by Alaska Jones
I can’t help the bewildered grimace on my face. “You expect me to believe that you did all this,” I point around the once again messy room in a sweeping gesture, “for a plate of pasta? You think I’m stupid?”
“No, not a plate,” she says, leaning back on her hands without even trying to untie her feet. “I want the whole thing. And a coffee. Doesn’t seem so silly now, does it?”
I stare, not buying her act. The Jenna that set me up at her apartment first chance she got just can’t be the same woman that sits there smirking, as if she’s just come up with something incredibly smart.
I’d love to shake the truth out of her, but there’s no time. So I nod my head and go to the living room, only to return in a minute with a spare key and a rope. She scowls at me, but doesn’t seem half as upset as I’d expected her to be, and again, a tiny alarm goes off in my head.
“Wanna fight some more, or can we make this quick?” I ask, standing over her with the rope in my hand.
She glares at me and tosses me the keys in a careless gesture, then crosses her hands behind her back. “Do you have to do this, or do you just get off on it?”
“How else can I teach you that I do not appreciate you sabotaging my every move?”
“You also don’t appreciate me having two hands, apparently,” she mutters, flexing her wrists against the tight rope.
“Fine. You can keep the hands.” I loosen the rope a little and turn to the door.
“What, you’re gonna leave me like this for the whole day?”
“I didn’t even tie you to the bed. You’ll survive.”
Her eyes say, I’ll murder you in your sleep, but she doesn’t say anything. The last thing I see as I walk out of the apartment door is her watching TV, as if nothing happened.
That’s when I realize the problem: she’s not scared of me anymore. And as much as I don’t feel like going back to the way things were, when she stared at me like I was some kind of a freak, I admit that a little bit of distance would be good for my own peace. But now is not the time to be thinking about this.
The name of yesterday’s Mexican restaurant’s owner is Lucas Oliveira, and he’s about to have a very bad day.
On top of him being the only lead to Hunt, Jenna made sure I left home in the foulest mood possible. The road takes what seems like forever, and by the end of it, even the Jeep begins to protest against my angry driving style. I ignore the annoying sputtering of the engine, making a mental note to check it later, and pull over a few yards away from the house that Lucas lives in.
The neighborhood is deserted this time of day, and the ground under my feet is too hot to stand still. I unbutton my suit jacket, adjust my sunglasses, and walk casually into the backyard.
No one looks out the windows as I come up to the back door and pick the old lock. It’s dusty and dim inside, and a radio is humming somewhere behind the wall, along with what sounds like a spattering pan on a stove. I make my way through the small living room, taking my Beretta out from behind my back, until I spot a short, sturdy man in the kitchen. He’s wearing loose track pants and a black T-shirt, and there’s a cell phone in his hand.
“Maria! Maria, you hear me? Not the green one! You know I hate it, so find something else. Yes, yes… Alright.”
I wait for him to put the phone in his pocket and pick up a spatula before I cross the kitchen in two steps and grab him from behind, clamping a hand over his mouth.
“Don’t move.” I press the gun to his head. “Wife and kids out?” He mumbles and nods his head, then freezes with his hands up. “I’m gonna take my hand off your face now so you can answer my questions, but if you scream, I’ll shoot you like a dog. Understood?” He nods again, so I let go of his sweaty face and turn him around by the shoulder.
Next second, he throws some cup at me and dashes out of the kitchen.
I swear, feeling something soak through my shirt, and run after him. My fingers close on his arm before he has a chance to reach the back door, and I yank him sideways, slamming him into a wall. Being about twice his size, I have no difficulty holding him there with one arm.
“Do you have a death wish, Lucas? I’m here to talk.” I curse when I see a big red blotch on my shirt. Good thing I’ve got my jacket to cover it up. “Yesterday, there was supposed to be a meeting at your restaurant. It had something to do with the man named Anthony Hunt. What do you know about it?”
“Nothing! You mistake me for someone else!”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” I press down on his back, so he flattens against the wall, turning his head sideways. “Who set up the meeting?”
