by Kade, Teagan
But I know that satisfaction was only physical, and rarely even complete. No, what Winter provides me is what I’ve been missing all along but never able to place my finger on—emotional satisfaction, something to grab onto to stay afloat, a light cutting through the fog.
I’m leaning against the doorway watching her sleep. It’s almost mid-morning but I don’t want to wake her, to disturb what basically amounts to a scene so perfect it could have been painted by an old master, a modern Sleeping Venus.
She might have been a virgin yesterday, but I know the woman who will wake now will be hungry to explore her sexuality. It’s a privilege in a way, an honor to share that journey with her.
My cock hardens at the thought of how she felt, how it was to be inside her, connecting with her on a far deeper level than most women who pass through these hallowed halls. It wasn’t just sex. It was an elevation, a transcendent experience.
Can you even hear yourself?
I can alright—loud and clear.
Her eyes flicker open and she sees me watching her. She makes no attempt to cover herself up, surprisingly confident now in her nakedness. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” I reply, “and most definitely a good night.”
She buries her face in the pillow. “Mmm, you can say that again.”
“How are you feeling?”
She sits up, nipples a hot, rosy red. “Absolutely wonderful,” she replies, enunciating each syllable.
“Shall I start breakfast?”
“The best night of my life followed by breakfast in bed—a woman could get used to such things.”
“My woman,” I smile.
She sits up straighter, feigning surprise. “Oh, really? And what makes you think you own me, Mr. Big Shot?”
“Could be that nice ol’ handprint of mine on your ass.”
She kneels up and looks behind herself no doubt expecting to see the handprint in question, and hell, I’d leave my hand glued to that perfect ass if I could.
She looks back at me with a short smirk. “A lifeguard and a comedian. Do the two occupations go hand in hand?”
“Baby,” I tell her, pushing myself off the doorframe, “when you’re the hottest thing on the beach, you can be anything you want.”
“How about my own personal man-slave, ready to attend to my every whim and desire?”
“That can be arranged, but how about we start with that breakfast?”
She sits back on her ankles and I swear to the good and honest lord there is nothing more beautiful in the world than the sight of her bare body. “Sounds good to me.”
“Why don’t you hit the shower? I should have it up in ten or so.”
She stands and approaches me, hips sashaying with such sultry perfection it’s like a whole different person awoke this morning.
She stops as she passes me, looking up at me with eyes full of energy and life, that fragile bird who first showed up in my apartment having taken flight overnight. I see confidence there now, energy. I intend to put it to good use.
I reach down and cup her face, taking her lips with my own and allowing my tongue only the briefest of sojourns into the hot space of her mouth. She breaks away and smacks her lips, playfully spanking me on the butt. “Like I said, a girl could get used to this.”
I watch her walk down the hall to the bathroom, those wonderfully smooth orbs of her ass lifting and falling against one another. My cock feels like it’s going to snap in two it’s so fucking hard.
She could get used to this, yes, but she’d be the first. Almost every girl I’ve slept with is gone by the morning. I look at them in bed, just like I looked at Winter now, and all I feel is a strange sort of disgust, a distance that somehow grows between night and day. I look at them and I want them gone. It’s that simple.
But not today.
It’s all so new. I was starting to think I’d never feel this way about a girl, never experience…
Go on, say it, my head dares.
I let the L word linger there in my thoughts, test and prod at it, see how it feels against me. I’m pretty damn surprised when I find I like it.
I scramble some eggs quickly, doubling up on the butter because hey, who doesn’t like a bit of richness first thing in the morning. Chives, a dusting of salt and pepper, fresh sourdough that probably cost me more than a month’s rent from the hipster bakery downstairs… It’s quite the meal.
The crazy thing? I never cooked breakfast for anyone but myself until Winter came along. Is that selfish? Maybe, but the last thing I wanted was one of my lays thinking a hot meal was an invitation to hang around and make chit-chat about our cozy future together with two-point-five kids and a nice four-bedroom in the ’burbs. Nope.
I clean up and can’t resist the allure of running water and a naked, willing Winter any longer.
Smiling, I decide to join her.
Fuck it. Let the eggs go cold.
I’m back in the main bedroom, about to start stripping down, when I notice something under the large set of drawers against the wall—a tiny white triangle peeking out from the bottom of it.
I bend down to pick up thinking it’s an old bill, a piece of tissue, but when I pull at it several pages of paper come free.
I get down on my knees and look under the drawers, surprised to find there’s a whole series of papers pushed under there. I pull them out confused, because I sure as hell don’t remember putting them there.
The shower’s still running down the hall. I stand and start to leaf through the papers. There’s handwriting all over them, strange diagrams and maps, lists and lists of numbers. It’s not my handwriting, and I’m pretty sure Ernest Hemmingway doesn’t live here, which makes the whole thing even more unusual.
I do my best to decipher what it means, but it’s basically gibberish to me. I don’t even think it’s in English. It’s looks more like Spanish. There’s only one word I do recognize that seems to keep reappearing—cocaína.
It has to be Winter’s writing, but why would she write all this? What does it mean? I don’t think it’s directions to El Dorado. In fact, looks like something far more sinister.
