Old Hollywood

by Suzanne Steele

  He took in every detail of her lovely face as she slept. Her glossy hair was jet black, her skin was a creamy, flawless porcelain. What was that saying? Peaches and cream. Would her pussy taste like peaches, he wondered? Why did everything about her make him think of sex? Her lips were full and pink, and tempting as hell even without the red lip gloss she usually wore. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw as he imagined a ring of that blood red lipstick smudged around the base of his cock.

  If things progressed the way he wanted for the two of them, much would be asked of that beautiful mouth very soon. He would help her, train her, push her limits until she could take it all. His cock went hard as bone at the thought, straining against his zipper as if it could sense its home nearby. He found himself wishing he could look into her vivid blue eyes and tell her the only truth that mattered now: that she belonged to him, and that there was no point in delaying the inevitable.

  Strong, independent women like Valentina didn’t allow men to storm into their lives and take over. But he wasn’t just any man, and though she didn’t know it yet, she didn’t have a choice. There was no way he was going to let her remain in Guatemala where her asshole agent was doing his best to use and abuse her. No more. Those days were over and Luis was lucky to still be alive.

  He wasn’t entirely surprised by how easily this sort of manipulation came to him, either. Victor had heard the story of how his father had held his mother Juanita captive. He’d also heard the hushed whispers of how he was Ricardo’s mirror image in not only looks but temperament. Was he like his father? Was it in his nature to just take what he wanted and not care about the consequences?

  It was too much to think about right now. His eyelids soon became heavy as he surrendered to the lure of sleep. He had gone close to forty-eight hours without it, unable to rest until he knew she had arrived safely. She was here now, so he would close his eyes…if only for a moment…

  Chapter Eight

  Valentina could feel the panic attack coming on as soon as she opened her eyes. She looked down at herself and saw her familiar nightie, but nothing else made any sense. She had gone to sleep in her bedroom and awakened somewhere else entirely.

  What was this place? She felt sluggish and groggy with a slight headache, sure signs that she had been drugged. How else could she have gone to bed as usual and somehow landed in a mansion, or maybe even a castle?

  She had never seen such opulence before. Hues of gold and red mingled with animal prints, giving the room an over-the-top yet somehow tasteful look. The bed was adorned with a scarlet and zebra silk duvet cover. An ornate, gilded mirror doubled as a headboard. The walls were painted a creamy, warm beige.

  Whoever owned this place had a taste for the finer things in life. But the room’s decadent beauty did nothing to stem the terror that clenched at her heart and tightened her airway. Where was she? What the hell had happened?

  Victor saw her distress and came to her, wrapping her in his arms and rocking her even as she wriggled frantically against his hold. He placed the pad of his finger over her jugular, the pounding of her heartbeat telling him all he needed to know.

  “I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe,” she repeated over and over. “I’m having a heart attack. Oh, God, I’m having a heart attack!”

  He slid his hand over her silky hair and lower to softly caress the soft curves of her back and hip, his lips against her temple as he murmured softly, “Sshhh, you’re not having a heart attack. You’re having a panic attack. It will pass, sshhhh, just breathe and it will pass.”

  He tilted her chin upwards toward him and cocked his head slightly. “Do you remember me at all, sweet Valentina?” He gently slid his thumb along her cheek, wiping away her tears.

  “I saw your picture in my file in Luis’ office.”

  “I am Victor Ramirez.”

  “That’s right…I thought I’d seen you before. I think we met once a long time ago.”

  “Only once, a very long time ago, indeed. Far too long.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, her panic giving way to curiosity.

  He raised a sardonic brow, looking down at her indulgently as if she already knew the answer. For now, he would play nice and oblige her. “You’ve come home, Valentina. I watched over you as you pursued your dreams and I made my own preparations, but I couldn’t wait any longer. I put up with Luis taking credit for my support of your career. But when he tried to take advantage of your beautiful body for his own financial gain, I had to act. I could not allow him to desecrate what belongs to me.”

