“I was only told to escort you, Miss.” He has an accent, but it doesn’t sound Spanish, which surprises me. I can’t place it. “My car is waiting in front of the hotel.”
My stomach clenches. Why do these things keep happening to me? This is the worst vacation ever. “Look, I’m hardly going to follow a stranger to his car to go anywhere.”
He shuffles his feet that have sunk a little in the soft sand. “I was told to tell you there would be coffee. And—” He clears his throat, “a not so cold shower.”
I sit up straight and my mouth falls open. My heart starts slamming in my chest like a wild horse trying to break free. I am so going to follow a stranger to wherever it is we’re going. “I need to go get some things first.”
“It has all been taken care of, Miss.”
“How… What?” Despite his protests, I snag my key card and my tunic, pulling it over my head as I half-run toward my room. I need to see this for myself.
I freeze right inside the door and gape at the sight before me. My suitcase is gone along with the clothes that were strewn on my bed. I rip open the bathroom door and yes, the toiletries are gone as well. I twist around and stare at the man who has followed me and is now standing in the door opening, leaning against the frame, his arms crossed. I’m outraged. And not so little intrigued.
“Did you take my stuff?”
“No, Miss.”
“Then— Who?”
He shakes his head and shrugs.
“Fine. Let’s go, then,” I mutter.
It’s a limousine. He’s sent a limousine. I wonder who Nathan Russo really is. What his ‘affairs’ are. He has a driver, hires expensive cars, kidnaps innocent women...
Repeating the one-hour drive along the coast, we eventually come to a stop on a lively street outside a six story building with a yellow façade and black cast iron balconies running along the outside. Hotel Palacio it says with big golden letters above the entrance, and a red carpet runs up the stairs to where a door guard awaits. My driver opens the door and I step out, enjoying the wall of heat and how it immediately warms me. The AC in the car was brutal. He hands me an envelope and extends his arm toward the hotel entrance. I stay rooted to the spot, indecisively. Of course it would be expensive. I wonder again what kind of person Nathan really is. Wriggling the envelope, I feel the outline of a flat, hard, squared shape in it. I rip it open and sure enough. A key card.
Unease crawls in my chest. I have no passport, no money, no credit card, and no clothes. I look down at my feet. And no shoes.
My stomach clenches, filled with jittery butterflies, but I’m also feeling something else, something crazy. I’m excited over being commanded and that I’m obeying. It’s strangely liberating.
In any case there’s not much else to do than follow the instructions.
Stepping into the lobby, onto a plush purple carpet, I feel like an alien in my beach tunic and bare, still sandy feet. He’s an ass for putting me through this. A hot ass, but still. I straighten and decide to get it over with. It’s not my fault that I’m barefoot. A man looks up and immediately drops what he’s doing. He dashes around the desk and performs a tiny bow.
“Miss Lewis! I was told to show you to your room.”
I purse my lips. Guess they were told to look for a confused chick in a bikini.
“Follow me, please. Oh, I was also told to ask if you want some coffee.”
For God’s sake. “Thanks. Later,” I mutter, finding it a bit hard to play grumpy when it’s, in fact, cute as hell.
The elevator stops at the top floor and we step out into a corridor with four dark oak doors. He shows me to the one farthest away. The carpet is soft and dark red, the walls a discreet beige.
“Do you have a key card, Miss.”
I nod.
“Do you need anything else, Miss?”
I shake my head. He bows again and then leaves me. Following him with my gaze until he disappears around the corner, I then exhale and turn to the door. It doesn’t tell me anything. It doesn’t reveal what awaits me on the other side. What do I really know about Nathan? Did I willingly walk into something dangerous? I don’t think so, but what if my radar is completely off? He’s charming. I’ve seen him tender and funny, but I’ve also seen him stern and rough. Who is he? Who the hell am I even, going along with this?
There’s only one way to know. With a feeling of fate hanging heavily on my shoulders, I put the card in the lock and push the door open. Before me is a large, bright, beautiful room with a spectacular view of the city and the ocean. I rush to the windows and find a balcony with the same old-fashioned black cast iron railing, surrounding the whole outside of the apartment that I saw from the street.
