The Muscle Part Three

by Michelle St. James

  No, the questions that really plagued her were about her own complacency. She knew more about the business than Diego realized, but not nearly enough to help them find Sofia or find a chink in Diego’s armor. She’d signed release form after release form granting Diego access to their inheritance — all without asking a single thing about where the money was going. It had been enough to keep Diego satisfied, to hold at bay his violent temper for one more minute or one more hour or one more day.

  “So what now? Marco asked.

  Luca gingerly touched the wound on his forehead. “Now we work double time to find information on that shipment. Because I have a feeling Sanchez knows something is up, and once he realizes Diego’s in hiding, we’re in deep shit.”

  “So we look at the information you copied from Diego’s computer,” Isabel asked.

  “I already checked it,” Luca said, “although I didn’t tell Sanchez that.”

  “That was before Lorenzo kidnapped you. Before he mentioned the shipment,” Isabel said.

  Luca rubbed the five o’ clock shadow at his jawline. “You have a point. Before we were looking for possible safe houses, places Diego might have taken Sofia. But if we look for international points of entry, find out when and where the shipment is coming in…”

  “We can be there when it does, take that fucker Diego, and force him to tell us where the kid is,” Elia said.

  “And then tell Sanchez where his drugs are to keep him off our backs,” Marco added.

  They sat in silence for a minute before Luca spoke again. “It's worth a try. I’ll go over it all again.” He looked at Isabel, took her hand. “One way or another, we’re going to find her. And I’m going to make Diego pay.”

  7

  Luca was in the living room combing the spread sheets he’d taken from Diego’s computer when his Inbox dinged. Surprised — he hardly ever got email since he’d stopped working for the Syndicate — he tabbed over to his email and opened the new message. At first he didn’t know who it was from. The return address was too cryptic to identify the user. But everything stilled inside him when he saw the text inside the message.

  * * *

  You shouldn’t have been stupid. Both my sisters would have stayed alive without you.

  * * *

  He clicked on the video with his heart in his throat, then watched as Sofia’s face appeared on the screen. She was sitting on a tattered sofa, her hands making sweeping gestures across something in her lap that looked like a coloring book. At her side was a teddy bear Luca didn’t recognize. Definitely not the prized rabbit she slept with at home. She appeared to be alone until Luca heard Diego’s voice in the background.

  “You didn’t do the dishes, little punta.”

  Luca balled his fists at his sides, resisting the urge to punch the computer screen. Calling your eight-year-old sister a whore. Nice.

  But he needed clues. Clues about Sofia’s whereabouts and Diego’s intentions.

  Sofia stopped coloring. “I’m sorry, Diego. I can do them now.”

  “I didn’t tell you to do them now, did I? I told you to do them after dinner. Do you think I want the men to see a dirty kitchen?” He continued without waiting for her reply. “It’s your job to keep the kitchen clean. That’s what puntas do — among other things.”

  Luca’s stomach turned over as he heard laughter in the background. The bastard was calling his little sister a whore, making references to sexual activity, in front of his men. And who was with him besides Eduardo? He’d used the word “men”, which implied more than one. Did he have more loyalists who’d stayed with him even in the midst of the impending war with Sanchez? If so, Luca almost felt sorry for them. Having looked into the cold and calculated eyes of Lorenzo Sanchez, Luca had no doubt that he would come out on top in the turf war. Diego’s violent temper and willingness to do anything would only take him so far. At the end of the day, even a criminal organization was a business, and it would fail without a strong and stable leader at its helm, something else he’d learned from his time with the Vitale family.

  Sofia set aside the coloring book and picked up the teddy bear, then started to slide off the couch. “I’ll do it now.”

  Even through the computer, Luca heard the strength in her voice. She was scared, but like Isabel, Sofia exhibited control beyond her years. It almost hurt him as much as the things Diego had said to her. Kids shouldn’t have to be strong. Shouldn’t have to measure and weigh their words for fear the wrong ones would have dangerous consequences.

  Luca knew that better than anyone.

  A hand appeared at the bottom right of the frame. “I’ll have to take this until you learn to do as your told.”

  The hand snatched the bear from her grip. Sofia started to cry. “I’ll do the dishes now, Diego. Just please give me Teddy. He’s my friend.”

  “Just please give me Teddy,” Diego mocked in a high pitched voice. “He’s my friend.”

  Laughter erupted in the background — definitely more than one man — as tears welled in Sofia’s eyes.

  “You’ll get Teddy back when your whore of a sister learns her lesson.” Diego’s voice was cold. “Now move your ass to that kitchen, little punta.”

  Sofia edged backwards out of the room, her eyes wary until she disappeared through a narrow door frame.

  There was blurred movement on the camera, and a moment later Diego’s face appeared. From the angle of the camera, Luca assumed he was videotaping himself.

  “Hear that, Isa,” he said into the camera. “I’m in control now. You should think about that.”

  The screen went dark, and Luca sat back in his chair, exhaling all the air from his body in one breath. He was about to close the computer in disgust when he heard the whimper behind him.

