by J. B. Havens
“Tell me, Bea, tell me it’s not just me dying here. That you feel as drawn to me as I am to you. Tell me you look for me every time you walk into a room, tell me that the thought of me makes your heart beat faster. Fucking tell me that you can’t fight this anymore…”
His lips descended to mine. I stopped him by freeing a hand and putting my fingers against his mouth. “No, Chris.”
He closed his eyes and sighed. He rested his forehead against mine, staying close to me even as I tried to push him away.
“Why? I know you want me,” he whispered against my face, his breath tickling my cheek and sending shivers down my spine.
“Of course I do. It’s just not possible for us, Chris. It wouldn’t be just one time and it can’t be more than that.” I pushed against his chest, trying to get some space for myself.
“Bea, no. Dammit, no! I’m not letting you go.” He kissed me then and I didn’t stop him. He tasted as fresh and delicious as he always did. He was so warm and smelled so good; spice and sweat... he smelled like a man and I ate it up. His big hands cradled my face as he kissed me gently, brushing his lips back and forth across mine.
I kept my palms against his chest, allowing myself a moment to feel him... to feel his skin. I traced his tattoos along his shoulders, letting him take my mouth fully. He was waging a war, using my body against me. I pulled back, getting some air, forcing some space between our lips.
“Chris, you have to go. Right now. You need to go. I won’t be alone with you again.” I started pushing at him, shoving him as hard as I could. I wouldn’t look at him; I couldn’t, because if I looked into his eyes again, I would fall... and keep falling.
He finally stopped pushing back and I pointed him toward the door. He gathered his boots and shirt, slipping them on as quickly and smoothly as he had slipped them off.
“One day, Bea Michaels, you will stop running. One day you’ll realize just what it is you’re pushing away. When that day comes, I’ll be here... or I might not be.” He turned his back and softly shut the door behind him.
“Maybe so, but that day is not today,” I said aloud as the door closed. Picking up the small remote, I switched on Sinatra and took off my clothes, getting ready for some much needed sleep. It was then that I noticed Jordon’s jacket draped on the couch. Picking it up, I pressed it to my face, deeply inhaling the scent of him. I hung it in my small closet, tucking it behind a dress I never wore.
****
Jordon tossed and turned, trying in vain to sleep. Mic had him in knots, squirming and tied to her with no hope of release. He couldn’t concentrate on the mission; he was worried he wasn’t going to be able to do his job. Giving up on sleep, he padded down the hall and got a bottle of water from the fridge. He considered a beer, but thought better of it. He went out into the living room. Sitting on the couch, he kicked back and propped his feet on the table.
Stacking his hands behind his head, he stared at the ceiling. He counted the tiles there and tried to just let his mind wander and find some peace.
“You won’t find any answers there.” Rook’s voice startled him.
Sitting up suddenly, Jordon dropped his feet to the floor. “What do you mean?” he asked, as his teammate sat beside him.
Leaning forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, Rook clasped his hands and stared at him. “There are no answers for you on the ceiling, my friend. Women are a paradox. Don’t bother trying to figure them out and you will be much happier.” Rook’s face as blank as ever. This guy gave Jones a pretty good run for his money in the stoic department.
“Who said anything about a woman?” Jordon was on the defensive.
“You didn’t have to. You’ve been in combat enough, that I know you aren’t losing sleep over the op today. There’s nothing else going on; so it’s a woman and Mic is the only one around.”
“Your powers of deduction are astounding,” He kicked the coffee table with the heel of his foot, shoving it a few inches across the room with a screech.
“I know. Forget her, kid; just for now. Let’s get through this mission and when it’s over, if you still want to get her in the sack, we’ll figure something out. Does she like you too, or is this one of those pathetic one-sided things?”
“She likes him too.” Jones joined in, sitting in the available chair, and rubbing his hands over his face. “I’ve known Mic for years and I’ve never seen her like this, not even over Willie.” He got up again and grabbed a couple waters, passing them around.