I hurry from room to room. There are opened double balcony doors and long white curtains that move lazily in the warm breeze. The wood panels are dark, the orange bedspread, and the red decorative pillows are warm and inviting. On the bed I find neat piles of my things. I rummage through them and am satisfied to see that everything seems to be there. In the bathroom, someone has already arranged my toiletries. I narrow my eyes. Who took the liberty to go through my things? The man who drove me here? But he couldn’t have had time, could he? Nathan? The hotel staff?
There’s no sign of anyone else living here. I frown as I look around me, slowly turning a full lap. I would totally have expected him to install me in his place. Will he come? Or is it all for me? Will I see him at all? I sink down on the edge of the bed and wait. Nothing happens. I listen to the distant noise from the city, the sound of birds singing, and the soft rustling of the curtains. I feel ridiculous in my bikini, and sweaty, sandy appearance and decide on a shower and a change of clothes.
Through the clattering of water against the tiles, I keep listening for sounds from the outer rooms, but nothing disturbs my weird solitude. After, I wrap a towel around me and go sit on the balcony, still wet. I’ll dry in the heat soon enough and it’s a wonderful way to cool off. Comforted by the noise from the street, I fall asleep in the recliner, in the shadow, with the warm breeze caressing me. I dream of being a passenger on a ship, with no idea where I’m going. I dream of hands on my breasts, of a soft voice in my ear. ‘Sydney’. I wake with a jolt, hold my breath and listen with a pounding heart. I’m alone. Still nothing but silence from inside. Picking up my phone, I look at the clock. It’s been three hours. I’m confused, annoyed, and very hungry. It’s six p.m. I’ve had it. I’m not waiting for the bastard.
“Miss Lewis.” In the reception the same man from before greets me with a wide smile.
I force a similar expression on my face. “Good evening. I was wondering if you know anything about the person who rented the room I’m staying in?”
“I’m very sorry, Miss. The information about your stay has been relayed to us over the phone.”
“Yes but… Do you have the number that was calling you maybe?”
“This is not information we can give out.”
“Okay, fine. That’s fine. No worries,” I grit out through clenched teeth. “Are you at least able to tell me the location of a nice restaurant?” There’s venom in my voice, but I can’t help it. I feel as if this man is an accomplice in my abduction, and I have now lost yet another half day of my vacation. I’m so gonna kick Nathan’s ass when I see him.
“By the ocean or in town, Miss?”
“Ocean,” I mutter.
“Absolutely,” he says cheerfully.
I get directions to a restaurant. Outside, I’m met by a wall of sounds, and scents of flowers and food. I relax a little. I guess I can at least have a meal and watch the sun sink below the horizon before I get back to seething. I curse Nathan to Hell. Is he toying with me? I thought we were going to meet. I buy a paperback in a little shop I pass. The sleazy romance I was reading got lost when I ‘moved’. It’s probably being ‘accidentally’ read by some other lonely woman right now. At least she won’t have to encounter fucking James Fintan, as they told me his full name is. He’s
locked up. For a very long time, I hope.
I order a shrimp salad and a glass of white wine. One glass turns into two and I enjoy the book as my only company. This is, in part, what I wanted to do on this stay. No obligations. No one calling me. Just me and some peace.
Staff has changed when I get back. I present myself to the front desk woman. “Did anyone leave a message for me?”
“No, Miss,” she says in what sounds like British English.
“Okay... Did anyone come here maybe? Is there anyone up in my room?”
“No, Miss.”
I grind my teeth and make my way back up to the room, cursing Nathan to Hell again. The door closes behind me with a whisper. I stand in silence and listen. Nothing. No one is here. “Nate?” I call.
Well, fuck it!
I pull off my clothes and toss them over a chair, brush my teeth and wash the day off my face. Then I slip under cool sheets in a heavenly bed. It smells clean. It doesn’t take long before sleep claims me.