  He turned around to see Isabel, her face a mask of shock and fear as she stared at the computer screen. Luca cursed himself. He’d been so wrapped up in the video that he hadn’t heard her come into the room. He should have waited, watched it somewhere more private, given thought to how to break the news to Isabel.

  “Isabel…”

  He stood and reached for her, but by the time his hand got to her she’d fled the room, disappearing into the hall.

  8

  Isabel could hardly see straight through the fury running through her veins. It was an all-consuming roar, like a giant wave rushing overhead while you were caught in the spin cycle underneath, forced to submit to its mighty power, in another world with only the scream of it in your ears.

  She barely registered Luca’s voice as she fled the living room, making for her studio on instinct, seeking the refuge that only her paintings could give her.

  She stepped into the room and shut the door, then paced the floor restlessly, her anger coalescing into something dark and unnamable. It was an animal chewing at the trap around it’s foot, determined to get free, a monster that would devour her if she let it out.

  Diego has Sofia.

  Diego has Sofia.

  Diego has Sofia.

  The words repeated in her mind like a mantra. Except they were nowhere near comforting. He had their little sister, in hiding and cooped up with men who were probably every bit as vile as Diego himself.

  Maybe worse.

  The thought made her want to claw her way out of her skin, and she scratched absently at her arms while she paced in front of the canvases lining the wall, the big piece full of blues and greens and all her hope for the future still sitting on its easel where she’d left it before Sofia went missing.

  Usually she could lose herself in the colors and movement of art. It’s why she’d run instinctively to this room. It was the one place she could shut out everything else. All the disgusting, hateful things that were earmarks of her life with Diego disappeared behind the beauty and release of art.

  But she didn’t see it now. Didn’t feel it. There was just the slow boil of the blood in her veins, a kind of poisonous broth to the terror that was expanding inside her, the frantic
desire to run through the house, comb the streets yelling Sofia’s name in the vain hope that she would be able to find her and bring her home.

  She narrowed her eyes, looked at the paintings scattered around the room. What was the point? What good had they ever done her? All they’d done was allow her to pretend she wasn’t living a lie. To pretend she and Sofia were safe, when they had never been anything close to it. They’d contributed to the apathy that had allowed them to stay under Diego’s thumb for so long. Had given Isabel the unearned luxury of keeping her head in the clouds, painting in the quiet room like all was well when she should have been using every resource, every trick, to free them from Diego. If she’d done that, Sofia would be safe right now. They would be living in peace somewhere far, far away from his clutches.

  Instead Sofia was alone and scared. In the company of people who might hurt her. Under the control of Diego, who Isabel knew firsthand wouldn’t hesitate to use Sofia to his own end, regardless of the consequences to her.

  And it was Isabel’s fault.

  She scanned the room, her eyes landing on the palette knife she used to mix and spread paints. She stalked toward it, picked it up, continued pacing in front of the canvases against the wall, eyeing them like adversaries while the rage blossomed inside her, lush and unstoppable.

  It didn’t even hurt when she picked up the first painting, plunged the knife into the canvas. The palette knife wasn’t very sharp. She had to put some force behind it. Force that felt good, that gave release to the fury coagulating in her body, her bones, her blood.

  She tugged at the knife, and the canvas gave way with a ripping sound that satisfied a dark need inside her. She plunged it into the painting again and again, ripping the canvas to shreds, decimating the once lovely arcs of color she’d painstakingly applied over a period of weeks and weeks.

  When there was nothing left but fragments of canvas, still attached to the stretcher in strips, she threw it aside and reached for another one, working the knife until it, too, was unrecognizable. She lost herself to the rhythm — the initial plunge, the slow drag through thick canvas, the removal of the knife while she sought another spot to decimate. She worked methodically, tossing each of them aside when she was done, letting them collect against the wall like carcasses picked almost clean.

  Finally there was nothing left but the painting she’d done for Luca. She stood with her back to the door, eying the sweeps of blue and green, the colors that had once given her hope for something better — for her and Sofia. It had been a lie. And that made the painting a lie, too. But she hesitated, the knife in her hand poised over the canvas, her breath coming fast and heavy.

  She was still gathering her courage when she felt the firm but gentle grip close around her wrist, the hard body pressed against hers from behind.

  “Isabel… don’t,” Luca said softly.

  She wanted to fight him, tell him to go away. He was going to tell her it would be okay, that he would find Sofia and bring her home and they would get the fresh start they deserved. She didn’t want to hear any of it, but she let herself slump against him anyway, the only solid thing in her world.

  9

  He’d waited outside the door at first. Wanting to give her time and space. But then he’d heard crashing from inside the room, the rip of canvas and the sound of wooden stretchers hitting the wall. His heart had about burst into pieces when he’d seen her, hair wild, eyes blank, destroying the work she’d poured her heart and soul into while Diego had tried to break her.

  He’d never seen Isabel lose her cool. He’d seen her sad, even a little indignant, stubborn. But he’d never seen her lose sight of herself, lose her composure so completely that he might not have recognized her if not for the deep brown eyes he’d stared into time and again while he’d joined his body to hers.