“There was no meeting! I don’t know anything! Please, go!”
“I’m not going anywhere, and you’d better start talking, if you don’t want me to stick around to meet your family. Tell me who set up the meeting. Who do you work with?”
“Marquez, I work with Marquez! But there was no meeting, I swear!”
“I know there was no meeting, you moron! I said it was supposed to happen at your restaurant. Stop playing dumb and tell me everything you know about it. Marquez who?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know!” he screams, more panicked than before. “He offered me protection a few years ago, and he meets with people there sometimes. He called me yesterday and asked me to close the place for a private meeting, but that’s all I know, I swear!”
“I want his phone number and full name,” I press.
“It’s just Marquez! I’ll give you his number, just go, I’m begging you!”
I tune out his panicked mumbling, spotting a pen on a coffee table, and shove him to it. “Write down the phone number.”
He does as I say and hands me a piece of paper. I make sure he sees me looking at the photos on the wall before I turn back to him. “Is that your family?”
He swallows hard, nodding his head. “Please, go before they get home! I told you everything I know!” His eyes dart to the photos and grow two times bigger. “I can show you a picture!”
“What?”
“Marquez, I have his picture!” he lunges across the room, the careless fool that he is. Were I some dumb goon, he’d probably be stuffed with bullets now. “We had a big party! He was there, Marquez, look, look!” his fat finger points at a dark-haired man next to him in the picture. Sunglasses cover his eyes, but still, something about him is vaguely familiar. “Please, don’t tell him about this! He’ll kill us all, he’ll kill us!”
“I won’t.” I take the frame from him and get the photo out with one hand. Now, this is a lead. The guy that’s watching Jenna’s place isn’t worth my time anymore. “I’ll take this, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course, of course,” he mumbles, staring at his feet and backing out into the kitchen.
“If anyone finds out about this visit, I’ll come back. Got it?” I hide the picture in my pocket and open the back door.
“No one will know, I swear, I won’t tell!”
“Good. Go into the kitchen, Lucas.”
He nods his head and disappears behind the wall.
I make sure to button my jacket before heading out to the car, grimacing at the wet fabric against my skin. It smells like wine and looks like blood, and I wonder if I have a clean shirt in the trunk. Last thing I need is to get pulled over by cops, looking like this. But five minutes later, when I stop the car in some alley, I realize just how convenient it is for my problem with Jenna. I couldn’t have come up with a better idea.
I mentally thank Lucas and take out my laptop and the picture he gave me. I copied all the pictures from Jenna’s smartphone on the first day and sorted through them a few times, but still, it takes me a few minutes to find the one I need. In the picture, she’s standing with Hunt and Marquez, her arms around them. Her relaxed pose and big smile tell me he’s not some stranger.
I send the picture to my smartphone and floor the gas pedal, preparing myself for the show. Playing people is part of the job, but playing Jenna? How well did that turn ou
t in the past?
I want her to stop getting in my way, but I don’t want to overdo it so that she does something stupid again, like climbing out the window. Lost in thought, I lose track of time, and the road home seems much faster. Before I know it, I’m standing at the door with the key in the lock.
The TV is murmuring in the bedroom, and I can see her sitting on the bed as I go to the living room. I take a minute to myself, drinking some water and staring at the photograph in my hand. She’s gonna hate me, the thought flashes in the back of my head, but I wave it off. Who cares? The job is all that matters.
She stares up at me as I come in, pale in the dim light. I stand in the middle of the room and cross my arms on my chest, noticing how the wine stain has dried up already.
“What do you know about a man named Marquez?”
She blinks and scrunches her brow. “Nothing. I don’t know a Marquez.”
I pause, taken aback. Why is she covering for him?
“Let’s try this again,” I say, pacing slowly from wall to wall. “There’s a man who works with Hunt, named Marquez, and I know for sure that you two are acquainted.”
