Like, way too turned on. Again, I want to blame the insanity of my first twenty-four hours on a field mission, or even the serious dry-spell going on in terms of my sex life. But, I know it’s more than that. Javier is crude, and piggish, and like some sort of manic wild animal. But the problem is, it’s that animal inside of him that's drawing me in like a moth to a flame, and I can't figure out how to extinguish it.
A small beach motel finally reveals itself around the next bend, and I breath a sigh of relief; finally. I need to phone Langley and report in to Koufax and the rest of the team before they think I'm dead, plus the two of us seriously need clothes. This whole debacle is finally almost over. After this, I can go home, and leave all the horrible stories of my one day with Javier Toro behind.
"Great, we can hole up here," Javier says. He turns, his hands on his hips and his body glistening with sweat in the heat of the day.
“’Hole up'?" I stare at him before I shake my head; "No, actually, we're going to call this in right n-"
“You don’t know who those men were, do you."
I frown at him; “No.”
"Any ideas at all about how they knew who you were, or where you were?”
"I-" The words falter on my lips as I pause, my brow furrowing.
“Yeah, thats what I thought.” He says, looking at me sharply.
“Well enlighten me, criminal mastermind,” I say, rolling my eyes at him; “Who were they?"
Javier narrows his eyes at me; "They're called Blackriver."
That name; it hits a nerve somewhere, like I've heard it before.
"Oh, you know it."
Blackriver. Something to do with dad-
"Mercenary group; guns for hire," Javier says, his words sharp and his eyes flashing at me; "It's where your father found those little toy soldiers you and your sisters can't stop spreading your legs for."
My eyes flash at the mention of my family; “Don’t be fucking crude, and don’t you dare talk about them like that.”
“So, you put out for that little guy, yet?" Javier's teeth are white and shark-like as he grins at me, cocking an eyebrow; "Whats his name, Rice? Bryce, that's it."
"Fuck you." I spit out.
"That a yes?"
"I- ew, no." I wrinkle my nose. Bryce is like a brother - a weird, quiet, brother, but still. We’ve joked about it before of course; how both my sisters have ended up with his two brothers. But the idea of the two of us like that? Yeah, no way. Besides how cliched that would be, like some sort of bad romance movie plot, Bryce and I click like friends or siblings; nothing more.
Of course, none of this is Javier’s Goddamn business in the slightest bit.
"Don't be disgusting."
Javier chuckles; "It's a honest question."
I shoot him a look before he just shrugs; "Well, anyways, thats where they all came from; from Blackriver."
“What the heck would they want with me?"
Javier shrugs; “Great question, because honestly they should have everything to do with me. What they want with a C.I.A. operative is beyond me, because pulling a stunt like that seems fucking insane, even to me.” He shakes his head; “But you have to think about that for a second.”
I stare at him, waiting for more.
“You’re a C.I.A. Agent on a secret mission, right?"
I roll my eyes; “It’s not that spy-movie sounding, but sure. Get to the point here, Javier." I eye the payphone across the street from the beach motel; my lifeline back home and my ticket off this island and out of this ridiculous adventure with him.
"And they knew where you were?"
I frown, suddenly hating to admit how much of point he has here; "OK, why would they try and-"
He shakes his head; “No fuckin idea. But believe me, honey; you want nothing to do with Blackriver."
"Oh yeah? And what makes you the expert on-”
"Those daddy’s boys of yours?"
I grit my teeth, and Javier seems to grin at my annoyance; "I hired them."
What?
"I worked with Blackriver; the same Blackriver that knows who and where you are when only the damn C.I.A. should know that." Javier looks pointedly at me; “Sure sounds to me like someone sold you out, princess. You still want to make that fucking phone call?"
Goddamnit. I hate how much sense his crazy talk is making, and I hate how much I’m actually buying into it. The voice inside is screaming that this is all some sort of long-con mind-game of his; all part of his plan to ditch out and run away. But on the other side of that coin, I did get ambushed by a bunch of men with guns, and as much as I absolutely hate to admit it, the only reason I’m here and not God-knows-where-else or dead is because of the criminal standing in front of me.
"Don't."
I frown; "What?"
"Don't ask 'what now'"
"I wasn't goi-"
"You were so." Javier smirks at me, and I can feel my blood boiling. I’m not thinking about seeing his cock anymore, I'm thinking about getting away from the obnoxious, arrogant asshole I’m saddled with right now.
