by Cassia Leo
“What are you hiding back there?”
He pulls his hand out from behind his back, brandishing a bottle of red wine. “My great-uncle gave me this for us to celebrate our last night in La Palma. It’s a gran reserva rioja from his vineyard. Twenty-three years old and at its peak.”
“Wow… Sounds like I should be impressed.”
He lets go of my hand and opens the front door for us to exit. “Tonight, we dine like royalty.” My smile evaporates into the humid evening air and he quickly realizes his gaffe. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
“It’s okay. I’m sure I’ll have all the guys vying for my hand now that I’m a princess. You’ll have to work a lot harder to impress me after tonight.”
“I accept the challenge, your highness,” he says, getting down on one knee and bowing his head dramatically.
“Stand up. You’re embarrassing me.”
He chuckles as he gets up. “Why? There’s nobody out here.”
I smile and take a quick glance over my shoulder at Ignacio and Noemia’s house. The front of their house is empty but for the dark shadows of night crawling over the concrete porch. They’re still in the backyard. Then why do I feel so uneasy, as if I’m being watched?
“Are you okay?” Nick asks, holding out his arm for me.
I link my arm through his and we set off down the street toward the harbor. “I’m fine. Where are you taking me? Another boat ride?”
“Yes, but this time I’ve got a much bigger boat.”
“A much bigger boat? Sounds like I’m in for quite a ride.”
He laughs and leans over to kiss my temple. “You have a dirty mind, cariño.”
“You have no idea,” I mutter to myself, thinking of the multiple times I’ve pleasured myself to thoughts of Daimon.
“What did you say?” he asks as we descend the stairs from the street down to the harbor.
“Nothing.”
We arrive at the harbor and I immediately notice there’s a different boat docked here than the last time we came. This sailboat appears a bit bigger than the other one and seems to be stocked with servants. A crew of three men stand on the deck smiling down at us, while another gentleman stands next to a stairway, which has been unfolded to meet us on the dock.
“Buenas noches, Señor Costa,” the gentleman on the dock says, waving his hand toward the staircase leading up to the deck. “Todo está listo para una gran aventura.”
“What did he say?” I ask Nick as he leads me toward the steps.
“He said everything is ready for a grand adventure.”
I climb the steps toward the deck, wondering why I’m feeling creeped out by the wide smiles plastered across the faces of the boat servants in their tuxedos. I’m not exactly used to being treated like royalty. I don’t think I could ever get used to this.
One of the men who is possibly a waiter, leads us to the front of the boat where a table dressed in white linen and set with elegant tableware for two awaits. He takes the bottle of wine from Nick and slips a corkscrew out of his pocket to open it. After he pours us each a glass, he nods and excuses himself so Nick and I can be alone.
Nick grabs both glasses and hands me one. “To a pleasant reunion with your parents and—”
The boat begins pulling away from the dock and the inertia pulls us both backward. Nick catches me before I tumble onto the dining table, but I still manage to spill a good bit of red wine on the white tablecloth. I grab a napkin, dipping it in the glass of ice water on the table, then I attempt to remove the stain.
Nick clamps his hand around my wrist. “Leave it. They’ll wash it later. Come.”
I leave my glass of wine on the table and follow him toward the front of the boat. Grabbing the railing, I close my eyes and breathe in the fresh air. The island smells better at night, once most people have pulled their smoggy cars into their driveways and the winds have died down. The late evening is when you can fully appreciate the fragrance of the island as it settles and unfurls all around you. God, I miss walking the streets at night.
Nick downs his entire glass of wine and tosses the glass overboard. Then he presses his chest against my back, placing his hands on the railing on either side of me, caging me in. His lips graze the back of my ear and I suck in a sharp breath.
“Maybe we should sit down,” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the roar of the water as the boat is propelled forward.
His tongue darts out, tracing the shell of my ear as his right arm curls around my waist, pulling my backside flush against the bulge beneath his slacks. His fingers curl around the bottom of my shirt as he slowly lifts it up then slides his warm hand inside the waistband of my skirt.
“What are you doing?” I whisper a bit louder this time.
“I’m going to give you a grand adventure.”
His hand slides lower until it’s inside my panties. He fumbles around a little, pressing on the wrong places until he finds my opening. He slips his thick middle finger inside me and grunts in my ear.
“What’s wrong?”
“You’re not wet.”
I’m about to reach for his arm to pull his hand out of my panties when he moves his finger and finally finds my clit. “Oh, God.”
He chuckles softly. “There it is.”
I grip the railing, knuckles white as he strokes me slowly. This is so much better than doing it myself. I twist my head around, then I reach back to grab his neck and pull his mouth to mine. He kisses me hard as he caresses my clit, and I forget about everything and everyone else around us. Grinding my hips in sync with the rhythm of his hand, I moan louder with each passing moment. Nick continues to chuckle every so often, amazed by my response to his touch.
“Oh, Daimon!”
Shit!
Nick freezes and my eyelids fly open. I yank his hand out of my panties and smooth down my shirt, trying to ignore the piercing glare he’s casting in my direction.
“I’m sorry. I got carried away.”
“Who’s Daimon?”