“Yeah, she wants me too. She won’t give us a chance because she’s worried about losing the team’s respect.” Jordon put his head in his hands. He couldn’t believe he was having this conversation with Rook and Jones of all fucking people.
It was always the quiet ones…
“Trust me, we’re sick of seeing you two mooning over each other. Since day one, you’ve both been making eyes back and forth. Rook is right; when this mission is over, we’re solving this,” Jones added before retreating back to his room.
“Jones is correct you know,” Rook said, also standing. “Is this little talk about your feelings over or should I revoke your man card now?”
“It’s over, fucker.” Jordon threw his empty water bottle at Rook, who, true to form, caught it almost without looking. “I just wish I knew what to do.”
“It’s simple, just pin her against the wall and show her how you feel,” Rook said with a shrug. “It’s always worked for me.”
“Do you really think that will work?” Jordon asked, hope seeping into his voice.
“No, I think she’ll eat your ass alive, but you’ll die happy.” Rook slapped him on the shoulder and went down the hall to his room.
“Thanks, I feel so much better now,” Jordon muttered to himself.
Oddly, he did a little bit. Maybe pinning her against the wall and having at each other really was the best solution. They needed to finish taking care of the rest of the Vega cartel first.
Chapter 20
Mercedes glided into the parlor, her ever present champagne flute clutched in her hand. She had just finished dinner; the grilled snapper was delicious, as was every meal their five-star chef served. Julio was seated in his favorite gilded chair, going over papers of some kind. The sight of him made her skin try to crawl off of her body. It was a shame that such fantastic good looks were wasted on the twisted evil excuse for a man.
“Buenas noches, Mercedes,” Julio said, without looking up. His voice was smooth and cultured with almost no trace of accent. He’d been raised in the United States, even though his mother was Mexican. He had the icy blue eyes of his American father.
“Good evening to yourself, Julio,” she replied coolly. Seating herself across from him, she crossed one long leg over the other, the sheen of her silk stockings reflecting the low light.
“Good of you to grace me with your presence.” He rose and walked over to the bar, refilling his glass of cognac.
“You didn’t give me much choice in the matter, Julio. I trust your evening was enjoyable?” She sipped her champagne, trying to hide her revulsion.
“Very much so. She performed perfectly.” Her stomach rolled at the thought of that table of his.
“What is your plan now that Adolfo is gone? How do you plan to avenge Diego?” Pushing him was not always the best idea, but she wanted answers. Steel needed to pay and she needed Julio and the cartel to help her avenge her husband.
“Don’t worry your head about that, my dear; you will get your revenge. Steel is powerful; one cannot just waltz up to their gates. It must be done with finesse and careful planning.” Julio drained his cognac and waved his now empty glass at her. She rose gracefully to refill it, turning her back to him to hide her shaking hands.
“Diego would be very pleased that you are taking care of me, Julio.” She poured the cognac, almost spilling it across the shiny maple bar.
“I’m sure he would be. I can see that I scare you my dear, let me assure you, you have nothing to fear
from me. You are Mexican and I find Mexican girls distasteful. However, that puta that leads Steel…” he paused to savor the thought, licking his lips. “I must have her. That will be my gift to you; first I will break her, and then I will consume her.” She handed him his glass, shuddering when his hand brushed hers. His touch was like that of a snake; such a foul creature should feel slimy and disgusting, but instead he felt cool and smooth.
“How do you plan on doing that Julio?” She pushed her fear of him aside. “She isn’t going to deliver herself to you.”
“Oh, but she is, my dear... she is.” The devil himself stared out of Julio’s eyes, smiling with pure, unaltered evil.
****
I waited in the hangar for the men. We needed to get back to the Wonka House and I needed to check on my aunt and Jackson.
“Morning, Mic.” Pierce walked in, carrying a cup of coffee in each hand. Sitting next to me on the bench, he handed me one.
“Thanks. Morning yourself. Where’s Flynn?” I asked as I took a drink. Damn good stuff.
