Chasing Fire (The Fire Duet Book 1)

by Billie Lustig

  “Let’s make a deal.”

  I laugh incredulously at her bold suggestion.

  “If you think you can negotiate your freedom, you can’t.”

  “Fuck you,” she hisses, emphasizing the ‘fuck’.

  “Babe, I would love to, but something tells me you won’t be as responsive as you were a few nights ago. I’m down if you are, though.” I smirk while I shoot her a teasing wink.

  She runs her hand through her hair and gives me a frustrated glare.

  “Why?” The word is simple, but we both know she isn’t just asking why.

  Why did you take me?

  Why did you throw me in a cell?

  Why are we on a superyacht in the middle of the Atlantic?

  No, the only why she wants to know is why I would trick her when I could have easily just taken her. Why would I make the effort to seduce her if I can force her?

  Because it’s fun.

  I cock my head a little. “Have you seen yourself, baby? You may be a Reyes, but no other Reyes holds a candle to you. I wanted you, and I take what I want.”

  “So?”

  “Not good enough, huh?”

  She raises her eyebrows in response, giving me a you’re full of shit look.

  “I don’t do rape. I don’t have to rape, you proved that yourself when you were squirming underneath me. Now stop with the spectacle and drop the gun.”

  She rolls her eyes like a bored teenager.

  “Don’t insult me. I’m not stupid,” she spits. “You know damn well this isn’t my first rodeo, and with my last name, it probably won’t be my last. I know how this works, okay? I’m a smart girl, I can connect the dots.” She shoots me a hostile look, her eyes glued to mine. Our eyes connect, and I can feel the unspoken connection of our energies—like we are the only two people on the deck.

  It brings back memories that go straight to my dick.

  Forgotten are the fifteen men surrounding her. Her attention is solely on me, not wasting her energy on anyone who isn’t in charge. She goes straight to the person she already knows is the boss.

  Me.

  “And what dots are those?” I ask with amusement, crossing my arms in front of me.

  With each word, she spits more fire like a little dragon, and the intensity vibrating out of her like she actually has some say in the matter is kind of cute.

  “You don’t look like a man who likes to waste time,” she explains with obvious agitation, eager for me to get to the point.

  “I have all the time in the world, baby.” I can shut her up at any time. I can knock her out and throw her back into that cell she cracked out of like a baby dinosaur.

  But I like whatever the fuck she is saying. I like watching her attitude come out like a waterfall. It’s the second time in a few days I have had one of the most interesting conversations I’ve ever had, and it all has to do with the person engaging in it. Considering we will be in the middle of the ocean for the next few weeks, this might be the most interesting thing happening for a long time, and I’d rather enjoy myself for as long as I can.

  “Is this about my dad? Or are you in bed with Distucci?” Disdain fills her face when she mentions the word ‘dad’. I’m guessing she really isn’t that keen of Daddy Reyes. But it’s the second name that surprises me. I keep my face stoic, not showing my surprise.

  Why the fuck would she think I’m working with that Italian jackass?

  “I’m not that kind of guy,” I reply sarcastically before I shoot her another wink. “And I think I’ve already proven that to you.”

  “So it’s my dad,” she murmurs, ignoring my comment.

  I nod to confirm.

  “Okay, so I’m the leverage, he has something you want, and you want it back. Blah blah blah. I. DON’T. CARE. In fact, I don’t even give a shit what you will do with my dad at this point.” She slightly waves the gun in front of me, her face full of annoyance and brass. She’s clearly comfortable with guns. “But I will tell you this: I would rather die trying to shoot all of you bastards to a better place than be forced to open my legs ever again in my life. So I suggest none of you fuckers try to lay a fucking hand on me.”

  That is her concern?

  The rage in her eyes has reached another level, and I never have seen a more determined woman in my life. She forces a certain amount of respect if it’s not given to her right away. The wind keeps blowing strings of her hair over her face, but she doesn’t seem bothered by it at all. She is solely focused on me. My hands are longing to push the strands off her freckled skin, but instead, I keep my distance, not knowing what the little vixen will do next.