  He kept ahold of her hand, still raised over her head with the little knife, like she wasn’t sure yet if she wanted to give it up. Her back rose and fell against his chest, her breathing as labored as if she’d been running a marathon. Rage took a lot out of you. It could consume you, eat you alive if you let it.

  Isabel was too good for that. She had already sacrificed too much in Diego’s name. She deserved a few minutes of abandon, but this wasn’t the kind of abandon that would do her any good.

  He spun her in his arms and pulled her body tight against his. Her hips nestled tight against him, and his cock immediately responded, hardening and lengthening inside his jeans. She was looking at him with wild eyes, the knife still raised in the air, almost like she wanted to plunge it into him.

  But he wasn’t afraid of her. She wouldn’t hurt him. She wouldn’t hurt anyone. He wasn’t even sure she would hurt Diego if given the chance. She was still breathing hard, her full lips parted as she stared up at him, daring him to stop her.

  He didn’t spend too much time thinking about it before he crushed his lips against hers, taking her face in his hands and tipping her head so he could taste every inch of her mouth. She froze for a couple of seconds, and then he heard the knife clatter to the floor as she started pulling at his clothes, her tongue charting new courses in his mouth as she drank him in, her hands everywhere on his body all at once.

  It wasn’t the time for words. He wanted to ease her pain, to bring her back to herself and the person she would need to be to get to the other side of this. To be there for Sofia.

  He ripped her blouse off her body, the buttons falling soundlessly to the floor as he tossed aside the silk, and lowered his head to her bra, freeing her breasts from the constraints of the purple lace and covering one of her dusty pink nipples with his mouth.

  She moaned, tipping her head back, still clinging to him. There was no gentleness to it. Not this time. They were all hands and mouth and fingers and bodies, frantic in their need to feel skin on skin, heat on heat.

  He sucked on the nipple while he rolled the other one between his thumb and index finger. Her fingers plunged into his hair as he unzipped her skirt, letting it fall to the floor. He resisted the urge to stand back, to take in the body that set him on fire, the curves that he’d memorized with all the attention of a cartographer mapping a new land.

  She needed his mouth and his hands and his cock — and she needed them now. She needed to forget, to lose herself in the passion that was always a guarantee when they were naked together. And he needed it, too. Needed to stop thinking about all the things he could have done differently to keep Isabel and Sofia safe. Needed to stop second-guessing himself so he could focus on getting Sofia back.

  They needed each other. Needed the reminder of who they were when they were together, needed to find their piece in the puzzle by fitting themselves to each other’s bodies in a way that only they could do.

  He moved his mouth up her throat, nipping at the delicate skin near her ear before ravaging her mouth. Then he spoke against her lips.

  “Lay down,” he commanded.

  She did, pulling him to the floor with her as she tore at his jeans, reached inside his boxer briefs to take his rigid length in her palm.

  “Please,” she gasped. “I need you.”

  “I know what you need, sweetheart. Don’t you worry.”

  He ripped off her panties, then pushed her upper body back onto the floor and spread her legs with his hands. Her sex was glistening and swollen, the thick cream of her desire waiting to ease his way into her channel. He was going to taste it. He was going to bury his face in her pussy until she screamed. Until the only thing she could think about was his tongue on her clit, his fingers fucking her, the orgasm that would obliterate all her pain and fear.

  He lay his hand against the heat of her center, then stroked her slick folds with his thumb, watching the way she got even wetter while he worked her open, spreading her lips so he could see the gloriously pink perfection of her pussy, the engorged tissue that told him she was already ready for him, the delicate clit straining upward for its turn with his fingers.

  She was moving her
hips now, making circles against his hand, working herself toward the release she craved.

  “That’s right, sweetheart,” he said. “Get it. Take what you want.”

  “Stop talking,” she said. “I want your mouth on me. Now.”

  The command in her tone sent a shot of adrenaline straight to the tip of his cock. He pulsed with his need to own her, to blot out every thought but her and the fire they made with their bodies. But it wasn’t time for that yet.

  Instead he got comfortable between her soft, velvety thighs and spread her wide, then flicked his tongue against her clit just enough to make her lift her hips in a silent request for more. He repeated the action a couple of times — right up until she reached down, grabbed a fistful of his hair, and pulled his mouth toward her raised hips.

  Her demand made him hot, and he moved his head back and forth while he sunk his tongue into her, wanting to occupy every bit of her swollen pussy. He hooked his hands around her thighs and buried his face in her moist heat, her musky scent making his cock pulse with the need to sink into her.

  She still had a hold of his hair, gyrating her hips against his tongue, but he wasn’t anywhere near complaining. Her lack of inhibition only made him hotter, and he lapped at her clit before sucking it up into his mouth and sliding two fingers inside her.

  She gasped, bucking under his mouth, but he held onto her tighter with one hand while he fucked her with his fingers and sucked on her clit, keeping up a rhythmic motion that had her moving against him in perfect time as her body spun toward the oblivion she needed.

  “Oh god, Luca…” It was a moan, low in her throat. The kind of moan that told him she was out of her mind, that there was no room left for anything but the feel of her body threatening to come apart under his mouth, the instinct to move faster toward the moment of impact that would allow her to burst into a million tiny pieces. “I’m going to come.”