Sweet Collateral

by LP Lovell

  “You fucking ran.” Silence.

  I round on her, pressing my back to the door as though the contact might keep me rooted here. She stands there, trembling, and yet staring back at me with that bulletproof defiance. Her hair hangs over her face, and her white shirt is covered in dirt. “Why the fuck would you run? Where the hell would you even go?” I move closer to her. And grab a handful of golden hair, wrenching her head back. She grits her teeth, eyes spitting fire and hatred. “You have no one, Anna.”

  “And nothing to lose,” she says, her voice steady and strong.

  “Oh, you’re wrong. You have everything to lose. Do you have any idea what Dominges would do to you?” She says nothing, clenching her jaw. “Don’t I keep you safe? Are you not well treated here?”

  She looks me straight in the eye. “For how long, Rafael? Until you hand me over to your friend? Or until you’ve decided to cut the bullshit and show your true colors?” She lifts a daring brow. “After all, girls like me are worth something, aren’t they?”

  My blood pressure spikes, my pulse hammering like the angry beat of a war drum. “I suggest you tread carefully, little bird.”

  She flicks her eyes over my face, her expression full of disgust. “You’re no better than Dominges.”

  My grip on her hair tightens, and she hisses through her teeth. “The fuck did you just say to me?”

  “You’d probably have fucked me as well, but I’m guessing that’s not part of the agreement.” I snap, like a rubber band pulled too tight. I release her hair and slam my hand around her throat, shoving her down on the desk. She gasps, struggling against my hold as I pin her to the wood.

  “My patience is not fucking infinite, Anna,” I growl in her face. “And my rage is not something you should invite.”

  Tension winds between us, an electrical charge sparking the air, just waiting for something to set it in motion. She breathes heavily and with each inhale, her tits push against my chest. Every one of her curves presses against me, her legs sitting either side of my hips. I become painfully aware of every beautiful inch of her body beneath mine. Her lips part and her tongue swipes over the bottom one nervously. I track the movement, pulse racing as I war with the more animalistic side of my nature. “What are you going to do to me?” she asks, and I hear the tremor in her voice, though she tries so hard to hide it. Such a loaded question. What am I going to do to her?

  There are a hundred things I should do, but I do none of them. My fingers flinch against the soft skin of her throat, my last attempt at control before it all goes to shit. I slam my lips over hers. The taste of her, the scent of her skin…it’s infectious, taking hold of me like a damn fever. “I’ll do whatever it takes to remind you of your fucking place,” I growl against her lips.

  She drags in a sharp breath. “A slave.”

  I slide my grip from her neck to her jaw, forcing her to look straight at me. “No, it’s right fucking here.” I kiss her again, caging her small body against the desk. I don’t know what I’m doing. There’s something about her that I can’t leave alone. Her strength, the tenacity she shows despite all that’s happened to her… I crave the moments when she glares at me. When I see the fight in her eyes. I need her anger. I want her trust.

  I pull back, my lips hovering just over hers as my chest heaves with ragged breaths. Tentatively, she presses her hand to my cheek, and then tilts her chin up and brushes her lips over mine. I swallow a groan at the small contact. She’s so pure, so broken… a chaste kiss from her feels like she just offered me a priceless gift. The urge to rip her clothes off and fuck her on this desk has me pressing between her legs. She stiffens, and I instantly pull back. Her eyes are closed, and she’s inhaling deep breaths. “Avecita, look at me.” She doesn’t. “Don’t make me ask twice,” I warn. Her eyes snap open, meeting mine. I see the battle raging through her mind, flight warring against innocent curiosity. “Don’t look away from me.”

  Her eyes lock with mine, so trusting. I glide my free hand over the curve of her waist, to her hip. “Rafe, I…” she trails off when I lift a brow at her. She’s sprawled on my desk, her golden hair messy and her lips slightly swollen. My cock is pressed against the material of my pants, blood racing through my veins like a stampede. With a concerted effort, I force myself to step back until I’m standing two feet away from her. Little Anna cannot handle the things I want to do to her, and so I must leash the beast.