  “I’m not stupid, I know the odds are not even a bit in my favor, but you know what? I will fight every day, every fucking minute, until I get my freedom back.” She points the gun at a few of my men, holding it a few seconds longer on the guy she shot in the shoulder, yet her eyes never leave mine as she continues speaking.

  “You will succeed many times, but trust me when I say this: I only need one chance to succeed in order to do as much damage as possible. Because even though I won’t escape and gain my freedom, because well, I can fucking count,” she deadpans. “I will cause a lot of destruction. Hurting and killing your men—not enough to change the cards for me, but enough to make you so fed up with me, that you will want to throw me into the Atlantic and feed me to the sharks rather than put up with me for another day.”

  An arrogant smirk appears on her face before she adds, “At least, I’m assuming we are on the Atlantic?”

  I nod again, doing my best not to crack a smile.

  Does she really have no fear?

  “Right. So that means you’re taking me back to my dad. To fucking Spain. On a two-week boat trip?”

  I raise three fingers in the air.

  “Fuck me, three goddamn weeks on a boat? Jesus.” She finally breaks eye contact, closing her long-lashed lids for a few seconds. When she opens them again, her rage is a bit dimmed, but her mouth pulled into a sour grin, showing how her irritation is higher than before. This girl is standing here, not showing any unease, even though I can make her life unbearable right now. In fact, if she knew who I really was, she probably would be. Any other girl would have been crying on her knees, begging for her life. Callie Reyes, however, is not even modestly dazed. She is standing in front of me like I’m some bully in high school, determined not to give me the satisfaction of showing any fear.

  “All the more reason to honor my request,” Callie continues. “No one wants to stay on this huge boat for the three weeks, feeling on edge the entire time, right?” She looks around, taking in how big this yacht is. She couldn’t be more right.

  “Damn, this is one big boat.” She keeps her head up, looking at something on the deck. Her eyes widen in surprise, telling me the exact moment she sees my brother, knowing he’s watching our every move from the upper deck.

  “Fuck, there are two of them.” I hear her mutter this more to herself than to anyone else before her eyes land back on me. “Anyway, let’s all relax. None of you touch me, and I will play nice until you get whatever you need me for.”

  The tone in her voice is light and cheerful, like she doesn’t have a care in the world.

  This girl has balls. I have to give her that. She reminds me of me. Always in control. She is in a shitty situation with nowhere to hide, but she still stands here, trying to create a better outcome for herself. Forcing everyone and everything to show her respect in order to maintain the upper hand.

  I saunter towards her, looking in to her mesmerizing eyes—not paying any attention to the gun she still has pointed on me. She just killed three of my men, but the way she looks at me tells me she won’t shoot me.

  The memory is too good to kill. Literally.

  Her eyes are a teal color I have never seen before. Like a rare shade of blue diamonds. Looking into her eyes has me flashing back to the first time I met her. They are just as hypnotizing now as I remember them being when she w
as moaning under my touch.

  When I get closer, her look slowly changes to terror, her finger tightening on the trigger, presumably wondering if I’m a hazard to her. I walk until the gun is touching my sternum. My eyes stare into hers for what feels like ages, silently demanding her to back down.

  She seems flustered, and her breathing increases, probably debating with herself if she should shoot me right now or throw herself into the ocean like she suggested. Her jaw is clenched, and I can see the confusion running through her head.

  “No one will touch you,” I finally say, putting her out of her misery.

  A subtle hint of her flowery shampoo rattles my concentration.

  She blinks at my answer, and the shimmer of fear I’d just seen is replaced with the same attitude as before, just combined with curiosity.

  “What is your last name?” Her voice is soft and seducing with a hint of desperation in it. Although I also see amusement in her eyes. She wants to know what, or who, she is up against. I can tell her it is none of her business, but I want her to know exactly who I am. I want her to know I’m not just a criminal. She has no way to escape if I don’t want her to. I control everything.

