by Jane Henry
Her fingers tapped against the steering wheel as she drew closer to the warehouse. What would it be like to look at those sterile walls again, the nondescript interior that promised sordid torture to the victims brought to the criminals’ lair? Had Camila been inside there? Nora shivered as she took the exit off the highway and headed toward the wharf, following the smell of fish, salty air, and fear.
It had been a night like this one a few years ago when Roger had taken her to the warehouse near the wharf with some crazy plan to dispose of her before she could rat him out to the cops. Nora recalled the moments of stark terror when she’d been tied up and helpless in that cavernous building, surrounded by Roger, Diego, Chalo Salazar, and the other criminals who’d wanted to hurt her. Petrified as she’d been, she remembered also being wildly, irrationally disappointed in Diego.
Diego had been to her mother’s apartment numerous times before that night, along with the rest of Salazar’s crew, but something about him had set him apart from the idiots he hung around with. Something in his eyes had been warm and kind. He’d never leered at her, commanded her, crowded her, or intimidated her. When one of the assholes had tried to kiss her, Diego had stepped in and provided distraction so that she could get away. He’d winked at her as she scowled at the men in the living room. He’d made her feel important in a way that no one, except maybe Tess, ever had before. But Tess didn’t have Diego’s tall, lean-muscled swagger or his gorgeous dark eyes.
Even though Nora had known better, even at that early age, she’d found herself more than half in love with the man. She’d painted a picture of him in her mind as her white knight, a man who would save her from the constant fear that was pretty much the hallmark of life with her mother. She’d imagined he’d take care of her.
Seeing Diego standing with Salazar at the warehouse, obeying his orders, had shattered Nora’s fantasy like glass.
Sure, Diego had beaten the shit out of Roger, and then apparently dealt with him in a more permanent way. He’d returned her to her sister and, as everyone from Slay to Tony to Matteo liked to remind her, he’d saved her. But none of them had seen the coldness in his eyes as he’d looked at her that night, the way he’d smiled at Salazar, the way he’d joked and laughed with the other men as she’d sat, tied to a chair, wondering if she’d be alive to see the next sunrise. The truth had been absolutely apparent to her, as she’d watched him that night—she wasn’t special to Diego, and she never had been. She’d been as delusional as her own mother, falling for a criminal who wanted nothing more than to suck her dry.
That day, she’d hardened her heart to Diego Santiago.
There had been more than a few times over the intervening years when she’d felt herself softening towards him. A few months back, he’d come to Tony’s restaurant Cara, when Donnie and Grace had needed his help, and he’d looked so damn tired that she’d wanted to comfort him. And last month, she’d been walking up the path to Allie’s house when Diego had come trotting down the front steps unexpectedly. Their eyes had locked, and for a second Nora had allowed herself to see the warmth that she remembered shining there.
But, did that make him trustworthy? She took a deep breath and steeled her resolve.
There were a billion unanswered questions where Diego was concerned. No one else seemed to find it odd that Salazar had been killed months ago, but Diego still remained undercover. Why would he choose to do that? And how had Camila known his face?
She parked in a dark lot with only a few cars present, about a block from the entrance to the warehouse. Ostensibly, the warehouse imported souvenirs they distributed all over the state, but she was one of the few people outside of Diego’s gang members and Slay’s special ops guys who knew it was a mere front for Salazar’s—and now Diego’s—criminal enterprises.
She hesitated for a moment, wondering if Diego would even be here tonight. What if she found only the sick bastards of his crew inside? Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to plow into this situation unprepared.
It wouldn’t matter whether he was there, if you really believed he was as dangerous as the rest of those criminals, a voice in her head taunted. But you don’t, do you?
She ignored the voice. Her gut said he’d be here anyway, that tonight she’d face him and get the answers she needed for Camila, and perhaps for herself too.