"It's your operation, spy-girl. So what's your move?”
The cocky Spaniard rakes his fingers through his long, dark hair; pushing it back from his face. He’s so fucking arrogant in the way he acts like he’s letting me be in charge here; as if he’s allowing me to believe I’m still the boss. He’s egotistical, he’s full of swagger and macho bravado, and for God’s sake, he needs to put a fucking shirt on.
"We need to lay low, until I can figure this out."
He grins; “Now you’re talking sense, princess."
I whirl away from him as I storm towards the main office of the run-down looking motel, but it’s not so much out of anger this time. This time, it’s to hide the grin on my face, because for the first time, I don't mind him calling me that.
"You're in deep shit, agent."
Koufax's voice is his usual weasel tone, though he sounds even more annoyed at me than usual.
The pay-phone in the parking lot of the motel is hardly a secure line, but we've got protocol for things like this. Koufax, as sputtering mad as he is, also sounds like he's sputtering mad through about three layers of cardboard with all the proxy lines we're being wired through to avoid a trace.
"Where the fuck have you been?”
"We were ambushed at the hotel, sir. I had to break cover when we ran, and we've been in hiding since. This is the first call I could make."
"Ambushed?" Koufax's tinny voice drips with sarcasm even through the thirty-odd connections we're being patched through.
"Yes, sir. There were trained men there; definitely a para-military group of some-”
"Toro." Koufax's voice cuts me off abruptly; "Do you have Toro, Agent Archer."
I'm fine, and I'm not dead. Thanks for asking, asshole.
"Yeah, I've got him."
I can almost hear Koufax frowning on the other end of the line; "Well, where is he, exactly."
"We're at a motel, sir. He's back in the roo-"
"You're at a motel?!" Koufax's voice explodes with anger, his tone sharp through the receiver; "Wha- you-" He starts to sputter; "You just left him in the motel room to make a fucking phone call?!”
I wince, knowing how this probably sounds; "He's not going to run, sir, he-”
"Of course he's going to run!" He rages through the phone; "I knew sending an undertrained, under-qualified agent was a total shit idea! Goddamnit!" He spits out a stream of expletives before his voice is suddenly louder and clearer in the phone, as if he's cut out all the middle-lines; "You're fucking this up, Agent." His voice is gravel, and I swallow the lump in my throat; "I don't think you're quite appreciating the man you have under your charge. Javier Toro is a snake, Agent Archer. Do not let him out of your fucking sight, and don’t trust a word he says about anything. If he even is still there in that motel room when you get back in there, you will do your fucking job, apprehend the target, and wait for further instructions."
Further instructions?
"Sir? Shouldn't we move to extract as soon as possible?”
"We need to assess the intel for this paramilitary ambush before you do anything to put this mission in any further jeopardy, Agent." I grit my teeth together and try to push the lump in my throat back down yet again as he let’s the words marinate in my ear.
"Do not fuck this up anymore, Chelsea," He says quietly; "Get back to your target and you lock him down."
*****
There's a weight on my shoulders as I walk back across the parking lot to the beach-side motel. I mean, I get that Koufax is just being an asshole and using the meager power he's been given over me to the fullest extent he can. But then again, there's a kernel of truth inside all that needless belittling and chastising. I have fucked up. Javier Toro is a criminal - a mark that it's my job to apprehend, subdue, and bring in - and here I am checking into a beach motel with him like we're on a vacation or something.
Sure, I don't think he's going to run off, but then, I wonder how many other people he's screwed over or hurt have had the exact same thought before he showed his hand? Did Logan think of him as someone he could trust before Javier ended up blackmailing him into those underground boxing matches?
You're fucking this up, Agent.
I take the stairs two at a time to the second floor and break into a run towards our door. I suddenly cannot believe that I allowed myself to think it'd be ok to leave him unwatched like that back at the room!
He's gone, he's definitely-
I slam through the door shoulder-first, my breath coming in gasps and my eyes flying wildly around the room.
Javier looks up from the bed he's draped across, a tattered looking paperback in his hand; "What the fuck happened to you?"
I stare at him, my eyes unblinking and my mouth thin; he's here. He hasn't skipped out or left, and he wasn't waiting to ambush me the second I walked in.
"Nothing, I..." I trail off and let my shoulder drop as I step more calmly into the room.