I push past him and head for the dining table. “Just someone I knew a long time ago. He’s…dead. He died recently, and he was just on my mind. It’s very…sad.”
He sits across the table from me and stares at my full glass of wine for a moment. “I’m sorry to hear your friend died. That must be very difficult.”
Very difficult? I guess that’s one way to describe what it feels like to kill someone you love.
Love? Do I love Daimon?
Suddenly, I feel sick to my stomach. Nick pushes my glass of wine toward me, and I shake my head, feeling both ashamed for screaming Daimon’s name while Nick was touching me and relieved. Relieved that I’ve at least admitted my feelings for Daimon to myself.
“Drink something. It will help you loosen up,” Nick insists, tapping his finger on the stem of the wine glass.
I don’t know if it’s the motion of the boat or the weight of this new realization, but there’s no way I’ll be able to eat or drink right now. And there’s no way I can drink wine while I’m pregnant with the child of the man I love.
I love Daimon.
My eyes well up with tears and I stare at the wine glass so I don’t have to see the expression on Nick’s face.
I love my father’s murderer. The father of my child.
My protector and my enemy.
I wipe the tears from my cheeks and look up into Nick’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I just got a little emotional. I didn’t mean for this to be awkward.”
“No, it’s okay. I understand. You lost someone very important, yes?”
I swallow the knot in my throat, then I sit up straight and draw in a long breath. “He was nobody. He… He’s the person who burned me, and I swore I’d never let it happen again, so let’s eat.”
I’m pregnant. I’m allowed a brief emotional breakdown every now and then. Whether or not I love Daimon doesn’t matter. If he is still alive, and he has the gall to show his face, I will finish him.
/> We get through the appetizer and soup course without any more tears or mishaps, but I’ve been guzzling so much water, I need a restroom quickly. I thought the weak bladder portion of a pregnancy came further down the road. At least, that’s what I’ve seen on TV. What kind of person gets their sex education from the television? That would be me.
Placing my napkin next to my plate, I rise from the table, feeling a bit wobbly. “I’m fine,” I say as Nick begins to rise. “I just have to use the restroom. I’ll be right back.”
The three men in tuxedos standing against the railing watch in confusion as I walk past them toward the back of the sailboat. One of them says something to me in Spanish as he follows me, but I just ignore him. I have to pee. I don’t have time for translations.
Once I reach the stairs leading down into the cabin of the boat, the guy grabs my arm roughly.
“Don’t touch me!” I shout, my instincts kicking in.
I twist his arm behind his back and slam him up against the wall of windows outside the staircase. His eyes widen with terror as I throw all my weight against his spine.
I sniff the air and quickly release him. “What’s that smell?”
I turn toward the cabin and both waiters grab my arms as I attempt to step inside.
“You are not allowed in there. Employees only,” says the one I just pinned a few seconds ago.
“I have to use the restroom,” I insist, though their grip continues to tighten around my arms. “Baño. I need to go.”
The other waiter shakes his head. “You wait until we get back.”
“I’ll piss my pants if I have to wait that long!”
“You wait,” he grunts.
Nick finally arrives. “Qué están haciendo? Suelta la!”
The men release me on Nick’s orders and I rub my arms, pretending to be frightened. Taking a few deep breaths, I draw in that familiar scent of soap and oak. I’m losing my mind or these guys are hiding something down there. But I’m not getting past them unless I’m in the mood to maim or kill someone tonight. They’re lucky I’m not.
“We need to go back,” I say, turning into Nick and wrapping my arms around his waist so he can protect me from the mean men. “I have to use the restroom and they won’t let me go down there.”
Nick argues with the men for a few more minutes, but they just block the entrance to the cabin and shake their heads, unwilling to budge. Finally, the boat is turned around and we arrive at the harbor twenty minutes later. Nick exchanges a few parting words with the men in tuxedos, whose faces remain hard and impassive. They look more like thugs than waiters now.
“I’m so sorry about that. I did not think they would do something like that. Are you sure you’re okay?”
I chuckle as he continues to rub my arm as we walk home. “I’m fine. I promise.” We climb the steps up to the street level, and I try not to show my unease when I see the lights on inside my house. “Why don’t you go ahead to your house? I’m just going to use the restroom at home and turn off the lights. I must have left those on.”
He glances at my windows. “I don’t remember you leaving the lights on.”
“Alyssa! Nicolas! I’m so happy to see you.”
Nick and I turn toward the voice of my neighbor Elena. She’s waving at us as she rushes down her steps and out onto the street to greet us.
“Elena, how are you?”
She smiles at me and tilts her head. “You look different. Your face is…puffy.”
“Puffy?”
Did she just call me fat?
She shakes her head and turns to Nick. “Nicolas, tienes un sacacorchos me puedes prestar?” She turns to me and smiles. “A corkscrew. My husband lost ours again.”
“Yes, come with me.” Nick turns to me. “I’ll wait for you at the house.”
I nod as he sets off toward his cottage with Elena. As soon as they’re inside, I turn toward my house and all the tiny hairs on my arms stand on end at the sight of the flickering light within. No, I didn’t leave the lights on, and I especially didn’t leave any candles on considering I don’t own any candles.