  “What? Oh, I just knew he was up to something! Wait, what do you mean, what belongs--?” With a scowl, she pushed against his chest but his arms were like iron bands holding her in place. “And just where am I? How did I get here? What are you going to do to me?! If you’re planning to demand ransom, there’s no one to ask so don’t even bother. I’m pretty sure Luis is no longer speaking to me and he wouldn’t dream of parting with any cash on my behalf. Sorry to ruin your plans.”

  Her thoughts raced from confusion over his statement of ownership to fury over how Luis had betrayed her, to frustration with not understanding what was happening. As her panic quickly turned to rage, a slow, wicked smile softened his harsh features.

  “There it is,” he murmured softly, holding her securely against him as he continued his rhythmic stroking of her hair and lower back. “There’s the fire that has so fascinated me and held me captive. It is only fair that now you are my captive, eh? Hold on to that fire, Valentina, you’re going to need it. And do not worry about Luis. He won’t be bothering you anymore. Now, you need to rest, there will be plenty of time to talk later. For now, just know that you are in the United States. Kentucky, to be exact. The Bluegrass State, they call it.”

  With those cryptic words, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head and rose, rather reluctantly, to stand next to the bed. He’d leave her to absorb the revelations in private. He tilted her chin up once more and gazed down at the face that had haunted his dreams.

  “Welcome home, Valentina,” he said softly, then with a sigh he lowered his arm to his side, crossed the room, and stepped out into the hall, closing the door behind him.

  She heard the lock click into place, followed by the sound of his footsteps fading into the distance. How does someone go to sleep in Guatemala and wake up in a whole other country? And why?! She didn’t need anyone to tell her this man wasn’t used to hearing the word ‘no’. Somehow, he’d gotten it into his head that she belonged to him now. The only question was: what exactly did that even mean?

  When the door opened moments later, she expected it to be him again but it was a smiling young woman in a gray maid’s uniform. Her long, black ponytail lay over her shoulder as she crossed over to the cozy sitting area in the corner of the room. She moved silently, balancing a tray loaded down with coffee, fruit and croissants. After placing the tray on the low table in front of the loveseat, she straightened and smiled at her lovely new charge.

  “Welcome to Louisville, Missy. I am Renata. You eat now, then you may shower and get dressed.” Her solicitous words were spoken in soft, heavily accented English.

  Valentina shook her head impatiently and held up her hands in apparent surrender. “Sorry, I don’t have anything to wear.”

  “Si’. Tienes la ropa, para alli.”

  Renata simply smiled indulgently as she informed Valentina that she did indeed have clothing. An entire wardrobe, in fact. She strode to a door Valentina hadn’t noticed until now, and opened it to reveal what appeared to be a walk-in closet.

  Frowning, Valentina jumped up from the bed and rushed over to the closet. She was speechless as she marveled at the luxuriously appointed space. This was no regular walk-in closet. It was a dressing room fit for a queen.

  It was almost too much to take in: wall-to-wall racks of clothing, shelves brimming with designer shoes and handbags, and a large, octagonal dressing table in the middle featuring glass-topped displays of watches,
bracelets, and earrings. She opened a mahogany drawer and found a seemingly endless supply of Agent Provocateur lingerie – all in her size.

  She took her time, touching random items and checking the sizes, only to find that everything might as well have been tailor-made to fit her. This man had taken the time to shop for her – or gave someone else all the information they would need to do it for him. Either way, she was impressed – and terrified. How long had he been planning this?