I think I’m starting to get a picture in my head of what’s going on. It’s vague, still blurry around the edges, but it’s a hazy start all the same.
I know there’s only person who can provide answers.
It’s gone on long enough.
I need the truth, and I need it now.
I hear the shower shut off down the hall, looking past the doorway to see Winter emerge wrapping a towel around herself, twisting her hair into a messy bun atop her head. She can’t see me, but she’s smiling regardless—smiling like she’s won the lottery.
She enters the room and doesn’t look at me, heading straight to the pile of clothes in the corner. “You know, I thought you were going to join me in there, or is breakfast that elaborate today?”
She picks up a shirt and turns, seeing me standing there with the papers in my hand.
Suddenly, her expression goes cold. Color drains from her face and the shirt drops from her hands. “You found them,” she says.
I look down at the papers. “And that’s just the question—found what?”
CHAPTER TWELVE
WINTER
I look at my papers, my writing spread across the coffee table. I hadn’t realized I’d written so much. I suppose it became a stream of consciousness of sorts.
I pick up the coffee Archer made me and bring it to my lips, placing it back down and forcing myself to meet his eye. I see the desperation in his face, for answers, and I know this is the time. I have to tell him everything.
I pull in a breath before I begin. “I suppose you’ve read through everything, have some kind of understanding what’s going on, yes?”
He nods, hands on his knees on the other side of the table. “Well, it throws my theory out the window that you’re a mermaid.”
Even with the gravity of the situation, I can’t help but sm
ile, reining it back in when I start to think how to approach my story.
I brush a strand of hair behind my ear, my hands tight around the Hoff mug. “I was born and raised in Cuba to a Cuban father and American mother. In fact, I’ve lived in Cuba my entire life.” My throat’s suddenly tight, but I press on. “My father was injured in a work accident soon after I was born, forcing my mother to find work. We weren’t well off, but she found a job at one of the clubs in town, used to smuggle me in to watch the dancing, the entertainers helping me with my homework. It was quite the education.”
“I can imagine,” says Archer, leaning closer.
My smile fades. “Two years ago my mother passed, cancer, leaving it up to my father to support us, which he couldn’t do. I found work, but it wasn’t enough. We were about to lose our home, lose… everything.” I fight back the tears, willing myself to get through this. Archer watches on with quiet attention, eyes firm.
I look down at the papers. “My father, unable to live with this, went to one of the local cartels, Lacoya, and asked for a loan.” I pause, collecting my thoughts. “I knew nothing of this, of the terms of the loan. My father told me it was inheritance from a long lost uncle. I believed him in my naivety, but when the cartel came to collect one day, I knew the truth.”
A hot tear cuts down my cheek. “They were going to kill him, men with masks and guns. I begged them not to, on my hands and knees, pleading for his life, offering my own in his place. Instead, they took me, telling my father I was to become a bride of Serpiente.”
“The Snake?” Archer fills. “The head of the Lacoya Cartel? You can’t be serious.”
I nod. “I am. The men had sent a photo of me to him. He liked what he saw, and I agreed on the condition my father’s life would be spared and the loan considered repaid. They took me then and there, a hood over my head that smelt like oranges, driving for hours to God knows where. Then I met Serpiente.”
“He didn’t…?”
I shake my head. “No. I was still a virgin, at least until last night. Believe it or not, but Serpiente is an incredibly religious man, refused to do anything until our union had been blessed.” I swallow down a hard lump in my throat. “He left on business, promising to return in three weeks. I was kept in a cage, barely fed for the first three days. Slowly, I gained the trust of the men and they allowed me to work packing the drugs that were coming in, then helping with the paperwork, the filing… By the end of the third week I had almost complete freedom in the compound. You’d have hardly known I was being held against my will at all—until one night I was told they were transporting me to him.”
I can see Archer piecing it together. “By boat?”
“Yes, during one of their late-night smuggling runs to Miami, right here where Serpiente has his own network of villas and men, tentacles that extend deep into America. You’ve heard of him?”
Archer nods. “Who hasn’t? One of the most ruthless cartel bosses in the world, by all accounts. We’ve had plenty of run-ins with gang members on the beach, regularly find bricks of coke washed up stamped with the cartel’s snake insignia. They’re fucking insidious.”
Another tear joins the first. “The things I saw them do…”
Archer stands and joins me on the sofa, holding me against him. “What happened next?”
“I knew it was my only chance at escape. Once they had me in another location I knew my life would be over, so I jumped, stood and leaped over the side of the boat when I could see the lights of the city.”
“They didn’t circle back, look for you?”
“They tried, but each time I would dive and keep swimming, deeper and deeper until my lungs felt like they would burst. I waited there in the cold vault of the ocean, waited for them to leave. I don’t know how many times I did it, only that I surfaced eventually to find they were gone but, I was exhausted, I couldn’t swim any longer. I tried to float, but…”
He holds me tighter, kissing the top of my head. “That’s when I showed up.”
“I almost died.”
“It’s okay. You’re safe.”
