by Kim Karr
“I’m sorry, Enrique, but it’s all such a blur. I think I’m still in shock.”
“Are you sure that’s why you didn’t call?”
Does he know something or is he acting paranoid? “Why else wouldn’t I call you?”
“Gemma, you know I don’t appreciate you questioning me.”
“I wasn’t. I’m sorry if you took it that way. I’m just still a little shaken.”
There’s a moment of uncertainty between us, but then he reaches for my hand and squeezes it tightly. “Did those men—hurt you, touch you in some way?”
I shake my head no.
“No bruises?”
Again, I shake my head no. They wanted to rape and kill me, but as long as I’m unmarked, I guess all is well.
“Thank God. I’m so thankful you’re okay.”
It doesn’t make sense, but I don’t think he had anything to do with what happened, he seems genuine, and I’m relieved. “I am,” I reassure him.
His eyes ignite with relief, and I hate that I notice the genuine emotion.
“I got the pieces,” I tell him with a smile.
Shock fills his gaze. “You did? I wasn’t sure after what happened you’d been able to retrieve them.”
Retrieve.
Like I’m a dog who asks how high when he says jump or runs as far as he’ll throw me a bone.
It makes me sick.
Subtly freeing myself from his hold, I point to the windows that he loves so much. “They’re right there. Let me show them to you.” This is the perfect opportunity to make some noise so that if Caleb hasn’t opened the bathroom window yet and gotten out, he can now.
It’s as I’m walking toward the wrapped packages that Enrique takes hold of my arm and tugs me back to him. “Where’s Caleb?” he asks, obviously just realizing he’s gone.
Lying comes so easily around him. “My stomach seems to be upset from last night. I sent him out to get me something to take care of it.”
His gaze is intense when he responds, “He left you alone? I should fire him for that.”
Trying to act like I don’t care, I respond with, “You could, I guess, but he did save my life last night. And, you should probably know, I might have threatened him with telling you he allowed me to suffer if he didn’t go get me some medicine right away.”
“But you said you were fine?”
“I am, now. As soon as I saw you, I felt better instantly.”
Enrique’s gaze darkens and he pulls me close once again. “This pleases me. I have missed you.”
“I missed you,” I lie.
His hands slide down my body. “Take these dirty clothes off,” he demands. “I want to make certain you are unharmed.”
Shit, I took things too far. “Enrique, I’m fine, and I want to show you the artwork.” I try to get out of his grasp.
He doesn’t let go of me. “Later, Gemma. You first.”
Oh, God, no, not now. I hope Caleb is gone. “But the pieces. I thought you’d be excited to see them.”
“I am. But I’m more anxious to see you.”
I stand still, unmoving, not responding to his demands.
“Gemma, you know I don’t like to wait,” Enrique rasps.
I’ve stalled long enough. The only thing I can do is comply.
Back to reality.
Chapter 24
Never Be the Same
Caleb
THIS IS WRONG. So very wrong. I hate every Goddamn minute of this and yet I can’t leave.
The itch is fierce, and I have to fight every single emotion I shouldn’t allow myself to have.
She belongs to him, so why do I feel like she’s mine? Like I want to barge into her room and cut this guy’s dick off.
Unable to stop myself from inflicting torture on my soul, I peer out the crack. From behind the bathroom door, I can see them, hear them, sense that something is off.
Gemma is acting strange.
Robotic.
Not at all like a woman in love and happy to see her man. Then again, just minutes ago she was about to let me take her.
Maybe it’s guilt I hear in her voice.
Still, she didn’t call him last night. Didn’t seek his comfort. Instead, she sought mine.
Something isn’t right.
That’s why I’m still here spying on my boss, my mark, the man I want to take down like I’ve never wanted anything in my life, with the woman he hired me to keep safe.
His woman.
The same woman who has somehow eased herself into the small cracks of my lifeless soul.
I’ll leave soon. I won’t be able to take much more of this. I just want to make sure everything is okay.
Enrique walks toward the bed, and I can no longer see him but I know he’s sitting on it because I can hear the springs squeak as he does.
“You’re a mess,” he remarks, and I feel like ripping his throat out.
“I know,” she replies, in a velvet soft voice. “I wish I would have known you were coming so early, I would have hurried to clean myself up.”
“You know I prefer that you not wear street clothes like that. How about you start by removing those dreadful shoes,” he commands.
The need to leap is so great, I can feel the floor crumble beneath my feet. I have to hold the wall to stay in place, to stop from pouncing.
Through the slit in the door, I watch Gemma bend over and untie her Converse.
The authority in his voice isn’t a surprise, but the way Gemma melds to his every command is. She doesn’t argue or resist him in the slightest. The air doesn’t spark with her determination when she’s with him. It’s like she’s someone else.
“Now your top,” he directs in a husky voice.
My gut twists and I have to remind myself she belongs to him, and that is why she’s complying. That free will is what compels her, not bondage or slavery.
She.
Is.
His.
And it’s by her choice. Whether it’s for money or love, I don’t have a fucking clue.