  She sits up on the desk, and her cheeks stain a deep pink before she covers her face with her hands. “Why are you doing this to me?”

  I’m not sure I have an answer for her. She slowly lowers her hands from her face, and I see the tears shining in her eyes, waiting to fall.

  I ignore her because I have no explanation. “Why did you run?”

  “Because I know what you are,” she whispers.

  “Oh? And what am I, little warrior?” I ask, barely containing the growl in my voice.

  “I saw you.” She glares at me, that anger of hers in full view. “With that girl. You lied to me. That story about your sister…was it all just part of some twisted game? What, you wanted me to trust you so you could break me that much more easily?” Hysteria starts to creep into her voice, and the tears fall, tracking down her pale cheeks in silky lines.

  “I have never lied to you.”

  “The girl chained in the basement would suggest otherwise.”

  Fuck.

  She thinks I lied about Violet. Like a red mist, the rage grips me hard, and I rush her, backing her against the edge of the desk. Her rapid breaths blow over my lips as her trembling body is crushed against mine. “Don’t ever call me a fucking liar. I told you I don’t deal in slaves, and I don’t. That girl is a mule.” I think I finally expected her fear because I know I’m so very close to the edge of control, but she doesn’t emit fear. Confusion yes, but not fear. “She’s paid to smuggle drugs. Two of her friends ran with half a million dollars worth of cocaine in their stomachs.”

  Her face pales. “That’s…”

  “Barbaric? It’s business, Anna. They are paid to do it, and they choose to do it. But they have now stolen from me.” I reach out, wiping away her pretty tears. “I’m not a good man. To steal from me has dire consequences.”

  Her brows pull together in a frown. “They smuggle drugs for you?” I nod. “Did you let her go? The girl in the basement?”

  I take a deep breath. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to, avecita.” I stroke her blonde hair away from her face, and I expect her to recoil but instead she leans into my touch.

  “You’re a bad person,” she breathes.

  “Yes.”

  “I shouldn’t feel safe with you.” She falls forward, pressing her forehead to my chest.

  I stroke a hand through her hair. “I would never hurt you.”

  “It’s not you I’m worried about,” she admits.

  “Anna—”

  “Dominges said… he said I’m priceless,” she says quietly. “That you don’t know who I am. What does that mean? Who does he think I am?”

  “I don’t know. I’m trying to find out.”

  She nods and pulls her face from my chest. I watch her as the anguish clears from her features, replaced by a mask of indifference. It’s like she just rids herself of emotion at the flip of a switch.

  I tilt her head back until her eyes lock with mine. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” I vow hastily.

  “We both know you can’t make that promise.”

  I open my mouth to respond when there’s a knock at the door. Clenching my jaw, I stare at her. “Come in.”

  The door creaks open at my back. “Boss, I have something for you.” Samuel.

  “Give me a second.” The door clicks shut behind him.

  I stroke my thumbs over Anna’s jaw, her skin so pale beneath my hands. “No running, avecita.” I tower over her as I bring my lips to her ear. “I’ll only catch you.” And then I let go of her and walk out of the room before I
forget about everything else and try to save her. At this point, the only one she needs saving from is me.

  Samuel is leaning against the wall in the hallway, a file in his hand. When I emerge, he turns away and walks down the hall, ducking into the living room. I close the door, and he tosses the file on the coffee table.

  “I think I have something,” he says, scrubbing a hand over his jaw.

  I take a cigar from my pocket and fall onto the couch before lighting it. “Go on.”

  “You know how Nero Verdi became the capo of New York.”

  “When his brother was taken out.” I lift a brow and wait. He steps forward and opens the file, turning it to face me. It’s a crime scene photo, a picture of Lorenzo Santos’ pale face. And in the center of his forehead is a bright red lipstick imprint. “Ángel de la Muerte. Unfortunate for him.” The angel of death, or as some call her, the kiss of death due to her infamous calling card, is a Russian assassin—though she works for anyone, for the right price. She’s good at what she does, and she’s become more of a whispered myth than reality, though she is very much real. The Italians certainly didn’t make that public knowledge.

