by Jory Strong
So she'd guessed at his inability. But rather than sting his pride, he welcomed the revelation as proof she was exactly what she seemed. A spy wouldn't give up such an important advantage. "In the dark, Chula?"
She drew his hand downward from her breast and closed it so that only his forefinger was extended. She traced a letter on her stomach. "This is an s."
He stroked lower, to her pussy. "What letter is this?"
He could feel her cheek heat against his and stifled a laugh.
"It depends on the word you use," she said.
"I think I'm going to enjoy our lessons very much, mami." The sound of motorcycles interrupted the nighttime quiet, the distinct rumble of his bike's engine as well as Saul's. He brushed a kiss over her ear. "Show me the word pussy before I have to leave."
She guided his finger, naming the letters as she traced them. P. U. S. S. Y.
"I think I'll need to revisit this word when I return," he said, giving her a sucking bite to the neck before rolling away and leaving the bed.
She sat. Hugged her knees to her chest. "Where are you going?"
"Into Krish's territory."
"To exact revenge."
"Yes."
He got dressed. Took a shoulder holster from a drawer, put it on and shoved the gun that'd been on the dresser into it.
Ella left the bed, came to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. Pressed her naked body to his clothed one. "Be careful."
He kissed her, drinking in her softness, fortifying himself with her responsiveness, with the knowledge that she'd be waiting for him when he returned.
Lifting his mouth from hers, he stared into worried blue eyes. "I'll be careful. I have a lot to live for."
A hard kiss and he left the room, before thoughts of vengeance could be sidetracked by desire.
Ella pulled on one of Josiah's shirts and went to the window. Saul straddled a motorcycle. His gaze snapped upward, found her and promised death.
She shivered, wondered if he'd cared for Geneva and hated it that Josiah had replaced her with a woman from the city. Or if his dislike was less personal.
Several feet away from him was another motorcycle. Ciro stood next to it.
Josiah emerged from the house and joined the men of his inner circle.
Saul passed him a bandanna. Josiah tied it around his upper arm with the swift sureness of a man who'd often done so.
In the moonlight, she couldn't see its color, but knew it would be red and black. Josiah pulled another rag from a back pocket, tied it above Rapp's colors then straddled the motorcycle.
He looked up at the window, everything about him fiercely masculine, radiating unmistakable power. I'll be back, his eyes said as they met hers, hot to Saul's cold, though he was equally deadly.
He wheeled the motorcycle around. Ciro straddled the seat behind Saul and they roared out of sight, heading to an exit she hadn't yet been shown, one with passageways to accommodate the motorcycles.
Ella crossed her arms. Remained at the window long after the sound of the engines had faded, holding the words he'd said in the bedroom tightly to her heart.
I won't disrespect you by turning to another for this.
I'll be careful. I have a lot to live for.
She returned to the bed, relived the moments since he'd come home.
Sleep eluded her. Worry finally drove her to check on Jacob and her patient, and then it took her to the family room.
She sat on the couch, closed her eyes, remembering their wedding night, the tears that'd dripped onto the dress the widow Katherine had made beautiful.
It seemed like a lifetime ago when she'd believed love was almost too much to hope for. Thought that if a husband trusted her, respected her, cared for her, it might be enough.
She knew otherwise now. Josiah might never love her as passionately as he'd once loved Geneva, but he had feelings for her, and she was worthy of his love.
I won't disrespect you by turning to another for this.
I'll be careful. I have a lot to live for.
She hugged those words to heart and soul. "Come back to me," she whispered, and eventually that prayer was answered.
Masculine arms lifted her from the couch, rousing her from a light sleep. She stared into Josiah's dark, dark eyes and watched them fill with heat.
"Should we continue the reading lesson, mami?"
"Absolutamente," she said, accenting the word the way he did.
His mouth covered hers in a kiss that lasted until they reached the stairwell.
As he carried her up the stairs, she said, "I forgot to tell you, I told Victoria she had to leave."
"Good."
* * * * *
Chapter 22
Victoria dumped the last of her possessions onto the bed in a way that made it appear as if she'd tossed them there after taking them from the dresser. The trunk lay open on the floor next to the door.
She walked to it, visually measured it. Hayden had provided it and it was the perfect size to hold the boy.
Her heart tat-tat-tatted. But she calmed its nervous beat by imagining Hayden emerging from an alleyway, appreciation in his eyes as he looked at her and acknowledged her daring.
She'd use Ella's telling her to leave to her advantage. Thanks to her sister, no explanations were necessary.
Victoria touched the syringe in her pocket. After yesterday's demonstration, she was going to have to use some of the drug on the dog.
She didn't actually believe that the dog had tracked Ella. It was far more likely that he'd heard Ella and found her that way instead of by using his nose. But she couldn't chance that she was wrong.
From downstairs, Makayla called that it was breakfast time.
Victoria left the bedroom and slipped into the prisoner's room.
He moaned. Moved.
He looked less like death this morning. That was good. He just needed to stay alive until he could be ransomed.
She went downstairs.
Ella and Josiah's voices came from the family room.