Determined to get to the bottom of everything, Nora opened her eyes, tucked her bag under her seat, and got out of the car, hitting the door lock button behind her. She shivered from the breeze that came off the water. It was easily ten degrees cooler here than at Centered, and she’d left her damn sweatshirt back at the office. Whatever.
Keeping her head down, she marched in the direction of the warehouse, walking so quickly she was almost jogging. When she finally drew close enough to see the comings and goings of the men on the pier, she stood behind a large stack of crates, peering around the corner, hoping to get a glance of Diego. She held her breath as the men she’d know anywhere walked in front of her, talking in low tones to one another, hissing words in Spanish that she didn’t understand. She caught a few words here and there, and one phrase they repeated many times. El Jefe.
Was El Jefe Diego? A hefty, dark-skinned man with greasy hair that hung in his eyes stepped out of the door to the warehouse, taking a drag on a cigarette. He inhaled deeply, then lifted his head back and exhaled, wisps of smoke circling the chilly night. Nora watched as man after man went into the warehouse, maybe a dozen altogether, some of whom she didn’t recognize. Had Diego’s band grown? As she watched, one man turned, and the light of the full moon illuminated the side of his face. She covered her mouth with her hand, stifling a gasp. His face was a mottled assortment of bruises, one eye swollen shut, his lip twice the normal size.
The true dangerousness of the situation finally dawned on her. What did these men do? What the fuck had she been thinking, coming here alone?
Shuddering, she rubbed her hands briskly, trying to warm herself, when suddenly a hand covered her mouth, and a voice so close it was practically in her ear spoke. “Colder here than at Centered, eh, niña?”
Mustering all her courage, she turned to see the man who spoke to her, her heartbeat slowly returning to normal as she stared at the all-too-familiar, heartbreakingly handsome face of Diego Santiago.
His eyes narrowed on her, his jaw set, his hands planted on his hips. The man was pissed as he leaned in closer to her and whispered. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re doing here, but you’re going to get back in your car, head home, and pretend you never came. And if you do exactly what I say, I may pretend you never came, too.”
Though she’d been thinking the very same thing a minute ago, she’d be damned if she did it because he said so!
“No way,” she hissed, “and who the hell do you think you are scaring me like this?”
“I’m the man they call Padre, Nora,” he whispered, the low rumble of his voice making the hair at the back of her neck stand on end. “The one in charge here. And if you think I’m scary, you should consider yourself lucky that none of the guys inside found you out here. I’m telling you to get the hell away. You have no business here.”
“Maybe I fucking do have business here,” she said. She wanted to hit him, to hurt him, for scaring her, for not being the man she’d imagined him to be all those years ago, for having anything to do with this whole fucking operation to begin with.
His beautiful dark eyes were hot and flared anger as he watched her, and a thought came to her suddenly. He’s too good for this shit. He deserves better.
She sucked in a breath as realization dawned. She’d been trembling in fear before Diego had appeared behind her. Now, suddenly, she could stand her ground because she knew it was safe for her to fight. Her heart was recognizing what her mind wouldn’t allow her to fully process—that Diego wouldn’t let anything harm her, not physically at least. You want him. You trust him more than you realize.
The insight pissed her off. She had perfectly
good reasons not to trust him, goddamn it! And she certainly didn’t want someone so bossy, so controlling! But her thundering heart wouldn’t listen to that logic.
He raised a brow, and his lips thinned, turning down at the edges. He skewered her with a severe look, his voice low and husky. “Such a naughty mouth for a little girl.” he said softly, arms crossing over his chest, his muscles bulging.
Her breathing stuttered and her panties dampened. Shit.
“Where are you parked?” he growled.
Still glaring at him, she nodded her head to the lot where she’d left her car.
“Come with me,” he ordered. “Now.” Without another word, his large, warm hand wrapped around her upper arm, firm enough that she couldn’t get away without a struggle but gentle enough that it didn’t hurt, and he marched her toward her car. “You open your mouth, Nora, and the trouble you’re in with me gets a lot worse.”
