"Well, I may have seduced him, stolen his phone, and called you to help against his wishes." I sigh. "After I admitted that I sold him out to his enemy, before I slit his throat," I say in a rush. "It's complicated." I hear Gabe's laughter as I hang up.
Steeling myself, I turn the taps off before yanking the trembling door open. Ronan looks like an approaching storm, dark and ominously deadly. I drop his phone into his hand and duck under his braced arm. "Is breakfast here?" Before I make it three feet away, I'm yanked back by my hair and plastered against his chest. His hands grip my waist, squeezing tight.
"Tread carefully." his voice is laced with a tremor of aggravation.
There's a moment of silence, a moment were I'm not certain what he may do to me—and I delight in it. His expression is unreadable, and that's when Ronan scares me. "Or what, Russian?" I breathe against his lips, unable to help myself. I'm desperate to watch him lose control, like a junkie craving my favorite, dangerous fix.
His nostrils flare and a spark ignites in his cold eyes. "Do not fuck with my business dealings."
"This isn't just business, Ronan. It's personal and you know it. And in case you forgot, this guy isn't just after you."
His warm breath blows over my face, a promise and a threat in one. "Do not meddle in my business, Camilla." He lets go of me then turns to walk out of the room.
Oh, he did not! I follow him, stopping in the kitchen doorway and placing my hands on my hips. "You know what, Russian, the world does not revolve around you. I'm not your fucking captive. I'm a cartel boss who someone tried to kill. So now my cartel will get me a name."
He glares at me, bristling with anger. "You are no one, Camilla!"
"I'm hurt," I say, clutching my chest on a smile. "You may think I'm no one, but your Horseman still tried to kill me. Regardless of you, Ronan, that shit demands retribution. I'm not some helpless damsel caught in the crossfire."
"And retribution shall be had, but I do not need you—" he steps toward me—"a feeble cartel princess, trying to decide what proper business is." He inches toward me. "Learn your place!" he says through gritted teeth.
"And how weak you must feel knowing that the feeble cartel princess managed to slit your throat. Shame I didn't cut just a little deeper," I snarl.
"Yes, the show of a true coward. Slitting a man's throat in his sleep." He grabs a knife from the counter, shoves it in my hand, then presses it to his throat just above the bandage from the last time. The muscles tense when he lifts his chin. "Do it now, Camilla. Slit my throat. See if you win this time."
"Says the man who poisoned me?" My fingers tighten around the handle of the knife and I push the blade against his skin just a little harder, watching as blood wells around the blade. A drop trickles over the stubble of his throat before soaking into the dressing. "They say that poison is a woman's weapon." I lift my eyes to his. "There was a time when I would have opened your throat without blinking.” I toss the knife on the kitchen side, sending droplets of blood across the marble counter top before I take a step back. “How pathetic you've made me."
"Poison is a lover's weapon," he smirks. "The only way I could fuck you as you were dying, my sweet krasivaya."
I squeeze my eyes shut and count to ten. I'm not sure I can do this with him, this volatile merry go round that just seems to go on and on. He's reduced me to nothing, and how can this, this… love possibly be worth the sacrifice? "I can't do this." I turn around and head toward the elevator. I don't even know where I'm going, but I just need out.
He laughs and I hear his footsteps as he follows me. "You have no choice."
I jab the elevator button. "I have a fucking choice, Ronan," I snap, and even I can hear the hint of hysteria in my voice. He sighs behind me before throwing me over his shoulder. "Ronan!" I shout. He ignores me and carts me back into the living room, tossing me onto the sofa.
"So angry," he says, sinking to his knees. "Always so angry." He smiles before spreading my legs apart, his gaze locking on my pussy. Despite the fact that I want to fight him, the second his warm tongue brushes over me, I moan.
"I'm not just your little fuck toy, Ronan," I gasp, even as my legs shamelessly fall open for him.
"Then you shouldn't be so angry." Each word blows a heated breath across me. "It's a fatal form of arousal."
"You make me so fucking angry," I growl, threading my fingers through his hair.
"What a..." he licks over me and my body jerks in response "...dilemma."