"Well, you look fucking crazy right now." He grins at me and starts to get out of the bed; "Why don't we go grab something to eat somew-"
"You don't leave this room, is that understood?" My voice is icy and cold; way colder than I meant it to be, but I at least end up sounding every inch the stone-cold agent I meant to sound like; "You’re a fugitive under command of a U.S. Federal Agent. You stay right here, is that clear?"
Javier's eyes narrow at me, the grin from earlier slowly curling into a tight-lipped frown; "Well someone went and found herself a pair of cahones." He growls at me, his fists tightening at his sides; "What’s got your panties in a fuckin twist all of a sudden, princess?”
"I said is that clear, Toro."
His eyes flash fire at me. For some insane reason, I feel like I'm letting him down or something in that moment; like I'm somehow betraying him.
Screw that, this man is the definition of betrayal.
“Yeah, fuckin comprende, Agent," He growls, nodding his head. His eyes narrow at me before he lays back onto the bed and picks up his book. For some reason, I instantly feel a pang of regret for coming on so strong. I know it's just Koufax's over-the-top asshole-ness filtering through me, and I almost want to apologize.
But of course, I can't do that. Apologizing shows weakness, and weakness to Javier Toro is like blood in the water for a shark.
"Look, I'm going to go to that sandwich place across the street and get us something," I soften my voice, trying to banish the hardcore agent bitch voice from before; "What can I get you to ea-"
"Your pick, princess. You're in charge, remember?" He smirks at me and shakes his head before he looks back into his book.
"Um, what the hell is that?"
Chelsea stands in the doorway, a bag of food in her hands and scowl on her face.
It's exactly the reaction I was looking for.
"It's a beer, sweet cheeks; una cerveza, if you wanna get bilingual with it." A big shit-eating grin creeps across my face as I tilt back the cold bottle and take a big swig.
Leaving the room the second she ducked out to get us food, after that ridiculous little speech about her being in charge, was my little way of saying "yeah, sure." Sure looks like its working.
"Where did it come fro- never mind." She mutters, slamming the door shut and putting the bag on the table by the window; "I got you turkey."
"I'm more of a hamburger guy."
She narrows her eyes at me before all but overhand throwing the sandwich at me; “Deal with it."
I grin and reach for another beer and offer it her way; "Beer?"
Chelsea huffs and rolls her eyes, and my own gaze lingers a bit longer than it probably should on her as she brushes a strand of blonde behind her ear; "Uh, yeah, I don't think so."
I smirk, already anticipating this exact conversation; "Why not?"
She's going to say something about being on the job, or how I am who I am, or some other way of trying to tiptoe her way around saying she just flat out doesn't trust me. The fantasy I've got is that she actually doesn't trust herself around me, but I'm pretty sure that’s just the dry-spell talking. I shake my head and cut her off before she can utter whatever lame reason she was about to toss out; "Have a beer, spy-girl; you've earned it."
She eyes me warily and I laugh; "Look, I just went out for beer, sweetheart. I won't leave again; scout's honor, or, thieves honor, or, whatever. You're in charge, alright?”
I hope it doesn't come off too much like I'm stroking her ego, since that's exactly what I'm doing. The old me - the normal me - would use this sort of thing all the time to gain an upper hand on someone. Stroke their ego, build them up, give them false confidence and trust in you, and then you strike.
Except for the first time in, well, ever, that's not my goal here in this motel room with Chelsea Archer. Right now, I actually just want her to fucking relax and have a damn drink with me.
"One beer, princess," I grin at her, seeing the dead-set resolve start to melt from her face; "We've had a crazy two days, and hey, you've got the notorious bandito in custody. The little town on the prairie is safe, and you’ve earned a beer, sheriff.”
She grins then, and I feel a strange sense of, I guess it’s happiness, inside seeing her finally relax. The old me would have felt triumph, like I'd won; seeing her cave to my suggestions like that. But for some bewildering reason I feel different now.
Must be prison, I mutter to myself, shaking my head and trying to search deep for the old me. The old me was a real piece of shit, but the old me also didn’t get twisted up inside trying to make some cop of a chick like him; like I fucking need her attention or give a flying shit what she thinks about me.
I crank the top off the bottle and pass it her way as she sits on the second bed opposite me and starts to unwrap her sandwich; “So, the C.I.A., huh?" I raise an eyebrow at her; "I mean how does that even work? You just walk in and ask for a job application or something?”
Chelsea snorts; "It's slightly more complicated than that."
Scorch: A Soldiers of Fortune Romance (Military Bad Boy Romance) Page 6