  And now I control her.

  “Carrillo.”

  Her eyebrows move up in surprise and recognition. She glances up to Liam, and I see the moment it clicks. The moment she connects ‘the final dots’, as she had put it minutes before.

  Good, she has heard of us.

  Her eyes narrow, moving back and forth, her brain processing what she just heard. She keeps staring at me in silence until I notice the fire move back into her eyes.

  “Give me your word,” she finally whispers, her voice quiet but full of demand.

  This red-headed dragon dares to give me a demand.

  I cock an eyebrow and let out a soft chuckle, “What makes you think my word is worth anything?”

  She tilts her head while the corner of her mouth rises in a smug smile.

  “You’re a Carrillo. Your word means everything.”

  I keep a straight face, but I’m surprised by her comment. She hasn’t just heard of me. She knows more about me than I had expected. I grab the gun out of her hand, my fingers delicately brushing hers, causing an unfamiliar flutter in my stomach. I push away instantly, but then I step a little closer. Her eyes shift to a darker shade, obviously not sure what I’m going to do next.

  She tries to hold her ground, but I feel how I slowly seize the power the closer I get. Our faces are only a few inches away, and I can count the soft brown freckles on her face. Watching her luscious pink lips makes it tempting to kiss her again, to show her I’m unpredictable in every way, but Liam is looking down on us, and he’s already pissed at me for sleeping with her. Her breathing is steady even though I can feel her hostility.

  “You have my word.”

  Callie

  Present Day

  Two heavily armed men escort me below the deck, away from the helicopter platform. My inner self is running in circles inside my overheated brain, and every few seconds she bumps her head on the wall in her fucking frenzy.

  Frustration.

  Madness.

  Unease.

  Terror.

  Yeah, mostly terror.

  Terror, wondering what in the actual fuck is going on. Terror, wondering what in the actual fuck did I get myself in to? We walk down the glass staircase I ran up ten minutes ago to what I assume is the same cell I escaped out of.

  I sure as fuck hope they cleaned up all the blood splatter.

  This is what the bold me is saying, keeping my attitude primed inside my head. There is also the insecure me, feeling nervous, as if I was waiting for the gates of hell with sweaty palms, wondering what it will be like and hoping for the best. It’s that part that is freaking me out, making me gasp for air while I’m doing everything I can to stay as calm as possible.

  Exhale.

  Inhale.

  Exhale.

  Inhale.

  You’ve got this, Callie girl.

  Screw that, I am about to lose it. I have so many questions racing through my head, I can’t even keep up with myself. I knew I was in trouble when Ronnie Distucci came to my doorstep informing me I owed him a shit ton of money. He’d given me fourteen days to get it back with interest, which was a gracious offer considering the mob normally doesn’t give you more than 48 hours. I knew it had everything to do with the fact that Ronnie has had a thing for me since high school. I could tell he was thrilled, knowing I owed him and would be at his mercy until he decided otherwise.

  How the fuck am I going to get him the money in time now that Kane fucking Carrillo is keeping me prisoner on a yacht for the next few weeks?

  Or until he kills me.

  That would solve my problem, though.

  Oh, dear lord, how the hell did I get myself involved with, not one, but two crime lords?

  The Carrillo brothers are a whole different cup of tea, and I’m in way over my head.

  They lead me on to a level that doesn’t look familiar, but it has the same luxurious cream and gold wood paneling. I quietly let my eyes roam, wondering where the fuck we are going. We stop in front of a white door with a handle that has the same shade of gold as the rest of the yacht. Or what I have seen so far, anyway. It looks nothing like the cell I walked, excuse me, shot my way out of. The wannabe commando on my right opens the door and tilts his head, motioning for me to enter. My feet take a few steps forward, my eyes widening in awe as he closes the door behind me.

  Holy hell, this is quite the upgrade.