I lift my leg and press my foot to his chest, shoving him away onto the floor. I climb off the sofa and stand over him, yanking up the hem of the shirt.
"I'm still fucking mad at you," I whisper, lowering myself over his body until I'm straddling his hips. I wish I could walk away from him sometimes but he's like my own personal brand of crack. I slam my lips over his and bite down hard, the taste of his blood skates over my tongue. His hands land on my hips with a groan and he yanks me up his body so hard that I have to throw my hands out, catching myself on the coffee table before I fall. The hot caress of his breath over my pussy makes me tremble. His tongue thrusts inside me, hard and demanding. A choked moan slips past my lips and my hips roll of their own violation, seeking more, needing him. He fucks me with his tongue mercilessly until I'm screaming his name and riding his face.
As soon as my body stops trembling, I push to my feet. There’s the smuggest of grins on his face. Blood smears his neck, reminding me of our vicious encounter in the kitchen and all the dismissive words he threw my way. An uneasy feeling settles in my chest. He tells me I'm worthless, then fucks me into submission, and I let him. He makes me so utterly powerless and he revels in it. I move away from him, allowing the shirt to fall back in place before walking out of the room.
I need space. I need a moment to think. I go into the en-suite, pressing my back to the door before I slide to the floor and drag my hands through my hair. Closing my eyes, I think of home, of the villa and the desert heat. I miss it, but when I was there I spent my time thinking only of Ronan. Maybe it was because I thought he was dead. Maybe now I could let him go and walk away. We're under siege. The Horseman is attacking us and, instead of standing together, he's pushing me away. And it's working, because right now I want to run until I'm in Mexico.
I didn't choose to stay with him just to be his prisoner. Perhaps this is how it is with people like Ronan and I. We're lone wolves, incapable of working with others.
I push up from the floor and open the door. I grab the clothes Ronan had for me to change into yesterday: a dress and a pair of heels, then I grab one of his coats. On my way out the door, I grab the credit card I took from Gabriel's office.
I wait at the elevator, surprised that Ronan’s nowhere to be seen. Ping. The doors slide open and I step in. It's only in the second before the doors close that I see Ronan step around the corner from the living room, a glass of brandy in his hand and a mask of indifference on his face.
25
Ronan
The elevator doors slowly close. I watch the numbers light up as it carries Camilla to the ground floor.
"Would you like me to fetch her?" Boris asks.
"She's not a dog. She doesn't need to be fetched!" I glare at him as I take a seat by the large window. The city lights of Moscow glitter and glitz, the picture of absolute serenity. Everyone will be starting to wake up, completely unaware of the mounting tensions I've created. Sighing, I raise the glass to my lips in a silent toast to all I've accomplished, and then my view is rudely interrupted by the reflection of Boris stepping up behind me.
"With all due respect..." He clears his throat, his voice slightly wavering, "Sir, it is not safe for the lady to be out."
"She'll be fine," I wave him off.
She's Camilla Estrada, of course she'll be fine.
I sit here, my thoughts whirling in my head as the pink whispers of the pending dawn morph to daylight. As the sun creeps higher into the sky and minutes turn to hours, I half wonder if my little
kitty is running back to her desert after all.
My phone rings and I answer it without glancing at the name. "Yes?"
"Ronan," Arnoldo's thick French accent rolls over the line. "I have news for you."
Arnoldo has only phoned me once, when a rat trying to escape the Bratva showed up on his front step without a head, so I know this must be rather exciting news. "Ah, Arnoldo, I can only imagine it's terrible coming from you."
"Oui, there is a man selling your missiles."
"I'm aware."
"Of course you are. He's contacted me, and I have not made the deal...yet. You are my oldest friend and I thought you could use some information on the imbecile trying to fuck you over."
"Ah, and a good friend, indeed. Go ahead and make the deal. We'll trace the money."
"Very well, and what is in it for me?"
Arnoldo's always been one for a deal. "Free arms for your regime, of course, Arnoldo."
"Merci."
The line clicks and I'm left with a smile. What Camilla does not seem to understand is that where she forces people to bend to her whim... I no longer have to force anyone. And what truer power is there than that?