“He should be staggering in here soon. He was awake when I left.”
“What the hell was that all about last night, anyway?” Flynn getting wasted was nothing new. Flynn streaking was.
“I’m not sure. I don’t think he even remembers doing it. Mark down another escapade for Flynn. He’s done shit like this off and on since we were kids,” Pierce said in a very rare reference to their childhood together.
Jones and Rook strolled in, clutching their own cups of coffee and hiding their eyes from the glare of the bright morning sun behind sunglasses. They were twins in mannerisms despite being opposites in looks.
“I see you have your hat back, Jones. I didn’t think you’d want it after where it was last night.” I said, laughing. He didn’t look amused, taking a seat in the corner and pulling the hat low on his forehead.
“He sprayed it with disinfectant last night and again this morning,” Rook added, leaning against the lockers, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Fuck off, man. There was no need for that. I was drunk, not diseased,” Flynn growled from the doorway, wincing when the door slammed behind him.
“Loud noises hurt your head there, Flynn?” I shouted loud enough to hurt my own ears. Pale and sweating, he clutched his head in both hands. “Good thing we have a pilot since you’re in no shape to drive a scooter, let alone fly a plane.”
“It’s a jet.” He sat down heavily next to Pierce, still holding his head in his shaking hands.
“Fuck off. Where’s Jordon?”
“I’m right here, Mic.” He’d come in behind Flynn and I hadn’t even noticed.
“Everyone have your shit? We’re rolling out in five.” I grabbed my bag and left the hangar. The stairs on the jet were down and waiting for us. I climbed aboard and waited while the others filed in behind me.
“I do love this jet…” Rook’s voice trailed off as he went to the back, sitting down and kicking back.
“Jones, sit with me. We need to talk.” I waited while he stowed his rifle and settled in. “What do you have on the Suit?” Urgency sharpened my voice.
“Not much, unfortunately. Armando saw him a few times, but never got close to him. All I could find out was his first name is Julio, and that he was Adolfo’s second-in-command. There is no one in any database by that name and description.”
“Well, fuck,” I said, with feeling. “What about Mercedes?”
“Her, we know more about. She comes from a wealthy Mexican family. Her father was involved in the Vega cartel; her cousin of course was Adolfo. Her marriage by all reports was a political alliance, but some also say that it was a love match.”
“Great, we’ve got a woman scorned on our hands. What else?” I was desperate for information. It was already personal, now it was more so.
“What the hell do you expect, Mic? This is a cartel, they don’t exactly advertise their information. We’re lucky to know as much as we do. No one likes to talk about them; to talk is to be killed, and for your whole family to be killed.” Jones was obviously frustrated at the lack of information.
“Let’s give what we have to Jackson and go from there. Maybe he has some more information for us.” As soon as we got back we needed to come up with a plan. We didn’t have the luxury of waiting around; they would be coming for us. We needed to be in their backyard before they had a chance to recover from the blow we dealt yesterday.
****
Jackson looked at the satellite images in front of him; his stomach dropped to his feet. There would be no keeping this from Mic or keeping her the fuck out of it. As soon as she saw this, she’d be on a plane, heading back to Mexico.
The intercom beeped; he answered it with the press of a button. “Yes?”
“Food is ready, Fisher.” Beatrice’s voice soothed his old battered soul.
“I’ll be there in a moment.”
“Make sure that you are, eggs get cold quickly.” Beatrice’s subtlety was better than Mic’s, but not by much.
Closing the folder, Jackson left it on the table and went down to the kitchen for dinner. He didn’t want to keep Beatrice waiting. Tonight might be his last calm evening for a while.
Pushing the kitchen door open, he was greeted by the scent of grilling steak and a beautiful voice singing a haunting melody he’d never heard. Beatrice was swaying slightly to the music as she turned the steaks on the built-in grill.
Her hips rocked back and forth to the music, mesmerizing him. There was true beauty; not just in her looks, but in the curves and motions of her body. Her movements were sexy and tantalizing. He swallowed hard, trying to get the thick lump brought on by the sight before him to go down.
