Why is he even doing this? Why did he stop him? And… why is he still doing it now that Diego is gone?
I’d turned my head away, biting my lip to stifle a moan that had almost slipped out, but that was when I’d noticed the vacant space of wall where Diego had been watching.
Tugging at his merciless grip on my wrists, I tried to speak but it came out on a whisper, “He’s gone.”
“I know.” Andre surged above me, so big, and when he looked down at me, the thin barrier of the condom the only thing separating us, I couldn’t hide my fear. His eyes were dark brown, almost black, and his hair was falling across his forehead, but there was nothing in his expression. No emotion. Not anger, not lust, nothing.
I flinched when he moved again, hating the way my body sparked, nerves lighting up to pulse tendrils of pleasure through every inch of my skin. My hips lifted without permission, and I had the strangest urge to wrap my legs around his hips and give in. Give in to the pleasure he was torturing me with, but—no. I needed to get out of here.
“Help me?” I whispered, terrified that someone other than the monster above me might hear me. “Please? Get me out of here?”
“I can’t.” His eyes shuttered, nose buried against my throat again as he rocked and groaned against me, slowing his hips into long, devious strokes. Back and forth, directly against my clit, his body heat scorching me as he held me to the table.
“After they go to bed. Please,” I begged, the whine in my voice desperate.
“Shut up,” he hissed, and his next mimicked thrust was rougher, less controlled, his hand gripping my hip tight enough to hurt.
Tears pricked my eyes even as the pleasure rumbled through me. I wished that I could turn it off, ignore the constant stimulation, but his teeth nipped my shoulder again. Plucking the tension inside me like an instrument, amplifying the pleasure between my thighs, and I couldn’t understand it. Any of it. “Why are you doing this?”
“Being merciful?” he asked, and the way he said it made me swallow.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“I don’t know.” His hand slid up, cupping my breast so he could squeeze, and then he caught my nipple and twisted, the zing of pain rebounding inside me to join the heat pulsing behind my clit. “But I can’t stop them, Nicky.”
Tears burned my eyes as reality returned. Trapped in a basement, beneath a fucking drug lord’s house, which I had walked into like a fucking idiot. Being half-naked under one of his lackeys, or guards, or whoever the fuck Andre was… this was just the beginning. Diego would be worse, José would be worse. Paulo would probably kill me. The sob escaped, ending on a whine as I tried my best to stifle it, but Andre growled above me.
“God, you sound so pretty when you cry.” Reaching between us, his thumb found my clit, rubbing fast until I was shaking my head, fighting the tension coiling at the base of my spine. His weight crushed my wrists to the hard wood of the table, but I couldn’t even bring myself to care as he wound me higher and higher. “So beautiful, so pure…”
“Fuck!” I screamed as he thrust inside me without warning, arching off the table, but he pulled back and went deeper with the next swing of his hips, a low rumble echoing out of his chest. It hurt a little, the width of him stretching me at the deepest point of his thrust, a twinge inside, but then he would withdraw and every nerve ending would light up like a fucking runway. Urging him to return, my hips lifting of their own volition to welcome him—and I couldn’t fight it.
Couldn’t fight him.
He was too strong, too much, and I was too tense anyway.
“Jesus…” he groaned, and released my hands, standing up between my thighs, his face unbelievably handsome as he stared down at me. There was a tilt to his lips, something almost like a smile before he slid his thumb between us to find my clit once more. “Not going to beg me to stop?”
“Please—” I started to talk, but he yanked my ass off the end of the table. Buried deep, he held on to my hips, rolling his forward and back.
“Go ahead and beg, Nicky. I’m not going to stop.” With that, he started to fuck me hard, every inch of his ridiculously strong body following through on each thrust. And it hurt, but in a way that was addictive, terrible and incredible at the same time. I dug my nails into my palms, trying to hold back, because I hated that I wanted him to keep going, to keep pushing me, keep talking to me in that low, rumbling voice that made me shiver.
Lifting my hips to meet his, I whined, the deep thrusts making it hard to breathe, but it suddenly didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to stop anyway, and I bit my tongue to keep myself from asking him to keep going. He was so terrifying. So intense.
And it felt so fucking good.
The orgasm exploded like a hidden bomb, shrapnel of light and heat rushing through every inch of my body, and on some level I heard myself cry out, curse—but suddenly I was outside of myself. Feeling the pleasure and the pain in one cataclysmic wave, unable to process the way Andre leaned over me, watching me fall apart. I was blurry with heat, a tingling ecstasy that crushed the terror, blurred the dark future that awaited me.