From here, I can see a small tattoo on her shoulder. I think it’s a heart but I can’t be certain.
“You didn’t cover that,” Cruz scowls.
“No,” she replies meekly. “I’m sorry, but I already told you I wasn’t expecting you this early.”
“It should always be covered, Gemma. Next time I’ll have to punish you.”
“I understand.”
Anger boils in my blood. Punish her? What the fuck is going on here?
“Remove the rest,” he drawls.
I have to physically hold myself back. I want to pounce and take this guy down. This sick fuck wants her to strip for him before he fucks her. Doesn’t he understand she was attacked last night? Almost killed. She needs tenderness, not dominance.
Not that I know anything about women, but I was there. I saw the fear in her eyes. Why isn’t she telling him what happened? And why the hell is he instructing her to remove her clothes instead of asking for details about Mexico?
“Put your hair up, my angel.”
“Yes, Mr. Cruz.”
Mr. Cruz?
What the fuck?
Moments later, he says, “Good girl, Gemma. Now, move over to the window. Let me see you in the light.”
Gemma is quiet as she moves. When she’s no longer in my sight, I know I should leave but I can’t.
Something isn’t right.
It just isn’t right.
There’s a sigh. It’s him. “You’re trembling,” he says.
“I’m just cold. I’ll be fine.”
She’s not cold—she’s still in shock and she’s scared.
Of him?
“I know what will help you, my angel. I don’t think I’ve wanted to make love to you more than I do right now,” he says, “But since we must wait until you’re ready, I’ll give you what I can. Touch yourself, pleasure yourself for me, Gemma.”
It takes a moment for everything to click but when it doe
s, I know I need to get out of here. I want to kill the sick fuck with my bare hands but I can’t. Not right now.
Moving fast, I rush across the bathroom and come to a stop near the shower. In the process, I accidently bump the hamper and the lid almost tumbles to the ground but I catch it in time.
The neon-orange color inside catches my attention. Lifting a Doc Martin, I can’t believe it. I’ve seen these before, and only days ago, when I was hand-to-hand with Cleo.
Cleo, the dark webber who steals Leonardo’s deals out from under him and stockpiles the goods in the warehouse.
Gemma is Cleo.
What the hell is her game?
So, she isn’t really his but rather he’s her pawn and he doesn’t even know it.
Brilliant.
Fucking brilliant.
That’s my girl.
Chapter 25
Make Me Feel
Gemma
I’D NEVER HAD to fake my own orgasm before.
Still, telling him no isn’t an option. So instead, I channel Meg Ryan and try to pull it off. The truth is there is no way I can make myself come. My body is too tense and my mind is anywhere but having to bring it pleasure.
Sitting on the bed with his ankle crossed at the knee, he watches me finger myself with an intensity in his eyes I haven’t seen before.
There’s a discernable bulge between his thighs, but that isn’t anything new. “Gemma, stop for a moment and come closer,” he tells me.
I take a single trembling step forward. I’ve never hated him as much as I do right now. I could blow this whole thing if I can’t keep it together.
He sets his leg on the floor and widens his knees before holding his hand out. “Closer.”
Something isn’t right. He typically avoids too much contact, especially when I’m naked.
I step between his thighs and take his still-offered hand. Touching him makes my skin crawl, especially because my lips are still tingling from Caleb’s kiss.
Caleb.
The man I would have let fuck me.
The man who could be my downfall.
I have to try harder to fight the attraction.
Maybe I should encourage Enrique to let him go so I don’t have to fight anything.
He’s not good for me.
Enrique lets go of my fingers and takes my face in his palms. “Relax, Gemma, this is for you, not me. This is your reward. You don’t have to rush it. Enjoy it.”
I nod in understanding.
I have to do better.
I have to.
“Now, let’s try again,” he tells me, like I’m learning to ride a bike.
Still, despite his ignorance to the fact that I know how to masturbate, I nod again. I’m too afraid to speak because I might cry if I do. My strength is diminished. I need to get it back. Quickly.
Focus.
I need to focus.
The end is near.
It has to be.
Enrique stands and turns me around, laying me on the bed. “Now, touch yourself,” he commands. “Slower this time.”
Just as I start to run my fingers down my belly, I hear the front door open and then close.
“Miss Heart, I’m back,” Caleb shouts, back to the formalness Enrique requires of him.
Smart.
I shoot up. “I’ll be right out,” I answer.
Enrique shakes his head no and places a gentle hand on my shoulder. “You finish, Gemma and then take a nice hot bath. I need to have a talk with Mr. Holt.”
“Are you going to fire him?” I ask, not sure if I want that or not. If I do, this is my chance to say something that will most definitely get him fired. Tell Enrique he touched me. Kissed me. That he wants me.
I can’t do that.
That will get him killed, not fired.
“That’s not your concern, angel, but to be honest, I haven’t decided. He’s good at his job. He just needs to understand his role a bit more if he’s to continue to work for me.”
“His role?” I ask softly. “What do you mean by that?”