“Beatrice…,” he managed to force out. He hadn’t been so affected by a woman in his memory, not even when he was a young man.
“Fisher! Don’t sneak up on me like that; you startled me.” She waved the spatula at him, as if she was chastising a child.
“Force of habit.” He reached around her and flicked the burners off, killing the flame and probably ruining the steaks.
“What are you doing?” Her brow furrowed in confusion.
“You were dancing alone. No one as stunning as you should ever dance alone.” He turned the volume up and swept her in against his body. “What’s this song? I’ve never heard it before.”
Resting one hand on her waist, he clasped her hand with the other and held it against his chest. Her scent filled his nose as he buried his face in her neck and hair. She smelled of cloves, lemon, and woman. His mouth watered, begging him to take a taste.
“It’s by Adele. The song is called When We Were Young.” She looked up at him, her deep brown eyes shining with surprise and wonder. It was a look he didn’t feel he had earned yet; but if she was willing to give it, he was willing to take it. He moved them around the kitchen and when the song ended, he started it again.
“You do something to me, Beatrice, something I can’t describe or explain. Whatever it is, don’t stop. I’ve only known you for a few days and I know it’s insane, but... I don’t want to go back to the empty life I had before I met you. I’m alive around you.”
“You’re insane; there is no doubt about that, Fisher. Anyone who has to deal with Bea on a daily basis is bound to be nuts.” She raised her face to his, her eyes shining with laughter and the beginnings of something more.
He took her invitation and kissed her deeply, groaning at her taste.
“Maybe so…,” he said, speaking against her mouth. “…but that’s okay. It makes me crazy enough to do this.” Grasping her waist with both hands, he lifted her up and onto the counter behind her; quickly stepping between her legs, he didn’t give her a moment to react. Cradling her face between his hands, he kissed her again and again until they were both gasping for air. Hearts racing against each other, chests heaving and hands sweating; he stared into her eyes, seeing a future there. A future filled with happiness and family. Pulling her even closer, he b
ent her backward over his arm and kissed her some more and gratefully he let his mind shut off. His heart stuttered with hope... hope that what he’d seen in her eyes would become his reality.
Chapter 21
The elevator closed behind me. The men had all gone to change and eat. I went directly to the war room. I wanted to use the computer there and review the fire fight data from yesterday. I needed to get a better look at that Julio fucker. You can tell a lot about a man by how he reacts to a fight. Be it guns or fists, the adrenaline rush freezes some and throws others into action. I needed to study my target and find an opening. There was one... of that I was sure.
The soft carpet of the war room cushioned my feet as I let the door shut behind me. The monitors were dark, the computers cold. I switched one on and waited for it to start up. There was an orange folder on the table. It was not like Jackson to leave Top Secret folders lying around. Opening it, the name stamped on the top made me flip through it. Photos spilled across the table in a glossy wash of death.
People from the village, butchered and burned. Women and children along with men, young and old. No one was spared this cruelty. They were lined up in neat little bloody rows. Each one was the same, dismembered and then the pieces burned; a name was carved into their foreheads.
My name.
There were at least thirty photos spread across the table. A single note accompanied the pictures, scrawled in elegant script on expensive stationary:
This will continue every day, until either Bea Michaels delivers herself into my care or I run out of villagers. Tomorrow starts another day. She has until dawn to get here.
-Julio
I left the room at a run, rifle bumping against my leg and my pack slung over my shoulder. The others were still either at dinner or changing. I only had a few minutes to get out of here before they could stop me. Pulling out my phone as I hit the elevator, I accessed the security for the garage. They would know where I was going and I knew they would follow. I exited the elevator and raised the control panel near the door. Activating the lock-down was easy, changing the security codes wasn’t. The door locked with a magnetic click and the elevator descended. The door to the elevator would open, but pushing the buttons would get them exactly nowhere. Jones would have to hack into his own system and change the security protocols.