  “You know she’s not cheap, so someone wanted him gone, badly.”

  “You think Nero did it?” I shrug. “It’s not very Italian, but it is Nero.” God knows, the man has no morals. I half suspected his involvement anyway.

  “Well, it appears she’s been busy.” He moves the picture from the top and spreads out three more. Three dead bodies. One face down on a table and two more on the floor. There’s another crime scene photo of a shattered window and then shell casings on the concrete floor of a parking garage, next to a card. The Queen of Hearts, a red lipstick print on the back.

  I frown as I glance at the pictures. “Who are they?”

  “Bernado Caro and Franco Lama, both Italian capos. And Marco Fiore, Caro’s second.”

  “Who has it in for the Italians?”

  He shrugs. “Could be anyone, but these guys opposed Nero Verdi to take over as capo.”

  I narrow my eyes on the images in front of me and tap my finger over my bottom lip. “It’s risky for her. The Italians won’t like that she took out four of them in a month.”

  He arches a brow. “Exactly. She’s never killed so many from one organization before.” No, because she’s neutral ground with no real alliances. Sure, she’s owned by the Russians, but she’s freelance. And money wouldn’t be enough of a motivator, not to someone like her.

  “It’s not her. It has to be a setup.”

  “Or maybe it is.” Samuel drags a hand through his hair and smirks. “If he had some serious collateral on her.” Anna.

  I lean back against the couch. “She wouldn’t let him live long enough to use it.”

  “Maybe, or maybe he’s playing her.”

  Very little is known about the assassin. She’s very choosy in who she’ll have dealings with. Those who do know what she looks like wouldn’t dare breathe a word because she will not hesitate to end them. She takes her anonymity very seriously. The rumor is that she’s the daughter of Nikolai Ivanov, one of the Russian Kingpins. Could it be that Nero is involved with him? Is Anna collateral against Nikolai?

  Whatever is going on, Nero is in with some serious people. I only hope he’s not going to drag Anna down with him.

  21

  Anna

  I try to move, but the collar at my neck cuts into my skin as the chains bolted to the floor pull tight. Heavy footsteps echo around my mind, much louder than they should be. Shiny shoes appear in my line of vision, and I slowly lift my gaze. I know this scene, I’ve relived it hundreds of times, but it’s changed. This is not the master. Instead, the man standing before me is the boss of the Sinaloa cartel. His three-piece suit is exactly the same way it was at the police station, the silver streaks in his hair appearing less severe in the darkness of the room.

  “How pretty you look like that; naked and on your knees for me.” They are the master’s words, but coming from this man’s mouth. The toe of his shoe nudges the inside of my knee before he shoves my legs apart. “Yes, so pretty.” He smirks, dropping to a crouch in front of me. He drops his gaze to the floor, and when he looks up again, it’s the face of the master. That sick smile pulls at his lips as he drags his thumb over the corner of my mouth. I close my eyes and silent tears track down my cheeks. “So young. So untouched.” I’m far from untouched. I hear him shift, and then the clink of his belt, the lowering of a zipper. He grips my jaw, squeezing so hard that his fingers sink into my skin. “Open up for me, amado.”

  I clench my jaw, fighting against the pain. The thought of him makes my stomach churn with bile. He releases me before his hand collides with my face. I pitch sideways, and the collar cuts into my throat, choking off my air. The taste of blood spills over my tongue, hot and metallic. Gripping my hair, he yanks me upright again, sending a burning sensation over my scalp. “Open, or I’ll break your jaw again.”

  I stare up at him, this monster in the form of a man. And then I close my eyes and open my mouth because I have no other choice.

  I wake up, and I swear I can taste the faintest hint of blood on my tongue. Moonlight pours through my open balcony doors, cutting across the cream carpet. I know I won’t be able to sleep again, so I get up and leave the room. It’s late, and Lucas is nowhere to be seen. I pad through the house, relishing the quietness that permeates the hallways. There’s the low hum of a voice coming from somewhere down the hall. I follow it, approaching Rafael’s office door and gently pushing it open. His eyes immediately meet mine, as if he expected me. He has a phone pressed to his ear; his eyes narrowed as he listens to whatever the other person says.