I rise from the chair, swiping a hand over my face when the elevator door slides open and Camilla steps off. "What a surprise, you returned?"
"I almost went to the airport, but then I called my brother and he offered up some interesting information." There's a pinging noise and she pulls a phone from her pocket, smiling as she stares down at it. "I'm going to need a car," she says.
"Why do you need a car?"
"Because I need to drive somewhere, Ronan. It's not like you don't have god knows how many just hanging around." She cuts a hand through the air and drops the phone back in her pocket.
"I'll have a driver take you wherever you need to go."
I snap my fingers and Boris comes dashing out from the hallway. "Yes sir?"
"Take Ms. Estrada...wherever it is she needs to go."
He nods and glances at Camilla.
"Thank you," Camilla says, annoyance lacing her voice. "And Boris, I'm going to need some gasoline."
A deep wrinkle sets between Boris' brow.
"She does not need gasoline." I raise a brow at Camilla.
"I need gasoline." She glances at Boris. "We can stop on the way. I don't have much time." She strides into the bedroom.
Groaning, I shake my head. "No gasoline," I say when I pass by him.
I follow her to the bedroom where shopping bags litter the bed. Clothes are strewn all about. She's already out of her dress and in a set of black lace underwear. She shoots me a fleeting glance, mostly ignoring me as she puts a pair of black jeans on and pulls a tight, black sweater over her head.
"How very cartel of you," I say, hooking a finger under the heel of the black knee-high boot tossed on the pillow.
"You know me; feeble cartel princess," she says, taking a seat on the edge of the bed and tugging the boots on.
She pushes to her feet. Dressed in all black from head to toe. Red lipstick. She looks ruthlessly savage like this. My cock swells and I make no qualms about adjusting myself. "You look like you're going on a murdering spree."
"Aw, you say the sweetest things." She kisses my cheek. "I'll be a few hours."
"I see." I walk to the closet and grab a tie. "I think black is appropriate." I loop the tie around my neck and knot it. I catch her glaring at me from the corner of my eye. Oh, she's bristling. "Oh?" I turn to face her. "Should I go with red instead?" I flash a smile as I grab my wool coat from the closet.
"Depends. Where are you going?" She reaches inside one of the bags, retrieving a shiny gun before she tips a box of bullets out onto the satin sheets. The clip releases with a click, and she quickly loads it. She's quite resourceful, I'll give her that.
"Hunting it seems." I step toward the door and hold out an arm. "After you, savage."
She violently slams the clip back inside the gun. Oh, I love to wind her up. "You're not coming with me."
I ignore her and walk into the living room. "Boris!" I shout, and he appears from the kitchen, shoving the remnants of a doughnut inside his mouth.
"Warm up the Jaguar."
"Yes," he mumbles, crumbs falling from his mouth as he calls the elevator.
Camilla steps into the room, pulling her long hair into a ponytail. " I said no." The elevator pings and Boris excuses himself. Camilla is seething, the rage literally radiating around her. "You have made it imminently fucking clear that I have no part in your business and am simply your favorite fuck doll. This is my business now, so you are not invited."
I stare at her, my lip slightly twitching as I press the button to the elevator. The doors open and I step in, holding the door.
"I'd rather lose the fucking mark." She backs up, staring at me with cold disdain as she folds her arms over her chest.
We're on a pendulum that swings between anger and sex, and somewhere in the middle is our sense of normalcy. I hold my palms up as if surrendering. "I won't meddle, I simply want to bask in the bloodshed." I smirk. "Is that too much to ask of my little kitty?"
She glares. "No, you want to control me, Ronan. Like a fucking pet on a leash. That's all this is."
"You wound me." I reach out, taking her hand in mine and yanking her into the elevator. "Wild things can't be tamed, Camilla. I'm not a fool."
She pulls away from my grasp, putting as much space as possible between us. "If you interfere, I'm done, Ronan. I mean it."
I simply smirk because she is wound up so tightly, and of her own doing. If I had to guess, she fears she's losing control, and I do understand the sickening feeling that comes with that, I do, but I will make her no promises. The elevator opens into the lobby. Several businessmen stroll about with their young mistresses—such is the way of the wealthy and powerful. Camilla's assassin attire garnishes a few rather interested looks as we walk to the waiting car.