None of it mattered when his hands landed on either side of my ribs, his body working above mine to achieve his own pleasure, pushing one of my legs over his shoulder to angle deeper, to fuck harder—and I just spiraled again. Another crescendo of euphoria that had me breathless and pleading, the tears from before still drying on my cheeks.
Pulling him down toward me when I knew I should have been fighting, pushing him away.
A dichotomy I couldn’t begin to process.
“Please!” I begged, and his hand landed on my throat, squeezing hard enough to make my pulse pound behind my eyes. Grabbing onto his wrist, I struggled, arched my back, seeking air, but then he came with a shout, cock jerking deep inside me as his fingers tightened for a moment. My vision tunneled, ears buzzing, and I pressed my nails into his skin in a silent plea.
“Fuck, angel…” Releasing my throat, he held himself still for a moment as I coughed, gasped, pulling in air that only seemed to amplify the spiraling aftereffects of the orgasms.
Delirious, exhausted, stunned.
Our harsh breaths intermingled, one of his hands braced beside me, the other trailing up my leg that was still caught over his shoulder. It was a brief brush with insanity that had caused me to lift my hips to his, to let him have me—but maybe it would be what fucking saved me.
He’s already saved me once.
“A-Andre?” His name stumbled off my tongue, but I tried to stay strong as he stared down at me, still buried deep. “Will you help me?”
“You want me to help you?”
I nodded, rubbing my neck where I could still feel the outline of his fingers, and for a moment his dark eyes locked on mine, dark brows pulling together ever so slightly. Reaching towards me, he brushed a thumb over my lips, and then my cheek, and there was no urge to pull away.
He’ll help me. I know it. He has to.
Then he shook his head and slid from me, tossing the condom on the floor as he tucked himself away. Eyes glued to his black pants, he spoke low, gruff, “There’s nothing I can do. I already told you I can’t stop them.”
“No!” I shouted, his words shaking me to the core. “You can’t, you can’t let them…” The sobs came back, my breath coming short as I sat up on the edge of the table, my lungs wheezing, tightening in my chest. All I could think of was José’s smirk as he shoved his gun into my mouth, Diego’s hands on me as he’d tugged at my clothes. The things the both of them had promised to do. “Oh God… they’re going to kill me.”
“I will not let them kill you.” Andre was in front of me again, broad and looming, and he grabbed my chin when I didn’t look up at him. “Got it?”
Shoving his hand away, I jerked my chin out of his grasp. “But you’ll let them fuck me? Rape me?”
He stood frozen, that empty gaze burning as he breathed deeply, slowly, and then his eyes flicked away from me to the stairs. “Y
ou’ll survive.”
“I don’t want to survive that! I want out! I want out of here, dammit! Just let me up, let me go!” I hit his chest, trying to push him back, to get him away from me, but he caught my wrists and tightened his grip until they hurt. The tears were scalding my cheeks, my sobs turning into hiccups, and I couldn’t control it, couldn’t stop it.
“You. Will. Live.” Andre shook me by his grip on my arms. “Do whatever they say, and you’ll live.”
“NO!” I screamed, and when I couldn’t break my arms free, I tried to kick him square in the balls—but he blocked it at the last second with his thigh, and suddenly I was face down on the table, one arm wrenched high between my shoulders. Pain. His body weight pressed me down, my ribs aching, shoulder throbbing, and all I could do was cry. Scream into the wood of the table.
Rage peppered his voice, as cold and vicious as he’d been when he’d spoken to Diego. “Shut up. Right now. You need to think, be smart. You walked into Paulo fucking García’s house, what the fuck did you think was going to happen?”
“I didn’t even know who he was!” I sobbed, sniffling and twisting to try and ease the painful position. “My brother said his name when he woke up. I was asking him who hurt him, asking him why, and he said his name. I asked around his friends and got this address, and—”
“And no one thought you’d be stupid enough to actually fucking show up here.” His voice was mocking as he crushed me to the table harder, his rage showing in the creaking of my ribs.
“Andre, please…”
“Don’t say my name like you fucking know me. You don’t know me.” His grip tightened, shoving my arm a little higher on my back until I screamed. “I just fucked you. I did exactly what Diego was planning to do to you, why in the hell do you think I’d ever help you?”
Whimpering, I tried to breathe through the torment, asking as coldly as I could manage, “Do you really think that’s how Diego would have fucked me?”
Silence reigned for a minute, his grip not loosening at all, and then finally a low growl rumbled above me.
“You’re too brave for your own good, angel.” His breath brushed my cheek, and I kept my eyes on the wall. “You walked into hell all on your own, and now you’re expecting me to pull you out of the flames?”