  “Twenty percent and I can have your shipment delivered next week,” he says in stilted German. Jesus, how far is his reach? As I walk farther into the office, and scan over the bookshelves until I come to that little golden globe he keeps behind him. I spin it around and then place my finger on one spot, somewhere in China. Rafael’s hand lands on my hip before he turns me to face him, pulling me between his knees. He’s done with his call.

  “Why are you awake?”

  “Couldn’t sleep.”

  He takes his cigar from the ashtray, placing it between his lips. The end glows bright, the scent of the smoke wafting up to greet me. “Another nightmare?”

  “Who needs sleep anyway?” I glance over his shoulder at the laptop on the desk. “Apparently you’d rather sell drugs to Germans.”

  His lips twitch. “I might have been discussing the weather with my German grandma.”

  I cock a brow. “Nice try.”

  His eyes narrow. “You speak German?” Only a little.

  I turn away; running my fingers over some leather bound books. “What, you thought I was uneducated?

  “I did wonder how a slave sold at thirteen years of age came to know Hemingway.”

  I nod, taking a book from the shelf and opening it. It’s a poetry book with Latin verses. “Because I was sold to a man who liked his girls to look young and beautiful and sound intelligent.” I snap the book closed and turn to face him.

  “That’s…”

  “Sick? Twisted? Depraved? He was all of those things.” I reach out, smoothing the frown line from between his brows.

  He snatches my hand and brings it to his lips, brushing them across my knuckles. “I need to ask you something.”

  “Okay.”

  He pulls me onto his lap, placing his hand against the small of my back. “Did your family have any ties to the bratva?”

  “Uh, I was sold to the bratva.”

  “Before that, before the orphanage.”

  I frown. “My parents were good, normal people. Why?” He watches me for a beat, and I can see the indecision playing over his features. “Tell me.”

  “Nero. I might have something. I think he might have one of the Russian kingpins in his pocket. When he asked me to look after you…” He takes a deep breath. “He said you were colla
teral. I thought maybe…”

  “I might mean something to someone.” I shake my head. “I don’t. I have no one, at least not that I know of.” He looks disappointed. “Why are you doing this? Is Nero paying you?”

  He snorts. “No, I don’t need the Italian’s money.”

  “Then why?”

  “Because I owe him a favor. A big one.”

  “What kind of favor?”

  “He killed my father.”

  “And…you owe him a favor for that?” I squeak.

  He smirks. “I didn’t much like my father.”

  “He was the boss before you?” He nods. “And your mother was…”

  “A prostitute. Yes. Although when I was conceived, he owned her. Her pregnancy inconvenienced him so he ‘freed’ her. Kicked her out on the street. She ended up a single mother of twins, whoring herself out to feed us. I joined the cartel to make money, but when he heard of some jumped-up street gang selling all this blow for him, he took an interest.” Rafael laughs humorlessly. “He acted like I was the prodigal son returned to him.”

  “And you waited.”

  “Until the perfect time.”

  “And took his cartel from him.” A grin spreads over his face as he nods. I understand the basic drive for revenge—the hunger, the need. “And your mother?”

  “She lives in a resort in Cancun.”

  Rafael really isn’t like all those men. He’s different, maybe a little broken, like me. Oh, how I wish he could save me the way he saved his mother.

  “Rafe, what is Nero going to do with me?” I whisper through my tightening throat.

  “I don’t know.” He strokes his fingers down my cheek, the gentleness so at odds with everything else about him. “Tell me, sweet Anna, what would you do if you were to have your freedom?”

  My mind hits a wall, and my mouth snaps shut. “I don’t know.”

  “You never thought about it?”

  “I survived because I refused to hope. So no, I never thought about it.”

  He takes a piece of my hair, twirling it around his finger until the gold strands are wrapped tightly around his tanned skin. “Well, maybe you should start thinking about it.”