“What are you—”
He hissed, and she closed her mouth. Fine. She didn’t want to get the attention of his crew anyway.
She tried to yank her arm away from him, but he held fast as he marched her along, going so quickly she had to trot to keep up with his long strides. He was a good deal taller than she was, lean and muscular, his limbs moving with fluid grace as he propelled her to the parking lot.
“Go home, Nora,” he said, releasing her arm and giving her a little shove toward her car.
She spun around to look at him, furious at his audacity.
“No!” she said, planting her hands on her hips. “I don’t go home until I get answers.”
His eyes narrowed, and he took a step toward her. “You don’t tell me no, little girl.” His body and the fury that pulsed from him forced her back a step before his intimidating glare eased slightly. “Jesus, Nora, it isn’t safe here. Now get your ass in that car and go home before I’m forced to make you.”
“Make me?” she said, throwing her arms up in the air as desire warred with frustration. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” His eyes narrowed on hers. “You don’t make me do anything, Diego. I’m not one of your fucking henchmen. You can’t order me around like that.”
He took another step toward her so she was forced to take a step backward. “Such a filthy mouth,” he growled. “If you were mine, I’d teach you what to do with that mouth.”
And just like that, despite her anger, despite the fact that her palm itched to smack his smug, beautiful face, her heart skipped a beat and her belly dipped. God, he was so different from the polite guys she dated in college. She had no idea exactly what he’d do to teach her manners, but her body yearned to know.
No! her mind denied. It's the cold. It’s the loneliness. It’s your shared history, and the way that he saved you. It’s the fact that he’s so fucking hot you can’t stand it!
“Teach me manners?” she spat back at him. “You’re not my father, asshole,” she said, realizing that she was protesting far too much.
And with that, she somehow hit a nerve. She knew the second she did because he moved so quickly she couldn’t breathe, crossing the distance between them in two quick strides as he reached for her, his hand wrapping around the back of her neck, making goosebumps rise along her arms as her eyes widened. His grip firm on the sensitive skin of her neck, he directed her gaze to his.
“You’re right,” he said in a furious whisper, “I’m not your daddy. But with a mouth like yours, it’d be my pleasure to teach you the manners your daddy should’ve taught you.” His lips turned up in a sneer. “I’d put that beautiful mouth of yours to good use.”
She wanted to challenge him, wanted to smack her hand against the wall of his chest, strip off his shirt and run her nails along his naked skin. She wanted to make him hurt, wanted to make him bleed.
What was it about this man that caused her to lose complete control of her senses?
“Fuck you,” she hissed. And with that, it seemed as if his resolve snapped.
“You think I’m shitting around?” he asked, pushing her back to her car. “I’ve put bullets in the skulls of thieves and molesters,” he growled, pulling her alongside him. “Just today I beat a guy so badly I could have killed him. And you think I wouldn’t hesitate to whip your ass for your defiance? To teach you to keep safe and watch your mouth? You don’t talk to me that way, little girl.” He tried to yank the door open to her car, but it was locked tight.
Her head swam with fury and arousal, the nerve of him making her fists clench at her sides and her belly tingle with want.
“Open the goddamned door,” he commanded, and her stomach dropped.
Shit.
She swallowed, trying to wrench her arm free from his, but to no avail. “I-I don’t have my keys,” she said in a little voice. “I-I may have… um… locked them inside.”
“Madre de Dios, Nora,” he growled. He gritted his teeth together and appeared to be thinking before he spat. “Fine, then. You’re coming with me. You walk with me, and you don’t say a word. I’ve had enough of this shit. You disobey me, and I’ll spank your ass right here. You get me?” And she knew he would. He was a man who always did what he said. She swallowed, and nodded, all thoughts of a fight fleeting.
She couldn’t hear everything the man on the other side said, but she heard the parting words. “Si, Padre.”