She rolls her eyes. “I told you already, I don’t know who you’re talking about. You’re blocking the TV. Go question someone else.”
I turn off the TV with a sigh.
“Hey!” she exclaims, but when I turn to her and take off my jacket, she snaps her mouth shut. Her eyes impossibly big, she stares at my shirt, still as a deer in headlights. “What have you done?” she murmurs, but I dismiss it with a wave of my hand.
“Nothing I haven’t done before. Is your memory better now, by any chance?” I say as I walk over to the bed. The way she scrambles away from me makes me sick, but I ignore it and grab the rope on her ankles, dragging her back to me. “No?”
“Have you gone mad??” she kicks at me and sits up, eyes flashing. “I told you the truth, I don’t know! Can’t we talk like normal people, or do you have to treat me like an animal? You can’t keep doing this!”
In a flash, I push her down and sit on top of her.
“I can do whatever I want,” I whisper in her ear, feeling goosebumps on her skin as I slide my thumb down her shoulder. “Especially, since you’re still playing for the other team. Last try, Jenna. Tell me the truth.”
I pull back, holding her terrified stare. Her expression is a mix of confusion and fear, and I realize that I really am a monster, because I find her even more beautiful like this. Fascinated, I trace the line of her jaw with my finger, more aware of her soft body underneath me than ever. She’s silent, either too stubborn to speak or just speechless. Something inside me snaps then, and all of a sudden, I can’t stop.
“Tell me, when you dress like this, what do you expect from me?” I move my hand down her leg, barely touching it with my fingertips, making her shiver.
“Nothing,” she breathes out, and I see her chest rise shakily. She’s scared. Good.
“Really?” I sit back on my heels, pulling at the rope to straighten her legs. “I think, you’re doing it on purpose. Either you’re trying to make me uncomfortable…” Carefully, I pull at the rope, undoing the knot. If she’s still able to fight, I’ll see it in a second. “Or you’re trying to provoke me.”
The rope is off, but she doesn’t even seem to notice. Actually, it looks like all she’s focused on is breathing.
“What do you expect from me, Jenna? This?” I slide my hands up her legs, slowly, deliberately, watching her face change as her eyes flutter closed for a second. I push her knees apart, and she watches me lie down on top of her, motionless. “This?” I whisper, wrapping one of her legs around my hips as I press down on her. She closes her eyes with a sigh. “Maybe this?” Gripping her butt with my fingers, I grind against her and feel her body tense in response. “Stare all you want, but I know why you’re doing this. Torturing me. Tell me you don’t want this.” I press the length of my erection between her legs, this time hearing a definite sigh of pleasure. “Lie to me again. Tell me you’re disgusted.”
“My hands are tied,” she whispers, and when I see those perfect, full lips move, I lose it.
I slip my fingers into her hair and lift her head, claiming her mouth in a deep kiss. The way she sucks hungrily on my lips has my cock twitching in my pants, and I dig my fingers into her thigh, pulling her closer. She rocks her hips into me with a moan, straining up to deepen the kiss. I know I must be crushing her, but I push the thought away, giving her what she wants.
My hand slides up her stomach and under her top, searching for the clasp on her bra, but before I can find it, she suddenly breaks the kiss and freezes. I open my eyes to find her staring at me as if I’m Death incarnate.
She moves her shoulders uncomfortably, with her hands still tied behind her back, and it hits me like a tsunami.
A week ago, she was still sleeping with another man, the man I’m about to kill. And it’s bad enough I’ve got her tied up and scared into obedience, but the way she’s responding to it, knowing what I am? I may not want to blame her, but this is not me. I can’t be this man.
Dizzily, I pull back and get on my feet. It feels like we’re stuck in slow motion as she watches me with an unblinking gaze while I pick up my jacket and search for my phone.
The spell shatters when I look at the bright screen and find Marquez’s photo. For a second, I just stare at her smiling face. She’s happy there, tan and somewhat skinny, and her hair is in perfect waves. Looking at her now, I feel sick, because I’m the one who turned her into this trembling, terrified mess.