She stopped in the doorway. Her sister was in the warlord's arms, their focus solely on each other.
Victoria's heart thudded a little more heavily at seeing them together. Would he believe Ella had something to do with his son being taken, and kill her in the public square for the betrayal?
Imagining it, a chill swept over Victoria. Memories from childhood pricked her conscience.
Ella in the marketplace trading medicine for a piece of candy then giving that candy to her. Ella coming home from a day spent working alongside their father in the stall, bringing beads and fabrics for her.
She'll be okay. If Merati wants the prisoner, then he's going to get him, one way or another. I'm doing her a favor. And it's her own fault for telling me I have to leave today.
If the prisoner were better—
No, they'd never make it out of the compound, much less to the city gate.
Taking the boy was the best plan.
Victoria went to the dining room and sat, the others joining her at the table, including the scruffy blond guard. She ate mechanically, not tasting the food, barely able to swallow as her tension mounted.
Somehow she had to get the boy and get away from the house. If she failed, she had no future.
This man is important to Merati. Important enough that he himself would introduce you to society if you aided in the recovery of this man.
The meal finished, Josiah stood. "I need to spend my morning at the stronghold."
"Can I go with you, Papa?"
Victoria felt a swell of panic. No! No!
Josiah placed his hand on top of the boy's head. "Not this morning."
Gathering the dirty dishes, Rosa said, "Take your sister. It's time Makayla has more responsibility."
Josiah's features hardened. He nodded. To Ella, he said, "Blaine can escort your sister to the gate."
Victoria's heart tripled its beat. Her stomach clenched, threatened to send the tasteless break
fast back up her throat. If he checked her trunk… If something went wrong before they were close enough to the city gates for the armed guards there to react…
Desperate, her eyes sought Ella's. "I'm sorry for what I said yesterday."
The words tasted like rotten eggs, but Ella's gaze softened, as if she too was remembering when they were younger and closer, as if she thought they might find their way back to friendship.
"Please forgive me," Victoria added, and watched hope take hold of Ella, though her sister's chin tipped upward.
"You still need to leave by the end of the day."
The old harridan nodded approval.
Witch.
But it didn't matter. She'd still achieved a victory. Ella's allowing her to remain until the end of the day bought her additional time. All she needed was one chance to grab the boy.
Josiah leaned down and kissed the top of his son's head. He cupped Ella's face, tilted it so she looked at him. "You'll stay put, mami?"
"Yes. I think the patient is close to regaining consciousness. I'm going to sit with him for a while."
He leaned in, gave her a long, thorough kiss then left with Makayla.
The old harridan shooed the ever helpful Ella away when she would have cleared the table and cleaned up after breakfast.
They deserved each other.
"Go, go tend to your patient," Rosa said. "As soon as I'm done here, I'm going to make a quick trip to the marketplace."
The guard scowled. "Rosa—"
"If you're worried, you can be my guard."
"More like your pack animal," he grumbled, rough amusement in his voice.
Victoria fought down a thrill. They were making it easy for her.
She followed Ella up to the patient's room. Stopped in the doorway so she'd be able to hear the old woman leave with the scruffy guard.
"He looks better today," she said. "Griffin will be happy to hear it."
Ella sat next to the bed. "He'll owe his life to Griffin."
No, he'll owe it to me.
She struggled to think of something else to say, something that would make Ella happy. Came up with an overheard conversation.
"I heard Father say he'd been called away from the stall on an emergency. He found that man you use for hauling."
Ella looked up from her patient, smiling. "Jon?"
The boy and the dog drifted away, going to his room.
"I think that might have been his name. Father said he'd paid him to look after the stall for an hour and a half. And might do it again."
"That's wonderful news."
Victoria only barely prevented herself from shaking her head. Pathetic to care so much for people who remained a few coins away from starving.
Keeping the conversation going was like trying to fashion one of her dresses out of inferior material. A constant source of displeasure. But finally, finally she heard the harridan and her guard leave.
She waited another thirty minutes before saying, "I need to work on a project. Do you want me to get you a book?"
"I'd appreciate that."
The happiness on Ella's face nearly made her feel guilty. "Which one do you want?"
"There's a book on plants in the bedroom, on one of the crates." Ella blushed and looked down. "I haven't had time to unpack yet."
Probably because she'd been so busy being used by the warlord.
"Be right back," Victoria said, and made good on that promise, afterward going to the kitchen.
Her heart racing, she touched the syringe in her pocket. There would never be a better time than now.
She opened the glass jar on the countertop that contained jerky, took enough pieces to lure the dog away and went upstairs.
Ella sat next to the patient's bed, reading. Oblivious, as she usually was when she had a book.
Victoria hurried to the bedroom, stopping just inside the doorway to consider the clothing and sewing projects strewn across the bed, items she'd intended to abandon. Leave them in plain sight? Or hide them, to make it appear that she'd packed her things and gone home without bothering to say goodbye?
Her gaze went to the trunk. If she left her things, it might not be immediately obvious that she was gone.
The decision made, she moved the trunk into the hallway. Sweat gathered in her armpits. She couldn't afford a mistake.