I walk deliberately toward the front door, each step feeling heavier than the last. Placing my hand on the doorknob, I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then I turn the knob and push the door open.
My heart pounds against my ribs, pulses in my fingertips, and roars inside my ears. The entire living room, every surface, is covered in burning candles and freesia.
Each step I take, the smell becomes stronger, until I’m practically choking on it. The candle flames flicker, washing the petals of the flowers in dancing light.
The sight is mesmerizing.
The smell is overwhelming.
Then comes the sound as the door clicks behind me.
He’s here.
“Ready to play, chérie?”
VOLUME THREE
Chapter One
Daimon
The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him.
At one time, I thought I understood this quote from G.K. Chesterton quite well. It’s a quote about war and a soldier’s purpose. It’s about fighting not because you detest your enemy, but because you must protect the ones you love. But it all becomes so murky when your enemy and the one you love are one in the same. The rules of engagement shift. The front line is blurred, and the stakes are higher than you could ever fathom.
From the side of the house, I watch as my enemy, my Alex, cautiously approaches the front entrance to her cottage in La Palma. She opens the door and gives it a gentle push. Then she enters one slow step at a time.
Following behind her, I walk softly so I can maintain the element of surprise. Alex’s hearing is better than the average human’s. This is what happens after eight months of living in the dark. All your other senses are enhanced. Which is probably why she yielded to me so willingly when I touched her. Her skin ached to be caressed. Her tongue longed to taste my flesh. Her sweet pussy yearned to be filled.
I wait until she’s a few feet into the living room before I lightly shut the front door. The sound of the latch clicking into place gets her attention. For a moment, she’s frozen. Waiting for another sound. Waiting for me to breathe.
I take one long stride forward so her back is less than a foot away from my chest. “Ready to play, chérie?” Her left arm swings back, and I easily catch it in my left hand. “There’s those killer instincts again. I told you they’d get you into trouble.”
My right hand flies up and I jab the needle into the side of her neck. She struggles for a few seconds before she collapses in my arms. Right where she belongs.
“What… What did you give me?” Her voice is muffled by the drugs, but her eyes are locked on mine as I carry her to the bedroom.
“Fentanyl. Don’t worry, chérie. It’s safe for you and the baby.”
She opens her mouth to respond to this, but all that comes out is a soft mumble. She’s almost out. I lay her down on the floral comforter and her eyelids flutter as I begin tying her wrists and ankles to the bedposts. By the time I’m done restraining her, she’s asleep.
I dig into my back pocket for the small silver case containing a single syringe of Narcan to reverse the effects of the Fentanyl. The Fentanyl will wear off in less than an hour. I’ll only use the Narcan if absolutely necessary.
I conduct a cursory check of the cottage to make sure we are indeed alone, then I drag a dining chair into the bedroom and keep a close eye on her heart rate and breathing as I wait for her to wake up. Forty-three minutes later, her eyelids flutter open. Her eyeballs roll around a little in their sockets as she fights off the drowsiness. Finally, her eyes focus on the ceiling for a moment before she feels the restraints. Then she begins to panic.
“There’s no use struggling, Alex. You’re in no condition to fight.”
She struggles against her bonds, her torso bouncing off the mattress as she tries to gain enough leverage to fr
ee herself. “Untie me!”
“Really, Alex, you should stop that. At least give your body a few minutes to recover from the drug before you get too excited.”
“Fuck you! Get these off of me!”
I stand from the dining chair near the bedroom door and walk toward the bed. “Alex, I’m only going to warn you once more. Stop struggling. It’s not good for the baby.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I missed the part in What to Expect When You’re Expecting where being drugged and tied to a bed is recommended for a healthy pregnancy. You don’t give a flying fuck about this baby!”
“Don’t say that, chérie,” I whisper, taking a seat on the edge of the mattress. “You must never say or think that I don’t care about our child. I care a great deal about you and the baby. That is why I’m here, Alex. That is why you’re here. We need to talk, and something told me you’d be less than receptive to my side of the story. This was the only way I could get you to listen. So you will listen.”
“Nick will be here any minute now,” she replies, refusing to look at me.
“You needn’t worry about interruptions. I have an associate watching Nick. If he comes anywhere near here, he will get what’s coming to him.”
“You’ll kill him like you killed my father? Are you planning on killing everyone I love?”
I grit my teeth against the anger that floods my veins when I hear these words. “You don’t love Nick. You don’t even know him. He’s a traitor. He’s gained your trust so he can turn you in and get a reward. He’s using you, Alex. I find it hard to believe that a woman as intelligent as you would not even suspect that.”
“Are you calling me an idiot? Is that your strategy to win back my affections?”
“Not at all, chérie. I have one strategy and that is to tell you the truth. Nothing more.” I reach across and she turns her face away when I attempt to touch her cheek. “I have no tricks up my sleeves. I’m not trying to seduce you or confuse you. I just want an opportunity to be honest with you, the way I should have been from the beginning. That’s all.”
She squeezes her eyes tightly shut, but a tear escapes the corner, rolling down over the bridge of her nose. “You killed my father, Daimon.”