  I walk farther into the room that has floor to ceiling windows, giving it a magnificent view of the ocean. There’s the same herringbone hardwood floor as the hallway, with an ocean blue rug on the right side and a cream-colored king-size bed on top of it. I don’t know shit about rugs, but it looks expensive. In fact, everything does. The walls are paneled with gold on the lower half of the surface and the same ocean blue on the upper half. The silk drapes, that seem to function automatically, match the blue color on the walls. On the left side of the room are two lounge areas, with a door in the middle leading to what I’m guessing is the bathroom.

  One of the lounge areas has a comfortable looking cream-colored sofa with decorative pillows in various shades of blue. Hanging on the wall is a large, flat screen with a massive jungle plant in the corner. The other side has four armchairs with a table in the middle. In the corner beside it is a tray filled with bottles of liquor.

  Yes, please!

  I walk towards the tray and make myself a five fingered whiskey, pouring it down my throat like it’s water. I feel the burn scorching my insides while simultaneously converting my nerves to a light shimmer.

  Yup, just what I needed.

  I pour myself another one and stroll around the room. On the right side of the bed is a door that leads to a walk-in closet about the same size as the one I have at home. I take a sip while I wander over the light blue carpet, running my hands through the collection of evening gowns. They all look extravagant and posh, making me wonder who they belong to.

  To my surprise, there is also a section filled with clothing that looks a lot like clothes I would wear. A wide collection of sweaters, tops, and jeans. In fact, these look a lot like mine. All of it.

  “Holy shit,” I blurt out when I notice my favorite sneakers on the shoe rack. The front nose of the left shoe has a small pink stain of nail polish on it—just like mine.

  These are mine.

  While the brown liquor had relaxed me a minute ago, I’m totally lost again now. This doesn’t add up. Why would they give me the luxury of an actual room and even bring my clothes? After I freak out for a minute, I decide to roll with it and rest, not knowing when I will need to perform some more of Mr. Jones’ moves to keep me alive. I grab a gray hoodie out of the closet and pull off my blood-spattered tee. When I raise up my arms, I feel an annoying pain on my side, making me glance into the full-size mirror in the corner. My ri
ght flank looks like an abstract painting in red, blue, purple, and even a little yellow. With nothing more on than my black lace bra, my fingertips softly examine the area with care, trying to feel if there are any broken ribs.

  My body jolts when I hear a deep chuckle behind me, heart dropping out of my body. Again. Jesus, what is it with men making me jump like a deer in headlights lately?

  I quickly reach for the hoodie and pull it over my head.

  “You think that is funny?” I snarl at Kane while glaring at him. He is leaning against the doorpost with his arms folded in front of his body, highlighting the strength of every muscle in his upper arms. He has a smug grin on his face that is as devilish as it is sexy.

  “You killed three of my men, shot one in the shoulder, and have nothing more than a few bruises. You’re damn right I think that’s funny. It also makes me question my security team.”

  Hearing him talk about what happened with an amused tone actually heightens my attitude.

  I walk towards him in a seductive way, reminding him of how he chased me the other night. I may not have the same effect wearing a hoodie as wearing high heels and skin tight flared pants, but fuck it, I have nothing else to do right now than mess with his head.

  “Your security team is shit,” I proclaim before I walk past him to pour myself another drink. When I reach the liquor tray, he’s turned around, but in the same position. His eyes seem a little darker, and the flat line of his lips shows me he’s pissed.

  “This is better than that dog shelter you first put me in. Maybe if you had put me in here to start with, three of your men would still be alive.” I keep a smirk on my face while I grab the crystal bottle and effortlessly pour myself a refill.

  “You have a very big mouth.”

  “People keep saying that, I don’t know why.” I shrug, keeping my face as expressionless as possible. I can see his energy shift, and I swallow to keep my calm. I bet he would be a great dog whisperer because any sane, living being would shrink under his dominance.

  Too bad for him, I don’t have a submissive bone in my body.