cleo.
Then again, the telltale signs are there. He knows we’re watching him. His tactics to impair my ability to get the information I need are really pissing me off. Cleo is a hard target—that’s spy talk for a target who knows what he’s doing.
“I’M SORRY,” the screen reads, “BUT THE PERSON YOU ARE TRYING TO CONTACT IS NOT INTERESTED IN WHAT YOU ARE OFFERING.”
I pound my fist on the desk and slam the lid down. “Fuck you, Cleo!” I yell. “I’ll find something you are interested in.”
The guys look at me as if I’m insane. I’m not saying I’m not. I’m talking to a computer, for Christ's sake, but it’s been a long fucking time coming. Every time I try to prod deeper for further inquiries into any recent art purchase Cleo has made, I get nowhere. The whole every precaution is being made to ensure the anonymity and security tag line that the deep web offers is really starting to piss me off. Now, I can’t even dangle forbidden fruit to try to lure him in. A painting that isn’t even for sale doesn’t interest him. That’s it. I’ve fucking had it.
The walkie goes off. “We have a sighting.”
I look around the room and know what I have to do. “Drum, grab our shit. We’re going after him,” I order.
He eases back from the computer screen and leans into the chair across from me. Throwing his legs up onto the desk, he proceeds to cross them at his ankles. Chewing on the end of his pen, he deadpans, “We can’t do that and you know it. We don’t have affirmative on the target.”
Jamming to my feet, I fling his legs off my desk. “I don’t give a flying fuck what we have or don’t have. If it’s not him, I’ll wait inside the building for a fucking week if I have to. I need to find this asset and get him on my side.”
“Waiting for him is giving him a surefire reason to bail. Sight unseen, I might add,” Drum tells me, ignoring my little tantrum and hefting his legs back onto my desk.
I circle the desk and stare him down. “Fine, then I’ll pull the fire alarm to draw him in. I’m sure whatever he has in there is important to him. If it’s him in the building, that should get him running to us.”
Drum shakes his head. “Or not.”
“Time is running short.
We need him,” I bite out.
Cleo’s name appears on more than two-dozen of the financial records for illegal transactions on the Mona Lisa, and they all have to do with pieces of art.
What’s the Mona Lisa you ask?
It’s the Amazon of underworld crime. It’s the eBay of vice. Guns, drugs, diamonds, art, and spilled blood are all commodities traded on the deep web with Leonardo at the helm.
Leonardo, the name makes my blood boil, just like the man behind the name.
I’m Caleb Holt and I’ve spent four years of my fucking life trying to find him, nail him, trying to bring him down. Him and everything he stands for.
He’s the last of the five heads of the Drug Cartel that is still breathing, and he’s mine.
Medina and Blanco were taken out.
I didn’t take them out.
Not personally.
Sure, I tried to bring them in the old-fashioned way and when that didn’t work, I ousted them to their enemies.
Now, that worked.
Replacements have come and gone, but none are as powerful as when the five were together. Until Cruz, the silent one, stepped up. He was the one we could never identify. Not until that night four years ago when I penetrated his compound on a tip from a slime ball that turned out to be playing both sides.
Cruz is the sole heir to the Mona Lisa.
The only Leonardo left.
Who the fuck knew we were helping him create a monopoly?
Not me.
He owes me a fucking hell of a lot, and I intend to collect with his head one way or another.
The reason he’s still standing is simple. He doesn’t live in the gutter or under the brush—he lives out in the open for the entire world to see. He’s a prominent businessman, a high-level member of The Powers of the Higher Mind, and he travels among the elite circles of San Diego, which makes nailing him a bit tougher.
First of all, I can’t get close enough.
Second, no one is willing to share any dirt about him.
And finally, there is nothing to link him to the largest illegal operation to hit the states since cocaine.