“This is Marquez,” I hear my own voice as if from far away as I drop the phone on the bed for her to see. “Tell me you don’t know him.”
I quickly untie her hands before walking out and crashing with my back up against the wall in the hallway, where she can’t see me. I was a fool to think things were messed up before. Now, they’re so fucked up, there’s only one thing I can think about: getting out of here. Finishing the job and sending her away. In fact, I can finish it without her.
Because one more incident like this one, and I won’t be able to let her go.
Chapter 18
Jenna
I sit still, struggling to find my breath. I inhale and instantly regret it, intoxicated by his scent. It’s all too much, too overwhelming to think. He’s on my lips, in my hair, pressing down on my body in a way that makes me forget my own name. He’s gone, and yet, he’s still all over me.
With trembling fingers, I reach into my bra and take out the key that I hid there a few hours ago while Cage was looking for rope. He’d had two keys from the bathroom on the key ring, and now, I pray he doesn’t notice that one of them is gone.
I lick my lips numbly, hiding the key in the pillow case, when his phone catches my eye. There’s a picture of me, taken a year ago in the Bahamas, with Anthony and his friend. I stare at it for a minute, dumbfounded, before I find my voice.
“Um… Cage?” I call out, deciding it’s better to sort this out here and now.
The apartment is silent, as if I’m the only one here, but he shows up in the doorway after a minute. His stained shirt is unbuttoned, and I quickly look down at the phone when the memory blazes up in my head, scorching me. His weight on me, the taste of his lips, his fingers in my hair. I find myself shaking my head, trying to clear it.
“This is the man you’re looking for?” I point at the man next to me in the picture. Cage nods once, blinking wearily. “His name’s Marc. He’s an old partner of Anthony’s. I heard Anthony talk about him a lot, but we only met a couple times on vacations.”
Cage frowns and swallows hard, fidgeting with a button on his cuff. “Marc Marquez?”
I shrug my shoulders. “Must be. I never knew his full name.”
Silence presses down on us as he stares at me for a few long seconds. It’s one of the few times I’ve seen him without the usual mask of cold watchfulness, and his look is a mix of frustration and pain. I gaze at him, mesmerized, wish
ing I knew what he was thinking about. He passes a hand over his face, pressing two fingers to his eyelids for a second, and just like that, it’s gone. He’s himself again.
“Tell me what you know about him.” He walks over to the armchair, and I watch him fold his long figure into it as I try to gather my thoughts.
“Um, it’s mostly work stuff. Nothing of interest. I know that he’s not married, and he lives in a villa just out of town. He’s thirty… six, I think? And he always bragged about his sports car collection. That’s about it.”
“Do you remember where the villa is located?”
“I remember the road, and I think I can describe it, so you won’t miss it. Why? You think Anthony’s there?”
“He might be.” He walks out without saying anything else, but I stay on the bed, feeling like the conversation isn’t finished. A minute later, while I rub on my aching wrists, he returns with a laptop and sits on the bed a safe distance away from me. “Which road?”
I point out the road for him on Google Maps, and it only takes me a few seconds to find the villa. While I describe it to him, remembering more and more details, I catch him looking at the red marks on my wrists more than once. He nods his head, saying he doesn’t need to write it down, but his absentminded frown tells me he’s distracted by something else.
Finally, he picks up his smartphone and laptop and leaves. I turn the TV back on, but hours in front of it pass by in a blur, with my mind in some kind of a trance. And somehow, I know Cage feels the same. I saw it written all over his body.
It’s past midnight, and I’m still wide awake, waiting for Cage to go to sleep. My hands smell like brass from fiddling with the key, and my body is begging for sleep, but I’m determined to get out of the room at last. I don’t even know why I’m taking the risk, since I’ve already decided to stick with Cage. Maybe, it’s the need to have at least some control over the situation; maybe, it’s my curiosity. Being locked in a room for a week will do all kinds of strange things to you.