As soon as Boris climbs in, Camilla leans over the seat. "I want my gasoline." She arches a daring brow at me, and I lean back against the seat, flippantly waving my hand through the air.
"Fine, stop at the station and get her some gasoline."
______
The car pulls into the cheap motorway parking lot, slowing to a stop beneath the sign. I glance out through the window at the rusted letters that have come lose and are blowing in the breeze.
"Stay here," Camilla says as she throws open the door.
Smoothing my hand over my shirt, I open my door and step out into the cold air.
Camilla rounds the back of the car with a groan, then moves in front of me. "Really?"
My breath fogs between us.
"It's the middle of the day. Ergo, no bashing down doors. I'm going to get the key, okay?" she says, slowly stepping back. I pull a cigar from my breast pocket and light it, leaning against the side of the car. "I'll be two minutes." She sighs before walking off toward the small office attached to the building. Through the window, I watch the man at the desk look up when she walks inside. She leans forward, flirtatiously brushing her hair over her shoulder while she runs a finger down his chest. My jaw sets and I blow cigar smoke through my nostrils. Within minutes, she's crossing the parking lot, her hips swaying while she dangles a key between her fingers. "Grab the gasoline, please, Ronan."
I toss the cigar to the ground, grab the gasoline, and follow her underneath the rusted breezeway of the motel, the smell of urine and cheap liquor more than offensive. Camilla stops in front of the last door, brushes her hand over her shirt, then knocks on room 214. "No interfering," she says with a hiss, pulling the gun from the back of her jeans. "Housekeeping," she calls out and shoves the key in the door without waiting for a response. The hinges squeak when she pushes the door open and steps into the dimly-lit room.
The sound of running water creeps from underneath the closed bathroom door.
Camilla moves through the room, searching through drawers and luggage. She drops to her knees beside th
e bed and slides a hand under the mattress, smiling before pulling out a gun.
I must admit, this is rather amusing. She's like a small child turned loose in a candy store. My little savage on the prowl. She takes one more look around the room before taking a seat on the edge of the bed and crossing her legs. I raise a brow. "It's rude to interrupt someone's shower," she whispers, a deep grin on her face.
She is something spectacular. She truly is. I take a seat beside her, placing the gas tank on the floor as I watch the door. Waiting. The shower cuts off, the pipes knocking, and she pushes to her feet, positioning herself beside the bathroom door. My pulse thrums with anticipation as I watch the shadow underneath the door. The man's humming, singing to himself, blissfully unaware of the black widow lying in wait to snatch him up. I can hardly contain myself when the doorknob twists. Honestly, I have to stop myself from clapping.
The door swings open and the naked man's eyes land on me right away. Shock ripples across his pudgy face. I arch a brow just as Camilla presses the barrel of the gun to his temple.
"Pedro," she practically purrs at him, nudging the gun against his temple. "Take a seat." The man holds his hands in the air as he shuffles to the chair in the corner.
"Camilla Estrada." He narrows his eyes on Camilla before dragging his gaze over her curves. He shifts in his seat and I can't help but notice the pathetic excuse of an erection he now has. My blood simmers at his blatant disrespect. If I were any lesser of a man, I'd insult him.
"I just threw up in my mouth a little," Camilla says, grabbing a towel from the bed and tossing it at him.
"What do you want?" the man says with a hint of a growl.
"Now, now. Is that any way to speak to a former business associate?" Camilla asks as she takes a seat on the edge of the bed, positioning herself in front of him, the gun still aimed at his head.
How very interesting this is all shaping up to be.
"You've had a lot of my money over the years, Pedro." He continues to glare. "But now, I'd like to know about one of your other clients." He opens his mouth to speak and she holds up a hand. "Ah, ah, ah. Should you tell me what I need to know, I'll leave you alive. If you don't..." She pushes to her feet and bends over in front of him, trailing the tip of the gun down his cheek. "Well, I have very persuasive methods," she says in a husky whisper. "Now, who is The Horseman?"
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