  She’d encountered her share of fans who were over the top in their devotion to her, but this…this was different. She thought about the image he conveyed with the way he had been dressed: a navy bespoke suit with a stark white shirt. The suit had been slightly rumpled, evidence that he had likely been watching over her most of the night. The burgundy silk tie had been paired with a gold tie pin that matched his cufflinks. His wavy black hair had framed his face perfectly, just messy enough to be contrary to his otherwise elegant, fiercely masculine style. The five o’clock shadow that darkened his jawline only added to the rugged masculine energy that fit him as easily as that suit. His features had been harsh and forbidding, and yet he was incredibly handsome…and sexy as hell. She had never seen anything like him before, and she had worked with some of the most sought-after male actors. No one compared with this man, no one even came close.

  Yes…Victor was a lot like the room she had woken up in, a mixture of opulent, polished strength and raw masculinity. It worked for him – or, rather, he worked it. She tried not to dwell on why she remembered so much about his appearance. Everything he said and did seemed well thought out and carefully planned. That deliberate, predatory nature was a personality trait she instinctively knew she should seek to understand and that, no doubt, his enemies already knew well.

  Valentina knew without a doubt that she was dealing with no ordinary man, and yet, even though she was confused and ill at ease with her present circumstances, she wasn’t frightened. Not really. Perhaps it was because she remembered meeting him briefly so long ago. He wasn’t the kind of man one could forget, and she had to confess that she had thought of him from time to time…during her more private moments.

  Where had he gone and when would he be back? She had countless questions and she knew he’d have the answers. The surge of energy that prickled along her skin at the prospect of seeing him again stole her breath. But the sensation made no damn sense, not like the panic attack she had endured only moments ago. That brand of confusion and fear she could understand, but not this. All she knew was that she wanted more.

  Victor sat alone in his bedroom, his immense frame lazing in one of two wingchairs positioned in front of the fireplace. Valentina was getting some fresh air outside, with a trio of security guards keeping an eye on her. King had just left after giving him a rundown of how the ‘rescue’ operation had gone. It had gone remarkably smoothly, considering how quickly the logistics had been put in place.

  He took yet another deep, troubled breath as he twirled the pen between two fingers. A Graf fuckin’ von Faber-Castel. Shit. King had been smart to bring it to him because if Victor had found out himself that Valentina had ever given a gift to that piece of shit, he would have gotten on the fucking plane and killed Luis himself. He might still do it anyway. Fucker.

  Valentina would have no secrets now. Day by day, he would systematically insert himself into her life until there was nothing in her mind but Ricardo Victor Ramirez Jr. Like a predator with a perfect morsel of prey, he would delight in toying with her, slowly owning her, piece by delectable piece.

  Nothing could have prepared him for the panic attack she’d had when she woke up. He had played out in his mind every possible scenario, but not that. He had expected to be in for the fight of his life when she awoke in a complete stranger’s home. But he hadn’t expected her distress to work in his favor so perfectly. She would never forget him being a compassionate hero in the moment she needed one even though, yes, he was the cause of her present predicament.

  Something unfamiliar had stirred within him when she melted in his arms. He wasn’t a compassionate man, never had been. The killing, maiming, and torturing he’d done from a young age was what defined him. More than once he’d been likened to his sadistic uncle or his ruthless father and he’d always taken the comparison as high praise. As the pen made its way back and forth between his fingertips, he thought back to the time when, at the age of eleven, he had hidden in the trunk of his father’s car and snuck into the old warehouse to watch his father and uncle torture a man.

  Victor slipped through the warehouse door unnoticed. The screams that reverberated off the walls sent a thrill of excitement through him.

  He’d heard the rumors of how sadistic the Ramirez men could be and wanted to see it firsthand. He was young but he was already developing a taste for blood. The closer he got to the man’s agonized screams, it was as if something inside of him shifted and righted itself.

  He peeked around a corner and saw his uncle standing at a work bench. The older man stilled, then turned his head slightly in Victor’s direction. Victor stepped back but it was too late. The low rumble of his uncle’s voice was followed by his father’s thundering command that he come out of hiding.

  “Come see what happens to people who steal from the Ramirez family.”