She needed to get the dog away from the boy. Could only hope the dog would smell pieces of jerky left in the hallway and be drawn out of the room by its nose.
She seeded the hallway near the boy's bedroom door with jerky. Carried the trunk toward the stairwell, her heart racing as she neared the patient's room.
If Ella looked up and saw her with the trunk—
I'll just tell her I'm putting it near the front door.
Victoria's mouth went dry. She glanced toward the bedroom she'd been using and fought the urge to hurry back and shut the door.
If Ella saw the clothes and sewing projects—
Keep going.
She could feel herself running out of time.
She peeked into the prisoner's room.
Ella was still reading, still oblivious.
Victoria hurried past the doorway.
Step by slow, agonizing step, she got the trunk downstairs and to the front door.
She unbuckled it so all she had to do was lift the lid and drop the boy inside.
Her stomach cramped. Her heart tried to crawl up her throat.
I can do this. I have to do this.
There'd be no going back to New San Jose if she didn't. There'd be no taking her rightful place in society.
She hurried upstairs. At seeing the dog in the hallway, thrill replaced fear.
Pulling more jerky from her pocket, she hustled toward the dog, held the treat out, waving it, sending the scent in his direction.
The filthy creature wagged its tail. It stupidly followed her into her bedroom.
She closed the door to muffle any sound. Tossed a few more pieces on the rug.
Oblivious, trusting, his head down, the dog hurriedly ate the treats.
She pulled the syringe from her pocket. Uncapped it. Braced herself to touch the dog.
Grasping his collar, she stabbed the needle into his neck and depressed the plunger.
He jerked, whined, sat and then fell over, his eyes open and glassy.
Her pulse pounded in her throat and her body buzzed. Her gaze snapped to the dog's chest. It moved up and down, up and down.
She wiped the needle off. Capped and slid the syringe into her pocket.
She couldn't leave the dog where it'd fallen—or in this room. Repulsed by having its hair on her dress and its grime on her arms, she picked it up, managed to open the door.
The hallway clear, she hurried to the linen closet and put the dog on the floor.
Her eyes caught on the bandanna around the dog's neck and, thinking it might come in handy, she tugged it over the dog's head and stuffed it into her pocket.
She closed the closet door.
The boy came out of his room carrying a book on trains. "Enzo!"
Perfect. She couldn't have planned it better. This way she wouldn't have to worry about carrying him past Ella.
But she needed to act before he involved Ella in a search for the dog. "He went downstairs," she said.
"Thanks!"
The warlord's brat raced downstairs and she went after him.
"Enzo!" He headed toward the kitchen. "Enzo!"
She went to the front parlor, pulled the bandanna out and wadded it in her hand. Her pulse beat wildly in her throat and her body buzzed again. This was it. She'd only have one chance.
"He's in here."
Jacob thundered toward her. He entered the room and she grabbed him, pressed the rag against his mouth to silence his screams for Ella.
He fought like a wild thing. Bit the bandanna.
She fumbled, nearly dropped the syringe before she got it uncapped.
She jabbed the needle into his nec
k and pressed the plunger.
He continued to fight. Minutes seemed like hours.
Sweat rolled down her sides. Her heart felt as if it were going to burst.
Finally he went limp.
She carried him to the trunk. Lifted its lid and put him inside.
His breathing was shallow, his eyes glassy. What if he died?
She glanced toward the patient's room, considered going to her sister, confiding in her, the two of them finding a way to get the prisoner to the city.
No. This way would be better for all of them. The warlord would get his son back. Merati would get the injured man back. And Ella…
Ella would want their parents to be safe. And they wouldn't be if the warlord's son wasn't turned over to Merati.
Dropping the syringe into the trunk, she saw the boy's book on the floor and collected it, putting it in with him. She closed the lid, buckled the strap and left the house.
She hurried into the maze. Through it. And reaching the door at its other end, fixed her face in a scowl though the hand around the trunk handle was sweaty.
She flung the door open and stepped out of the maze, glaring at the unfamiliar guard and trying to hide her relief that it wasn't someone who might question her leaving.
Putting disgust into her voice along with anger, she said, "You can tell my sister that I got tired of being ignored. I left the city to come here, and all she cares about is some prisoner the warlord will probably kill anyway."
She stalked away, heading in the direction of the wall and clenching her jaw to keep from smiling at hearing the guard's mumbled good riddance.
He might have let her go, but his continued focus burned a place between her shoulder blades. Stay there. Stay there. Stay there, she silently chanted.
The farther she got from him, the more fear became thrill, though her heart continued to beat frantically.
If Jacob woke up… If Ella had already discovered the missing boy…
Think about something else. She needed to think about something else. If she thought about the boy hidden in the trunk, the guard would decide he should have searched the trunk and would hustle after her, ordering her to halt.
She'd never seen any of the estates of the elite, but she'd heard them described. To keep her mind off the boy and the trunk, she imagined herself sitting in a chauffeured car with Merati and Hayden as they traveled along a rose bush-lined driveway. In front of them was a sprawling home that looked like a castle.