Chapter 10
Nathan
Five heavily armed, black-clad men slide quietly through the lush greenery behind the villa. There’s no moon out and we’ve killed the nearest streetlights. We move like one body. Ten yards from the electrified fence Alexei stops us with a silent sign, then divides us with mere gestures. Two men to the front, two men to the back, him staying where he can overlook the situation.
We split the cans with gasoline between us, assemble the silencers to our weapons and get moving. Hunched, fast on our feet, Eric and I move to the back of the house. I pull down my balaclava. We stop and crouch. Eric covers his face too. I rip up a rug of grass off the ground and toss it at the fence. It buzzes and the grass smokes as it falls to the ground. We wait in silence and when we get confirmation the other group has taken care of the fence, I toss another rug. Nothing happens this time. Eric picks up the bolt cutter, quickly creating an opening large enough for us to squeeze through.
The yard is dark, but when we advance there’ll be spotlights illuminating the whole place. I sink to the ground, flat on my belly, and pick up the semi, making sure it’s set to single shot. Resting on my elbows I take aim through the scope and sweep along the line where the wall meets the foot of the roof. When I find the first lamp, I pull the trigger. The sound of the shot is sufficiently quiet, but there’s a noise when the crushed glass hits the ground. We stay absolutely still and observe, but there’s no movement from within the house. The windows are brightly lit and from behind them loud music and chattering voices can be heard. I patiently keep searching for the next spotlight and find it by the right corner. Waiting until it rests in the middle of the crosshair, I let a bullet take it out, too. Still no reactions from inside the house. Good for us. Not so much for them. I flip the switch on the gun to full auto.
In my ear a voice cracks to life. “Alpha, done.”
“Bravo, done,” Eric answers.
We wait.
“Two in the living room, one in the kitchen. Go.”
It’s time. I get up. Still crouching, we run to the back door.
“Bravo up.”
“Alpha up,” is the short reply.
I fire a round at the lock and Eric slams a boot at the door, kicking it open effortlessly. Almost simultaneously, I hear the same commotion from the front of the house.
We slide quickly along a wall, our semis ready, and dart into the living room. Spotting the two men who have shot up off the couch, we fire three rounds, hitting their chests. Their bodies are propelled back from the force and the far wall is splattered with blood. Hollow point bullets are brutal. I hear a woman scream from the other end of the house, two shots, silence, then another round of shots.
“Alpha, clear,” I hear in my ear as well as from around the corner.
“Bravo, clear.”
Eric and I walk through a corridor and meet up with Philipe and Dean. We nod at each other. I look at the slaughterhouse that is the kitchen. A woman is lying in a pool of blood on the floor, her eyes glassy and unseeing. Then I turn and walk out to the back of the house again, fetching the canisters. I hand one to Eric and we start pouring gasoline in every room, on the couch, on curtains, bedspreads, everything that’ll catch fire easily. Dean unhooks a little flame thrower from his belt and walks methodically from room to room, creating a violent furnace that’ll soon burn this house to ashes. We back out the same way we came and gather in the foliage behind the house. I watch the roaring fire as the flames climb up along the facade, every window in sight engulfed in a white-hot furnace. With a nod and a gesture from Dean, we head back to the van. I pull off the balaclava and breathe, wiping the sweat off my face. The gear is heavy, the air is humid and the heat from the day lingers.
It took us twenty minutes. We have four more stops.
Tomorrow, the five of us will be arriving at our target’s residence instead of his Colombian guards.
I got confirmation hours ago that Sydney has been installed in the suite. I’m delighted and a little bit impressed that she actually went with it. How reckless. On the other hand, I hadn’t expected her to refuse. She’s as fucking hooked on me as I am on her, and she can’t possibly be enjoying La Romana enough not to take on the challenge. I think of her slender body, her lush hair and the pleasure of wrapping it around my fist. I think of sinking my cock into her hot cunt and my pants tighten. She’ll be in bed, waiting, soft, warm and pliable. I choke down a groan that wants to escape and force myself to turn my focus back to the task at hand.