I pull away. “But I’m not. The man I saw in the salsa club. He was one of them, one of men who took me.”
Recognition flickers across Archer’s face. “There was this weird guy a couple of days ago, asking questions at the tower, seeing if we’d rescued anyone during the night. I thought it was strange at the time, but now… Now it makes sense.”
“What did you tell him?” I blurt.
“Fucking nothing, of course.”
I want to tighten into a ball and never leave the apartment again, but I urge myself to be strong, for my father if no one else, for Archer. “I don’t think they’re going to stop looking for me. And what if they find me? What then?”
Archer turns my face towards him. “Then they’ll have to get through me, and trust me, better men have tried.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ARCHER
Everything makes sense now—the paranoia, the skittishness. But frankly, I’d have preferred it if she was a mermaid. The Lacoya Cartel do not fuck around. I know that much.
“The brand, on your shoulder…”
Winter reaches for it. “It’s theirs. It marks me as the property of Serpiente.”
“And Winter, that’s your real name?”
She shakes her head. “No, it’s Willomina, but now, here, it’s Winter.”
“Why?” I ask, smiling. “Why Winter, and don’t tell me it’s because you like the cold.”
I can feel her body relaxing against me. “There was a little girl in the apartment next to us who watched Frozen twenty-four hours a day. I don’t know, but she was the first thing I thought of, all that ice and snow—things I’ve never seen before. You’ve seen it, the snow?”
“We skied every winter. Surf in the summer, head to the snow for the winter. It’s beautiful, but you think you could handle the cold? It’s not exactly Havana.”
She tucks herself in tighter to my side, the warmth of her body radiating through my shirt, the supple weight of her breasts against my chest. “How could I possibly be cold when I have you to keep me warm?”
I groan in satisfaction. “It is a promising picture, isn’t it? The two of us, a bottle of Dom chilling while we make love in front of the fire.”
“Sounds wonderful,” she purrs, before snapping upright. “If I live that long.”
I take her face with both hands, holding her gaze. “Hey, nothing is going to happen to you. Not on my watch. I’ve got contacts too.”
“You think you can fight Lacoya? They control everything, everyone.”
“Not everyone.”
“I wasn’t saying…”
“No, no, it’s fine, but what I am saying is that there are still good people out there who would be willing to help, starting with my friend in the PD.”
She seems uncertain. “I don’t know.”
I look down at the papers strewn across the coffee table heavy with her handwriting. “And all this?”
She rocks forward and picks up a sheet of paper, eyes glazed over as she skims the words. “Everything I saw during those two weeks is here—the movement of the trucks coming and going, names, any detail I could pick up. I’ve kind of got a photographic memory, but this is a dead woman’s switch—in case something happened to me. The hood they used had a hole in it. I know exactly where they took me, know the inside-outs of their entire operation. They made no attempt to hide it from me, thinking I was just another woman snatched off the streets, a lowlife.”
I pick up a paper, now realizing what I was looking at. “That’s incredible.” I shake it in the air. “This could really help, really put a fucking dent in them, maybe close them up for good.”
“I can’t have them hurting my father,” she pleads, tugging at my arm. “He’s the only family I have left.”
I look at the paper in my hand but don’t really take in the words, thinking what to do. I’m a lifeguard—simple as that. Former soldie
r, yes, but all this is way above my paygrade. It’s very simple. We need help.
“What are you thinking about?” asks Winter, or Willomena. I don’t know what to call her now. Everything’s been upended, but the one simple fact I have to keep her safe, to keep her close. If it means laying down my life, I’d do it, no hesitation
To hell with the consequences, right?
Yes, I retort. Consequences be damned.
She is my priority now.
I lick my lips. “You can’t let fear get the better of you. I know you think you’re being hunted down, but if you don’t keep up some kind of normality, if you don’t get outdoors, you’re going to go insane. I won’t allow it.”
She stands. “But they are out there.”
I raise a hand. “Look, there’s a beach volleyball competition tomorrow, for charity. The police, the lifeguards, and firefighters all face off. I have to go, and I think you should come. No one’s going to touch you surrounded by police.”
Secretly, I’m thinking about Liam. I know he’s going to be at the comp tomorrow, know there’s a chance Winter might confide in him if they’re face to face again. I can keep it casual, light, make it seem unforced.
Winter isn’t convinced. “I don’t know.”
“I’ll be right there,” I tell her. “I won’t let you out of my sight.”
I see the suggestion of a smile. “Do I have to wear a disguise?”
I laugh, thinking about the lost property box. “I’m sure we could come up with something.”
When she doesn’t reply, I say, “Come on, it will be good for you—sun, sand, great food, plenty of half-naked men pretending they’re in Top Gun.”
She smiles wider. “It does sound like fun.”
I pull her down to me, dragging her across my lap, holding her face in my hands. “Until then, why don’t we forget about everything and simply be together for a while, just you and me, maybe a sex toy or two?”
She laughs back, grinding up against my cock, a flat plane of heat pressing against the head of it. “You promise you’ll keep me safe?”
I look deep into the oceans of her eyes, into the pain I now know is hiding there. “You have my word.”