His fierce scowl tells me I shouldn’t have questioned him. “His role, Gemma. His place. He must understand that he answers to me and me alone!”
Right. Not to me. I get it.
With that, he turns and heads toward the door, tossing over his shoulder, “When you’re presentable, come and find me, and then you can show me the art you acquired. I’ll have taken care of matters by then.”
What he really means is taken care of Caleb.
Or perhaps what he really means is that Caleb isn’t any of my business.
Either way, he couldn’t be more wrong.
What he doesn’t know is that unlike me, the girl sitting naked on a bed for him, Caleb isn’t going to roll over.
No, just the opposite. Caleb is going to screw him.
And maybe screw me.
And I’m going to let him.
Chapter 26
Let Me
Caleb
I’M NOT SURE whether I pity her, hate her, or love her.
Love her.
What the fuck?
I don’t even know her. It has to be some kind of PTSD. Maybe because I couldn’t get to her sooner last night or maybe because I allowed her to put herself through that charade for him.
I should have busted in.
Stopped him.
Him.
Enrique Cruz.
The man I can’t wait to ruin.
The thing is, Gemma is with Cruz, and she’s got an ulterior motive for being with him. A reason for succumbing to this sick fuck’s needs. It must be something big for her to put herself through the humiliation of it all.
I want to know what it is.
Need to know why.
I’ve been walking for hours, wasting time, fighting with myself not to do what I’m about to do.
After Smith interrogated me for hours about what happened in Mexico, Cruz laid into me about leaving Gemma alone. After ordering me out of his sight, I thought he was firing me until he shouted a thank you for keeping Gemma safe and that I was to return Sunday at midnight.
I have to assume he’ll be watching over her himself or he’ll have one of his guards do so.
So, with way too many hours to count until I can get back to her, I go against everything I know is right and break protocol to make contact with the team.
To tell them Gemma is Cleo and find out what they learned about her. She’s become a pawn in this operation, and I hate like fuck that we have to use her.
Pushing open the door of the small office in Ocean Beach that serves as the team’s cover for the security office, I’m surprised to find it empty.
The team has evacuated. Then again, it isn’t really a surprise. Of course they would have cleared out after my run-in with Cleo. After all, chances were good we’d been burned and the asset wouldn’t be returning, so why stick around.
The asset.
I can’t believe the asset is Gemma.
Calling in for a meet would sound an alarm to the higher ups I don’t want to do deal with, so it looks like I’ll have to wait for the scheduled meet-up.
Closing the door behind me, I head toward the old abandoned cigar warehouse.
I shouldn’t go there, but I’m going to.
With little effort, I’m able to break into Cleo’s storage unit. Yes, it is definitely off-limits, but that was before. Now that I know who Cleo is, everything is different.
What I’m doing isn’t technically breaking in. I’m looking for clues. Sure, I know I don’t have a warrant, and that anything found won’t be admissible, but I’m not looking for evidence anyway. I’m searching for something to help me understand Gemma.
Inside there are dozens of wrapped paintings and not a single one has been unpackaged to be admired. These must be the purchases that were made to outbid Cruz.
Why?
Why would she want to piss him off like that?
I know she’s purchased way more than are in
here. I also know she’s sold the ones she purchased to Cruz for way more than she paid.
Why?
For the money?
She seems to have unlimited access to money already.
For vengeance?
Over what?
Scratching my head, I glance around.
There’s a laptop computer on a stack of crates with a cell phone beside it. Both are plugged in and both have passcodes I have no way of breaking. When I make contact with the guys, I’ll let them know and Drum can hack into both if I can prove plausible cause.
Moving on, I spot a trunk over in the corner. It’s locked, but I’m able to pick it fairly easily. The lid opens with a creak. Carefully fumbling through the contents, I find what seems to be mementos—old birthday cards, china, and some pictures. Flipping through the pictures, I can identify Gemma as a child immediately. She’s standing with a boy and who I assume are her parents.
There’s nothing else in the trunk. However, beside it is a cot and crates of water and food with clothing too.
A bunker.
It’s like an escape route.
A back-up plan.
While sitting on the cot, I shine my flashlight on one of the stacks of paintings and see an easel behind them.
I’ve seen the one her room but have to wonder why she has one here.
Getting to my feet, I cross the space and drag the object out. On the display, I find a number of unfinished drawings of a heart. Some of the sketches are shaded pink like the tattoo I saw on her shoulder, some are charcoal only, some are mere etches, but not a single one is finished.
Closing the place up, I can’t help but wonder what the drawings are for.
Did she sketch them?
Are they meant to represent her heart?
Was it broken?
Is she hoping to put it back together?
And how does Cruz fit into the picture?
None of which I know the answer to, but all of which I plan to find out.
Sooner than later.
Preferably before she gets herself killed . . . and me too.
Chapter 27
Wolves
Gemma
ALONE IN MY room, I wrap my silk robe tighter around myself. I feel numb. Alone. And for the first time since I started this charade, scared.
I used to only see red, but now I see black and white and a bit of gray as well.