Five houses have been burnt to the ground. Nine people have met their maker tonight. I tear off the equipment and let it drop to the rough concrete floor in the dark warehouse. The clanking sounds echo between the walls. I’ll take care of it tomorrow, clean it and sort it. My colleagues do the same. We’re all tired to the bone, sweaty, sooty, with blood splatter on the gear. We were shot at twice, but nothing we couldn’t handle. One woman came rushing out of a room and almost clawed an eye out of Dean. He had to wrestle the furious female to the ground and held her down with a boot to her throat as I planted a round in her chest.
In a dirty sink, with only cold water available, I wash off the worst of the paint and the soot from face, neck and hands, then I pick up my suit jacket off the chair it’s been hanging on and sling it over my shoulder. I nod to my colleagues and push open the old rusty door.
“Russo.” Dean’s voice makes me spin around. “Your gear.”
“I’m fucking spent. I’ll take care of it first thing in the morning.”
“You’ve got your pants in a twist tonight, Nate.” Eric regards me, his eyes narrowing. “She must be a good fuck.”
I don’t answer, turn my back to the leftovers of the mayhem and exit the building. The air outside is cool. I decide not to call the driver but instead take the long walk through the city to cool off before I meet up with a soft, warm, most likely sleeping beauty. I need to walk off some of the images: the gore, the screams, the blood and the violence. I feel dirty, and it goes much deeper than some sweat and soot on my skin.
The streets are quiet. I walk fast through run-down blocks, industries, turning into residence areas, poor at first and then increasingly wealthy. Before I go to her, I make a small detour and spend fifteen minutes in my apartment, showering and changing clothes. The night-porter nods at me as I stride past him. I take the eight flights of stairs two steps at a time, then I insert my own key card into the lock and quietly slide open the door.
It’s dead quiet. She should be here. I’ll be royally disappointed if she isn’t because my body and mind is set on her. Fully and completely. Desperately.
The carpet mutes my steps as I walk to the bedroom.
Awed by the vision before me, I stop. Sydney is here. She’s asleep. The sheets are white, covering her body all the way up to her chin. Her face is pale and, in stark contrast, a crowning glory of dark hair is spread on the pillow under her head.
Sydney
A noise startles me awake. I sit up straig
ht, my heart pounding. In the doorway I see the silhouette of a man. I scramble back and fumble for a light switch without finding one.
“Enjoying your new accommodations?” The voice is quiet, husky.
I recognize it more than well and a shiver runs through me. “You fucking, arrogant jerk!” I spit.
He laughs and strides closer. “That’s the way you want to greet me?”
“Yes! I can’t believe I came here.”
“And yet you did.”
Realizing I’m sitting up without a thread on my upper body, having gone to bed in only my panties, I quickly pull at the sheet to cover me up before I feel for the lamp again. I flip the switch and a soft yellow light illuminates us. Nathan sits down on the edge of the bed. His unreal eyes have a dark edge to them. They’re filled with hunger and some emotion I can’t define that makes my stomach clench.
“You realize, Sydney, that by coming here you passed a line.”
I swallow hard, fighting the flutter in my chest. “Line? I—”
“You gave yourself up to me. I commanded, and you obeyed.”
Those are… exactly my thoughts from before. “No… I—” I want to object, want to keep some small amount of sanity, but he doesn’t even have to touch me. He’s got me. He knows it. The thought makes a flurry of tingles shoot straight to between my legs. “What are you talking about?” I whisper.
“You know more than well what I’m saying.” He leans in and brushes his lips against mine. He smells faintly of smoke and cigarettes, tinged with a hint of metal underneath the fresh soapy scent. His eyes are dark like a bottomless well, then he claims my mouth and I gasp, my body responding immediately. He caresses my neck, stroking along my throat, then his hand finds its way to my nape and pulls me closer. As he deepens the kiss, his other hand follows the curve of my shoulder down along my arm, pulling the sheet with it as it progresses downward. Cupping my breast, he rolls the nipple between his fingers. “Naked?” he whispers into my mouth.
Russo Saga Collection Page 9