  He walked toward his father, but his long, gangly limbs were unsteady beneath him. The fear that consumed him had nothing to do with the horror of what he was about to see; it was because of his intimidating father. He craned his neck, looking up into his father’s eyes as he laid a hand on Victor’s shoulder. “If you’re old enough to wonder about what we do then you’re old enough to witness what comes with the job. Now, watch. Don’t look away, no matter what.”

  Ricardo turned his attention back to Antonio Wayne, and Victor followed suit. His uncle had placed the thief’s head in an industrial vice grip. Antonio Wayne looked over at Victor and smiled the benevolent smile of an indulgent uncle who had hidden candy in his pockets.

  “You’ve arrived at the perfect time. I once read about someone who did this. Do you know, it put so much pressure on the head that an eye popped out?! Want to see if it works, son?” he asked, using a term of endearment that Ricardo allowed no other man to use with the boy. Victor nodded his head eagerly, sensing that he was about to be granted entrance into his elders’ inner sanctum.

  Antonio Wayne tousled the boy’s hair and chuckled, as if offering him a ride on a pony. “Damn, boy, I do believe you got my sadistic genes. You’ve definitely got the Ramirez cartel bloodlust.”

  Victor watched, enthralled by the spectacle as his uncle tightened the vice grip. The creaking of the metal grew louder as the pressure was increased. The man’s shrieks took on an unearthly quality until he was gurgling unintelligibly…and one of the man’s eyes popped out of its socket.

  “Yep, it works,” Antonio said in a satisfied voice as the eyeball dangled precariously from the soft tissue that was still attached to it. In one swift move he picked up a meat cleaver and cut the man’s fingers off. As a guttural wail roared from the man’s throat, blood spurted and one of his fingers landed on the floor by Victor’s foot.

  Antonio Wayne pulled his nephew close to his side, leaning down slightly as he spoke to him in a low voice. “I never let a thief go without cutting off some fingers or a hand. It’s kind of my trademark. But sometimes, like now, it’s really more about creative license, since I won’t be letting this one go.”

  Victor watched as his uncle pulled a gun from his waistband and held it out to him. “Would you like to do the honors?”

  Victor reached eagerly for the gun, but stopped short at the sound of his father’s voice. “No. Not today. His first kill should mean something. He needs to earn it, to know he secured his prey on his own. There will be time for that later.”

  Antonio Wayne shrugged and gave his nephew a wink, then raised his arm and, like he was swatting a fly, casually put a bullet in the man’s forehead. He took a step back a
nd admired his handiwork. The exit wound was substantial, causing blood and brain matter to splatter all over the wall.

  “You’re a regular Pollack,” Ricardo drawled.

  Antonio Wayne’s laughter echoed off the walls as he threw an arm around his nephew’s shoulders. “Well, son, consider yourself officially inducted. Always remember, cartel and family come first. Always.”

  It was the guiding principle of his life: cartel and family first. Anything else was unimportant when compared with those two things. At first glance, someone might think that his claiming of the fair Valentina was taking him a bit off course, but he knew better. He would have a family of his own one day soon with Valentina. He saw no point in wasting time or pretending that he wouldn’t get what he wanted. He always got what he wanted, not because he was lazy or self-indulgent but because he was relentless.

  He wished he could have seen her face when she saw the wardrobe he’d given her. Most men would have sent someone to do the shopping, but not Victor; he had picked out every single item. A woman that beautiful deserved a man’s personal attention, not some half-assed, empty attempt to impress her. He didn’t give a fuck about impressing her. He wanted to own her, to make her his. She deserved no less.

  A knock at the door drew his attention, barely. “Enter,” he said gruffly, more than a little distracted and plenty resentful of being dragged away from his pleasurable train of thought.

  As his brother Tony sat down on the sofa, Victor continued to toy with the elegant pen. He still hadn’t decided what to do with it. “You know she gave this pen to that Luis bastard? A two-thousand-dollar pen. A-fuckin’-mazing.”