She remained quiet as they finished walking to his car. He beeped his key and the locks clicked open. He yanked open the passenger door, practically shoving her in. She slid onto the seat, as he nabbed the seatbelt and pulled it across her, buckling her in before she could protest. God!
He locked and shut her door, jogging over to his side. He sat down in his seat, buckled himself in, shut the door, started the car, and took off so fast, his wheels squealed as they headed toward the exit. She sat in his car, her mind a swirl of emotion. He was so fucking bossy.
Then why did heat swirl in her belly, throb between her thighs, and her pussy clench as she thought about his threats to teach her a lesson, to watch her mouth, to spank her ass? She swallowed. The men she knew were dominants, badass alphas who took shit from no one. And though she hadn’t witnessed what went on at The Club, she knew her girlfriends were into this. Even Tessa and Tony toyed around with the whole dominance and submission thing. She knew there was… discipline involved at… some level. She knew Slay and Matteo were dungeon masters, and Grace’s fiancé Donnie was the primary operator of Club South.
Though they didn’t discuss details, she was no dumbass. She knew that the girls were submissives, and that they got spanked. And in her deep, dark fantasies she had to admit, it all sounded kinda hot to her. Still, she’d told herself it wasn’t her thing. She didn’t like being told what to do. She’d worked too damn hard to get where she was to just hand it all over to some Neanderthal who’d spank her ass if she disobeyed him. Uh uh, no way Jose, not happening.
But now she sat next to Diego as he wove through the traffic of downtown Boston, his jaw set in anger, his last parting words echoing in her ear, she was more turned on than she’d been when her last date had felt her up.
When they moved out of the clustered streets of downtown Boston and onto the highway, he turned to her.
“Tell me why you came,” he demanded. “And I’ll know if you’re bullshitting me.”
“Nice to see you, too,” she muttered, but he only growled in response.
She sighed. She’d come here to confront him, and there was no point in not telling him, even if she didn’t feel like doing whatever the hell he said. “I came because you know something I need to know,” she began.
He drove in silence, but raised one questioning brow. “This morning at Centered, a girl came in.”
Still, he said nothing.
“She won’t talk. She’s clearly been traumatized, but we don’t know the extent of it. She has no visible signs of abuse, so we haven’t called the police, but we are hoping we can get her to talk.” He nodded.
“And though I can’t get her t
o say anything, I got her to tell me her name. Camila.” She paused, watching his reaction. “Ring a bell, Diego?”
His face remained impassive. “Nope. Tell me why you came to the wharf, Nora,” he said, his tone growing impatient.
Nora sighed. “So I asked this girl to draw something that made her feel safe. And you know what she drew?”
“Sitting on the edge of my seat over here,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“She drew you.”
He said nothing as he flicked on his directional and got off the highway, but his grip on the steering wheel tightened.
“That doesn’t tell me why you came to the wharf.”
She blew out a breath. “You’re not an idiot, Diego. I came because I need answers. I need to know why some traumatized little girl was dropped off at Centered, and the first person that comes to mind when we talk about feeling safe is you? Come on. You don’t want me to give that sketch to the police, do you?” It was a low blow, but she needed to get the information from him.
“Excuse me?” he said, his voice low. She felt the correction in it, and once again her pulse spiked. She swallowed as he continued. “All you told me is that some girl came to Centered and drew a guy that looked like me. And now I’m supposed to just give you all the details of an ongoing undercover investigation? How the hell do I know if what you’re telling me is true?”
“You think I’m lying?” she said. “Arrrgh!” She groaned out loud, frustrated by this bossy, aggravating man.
He clenched his jaw, pulling down a vacant street and driving swiftly toward a large house at the end of the road. “But I’m not just going to tell you all my shit because some girl drew something that looked like me.” He parked in front of the house, and before she could respond, he reached to unlatch her seatbelt, unlocked his door and stepped out, slamming it behind him. He came up to her door, opened it, took her hand, and pulled her out. “Come with me,” he said.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