“Yes!” I hissed, anger surfacing inside me through the fear and the lust and the desperation. “Why did you try to protect me from him if you didn’t want to help me?”
“I stopped him because I wanted you first.” His hips rocked against my ass and I flinched, refusing to believe that. He would have fucked me immediately, wouldn’t have bothered pretending at first if he was anything like the others. Wouldn’t have told me to make it convincing.
“Liar.”
“You don’t know shit, Nicky Harris.” Releasing my arm he stomped away from me, his heavy boots crunching over the gritty concrete. “You have no fucking idea what you’ve walked into.”
Gently lifting myself from the table I took the time to fix my bra, tugging my shirt back down, even though my underwear and my shorts were somewhere on the floor. I could feel my pulse in my shoulder, wondering if something had finally torn as I stood up. He was pacing, one of those massive fists clenched in his hair as he wandered back and forth across the narrow room. It was worse because he looked so good doing it. All of that hard muscle I’d felt against me moving under his tight shirt, the long gait of each step due to his height. The bronze of his skin broken up by the dark tattoos that covered his visible skin. Both arms, up his neck—he looked every bit the killer, the monster I’d believed him to be… but I was definitely hoping I was wrong.
“Are you really going to let them do this?” I asked softly, and his boots crunched to a halt. The grit on the floor scratched as he turned towards me. I could feel his eyes burning into me, as intense as they’d been before everything had gone to hell.
Nothing. There is nothing behind those eyes.
No remorse. No concern. Nothing.
He stayed silent as he marched towards the stairs, my lips parting to call after him, but I didn’t get a second glance as his booming steps moved upward. The hard clap of the hidden door was his answer and in a flash, my world collapsed.
The others would come next, and Andre’s words came back like a curse: ‘You’ll survive.’
As if I’d even want to when they were done.
Chapter 7
My heart pounded, body still humming from the argument, and I stayed in the kitchen to calm down. Unsteady for the first time in years.
No one had ever affected me like Nicky Harris.
The fucking angel. Impossibly tempting. Impossibly sweet.
Jesus Christ, you fucked her.
Everything spun as I leaned my head back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling like it could hold some answers. Back when I’d gone to church regularly like a good Catholic boy, I would have known the right prayers to say—not like God would listen to a monster like me. Especially not after what I’d just done.
Wiping a hand over my face, the idea that had hit me downstairs grew stronger, and I knew I needed to be steady to make it happen. The bottle of rum I’d abandoned on the counter was still there and I took a few swallows. Letting it wash the taste of Nicky from my tongue, even though nothing could touch the memory of her cunt squeezing me when I slid deep, the whimpers, the way her eyes clenched tight when she came.
Shaking my head, I stepped into the bathroom in the hall and checked my reflection. Dark scruff on my cheeks, my black hair a touch longer than it should have been, and empty eyes. I always called Paulo the devil, but that was exactly what I looked like. Looking in the mirror was something I avoided for a reason, and this was why.
I hated the man in the mirror as much as I hated Paulo.
I wanted both of us to burn.
The rum on my tongue wasn’t enough, and so I swallowed another mouthful, and then another, before I adjusted my clothes to look more presentable. I deserved hell, I deserved fire and damnation—but stupid, brave Nicky? She didn’t.
Flipping the light off in the little bathroom, I avoided the mirror so I could face Paulo easier. There was laughter in the living room, jokes, but what had made me smile that morning now made me nauseous. Pushing all the bullshit away, I stood in the doorway, watching them. Marco was still in his chair, Paulo and José on opposite ends of the couch, and Diego was laid out on the other sofa, head propped up on the armrest.
Grow some balls, cabrón.
“Jefe.” I raised my voice just enough to be heard over the surround sound, but all four heads turned to me.
“What is it, cuadro? Come to join us?” Paulo was smiling, deep into his own bottle of rum, but there was still nothing real behind the tilt of his lips.
“I need to speak with you.” The seriousness of my voice perked his ears and he sat up completely, dropping the smile like he’d never even attempted it.
“Problem?”
“I hope not, jefe.”
He stood without another question. One benefit to always doing what Paulo García commanded was that he tended to listen when I spoke—mostly because I never did. Unfortunately, the same was not true for Diego.
“You all done?” Diego asked, swinging his legs to sit up on the couch, and his grin left no questions as to his thoughts.
“No. I’m not.” I could hear the tinge of rage in my voice just remembering his hands on Nicky, the darkness bubbling down deep where she’d pushed it with all her sweetness.
Paulo caught the edge in my tone as well, and his gaze landed on me as he stopped in front of me. “My office?”
“Lead the way, jefe.” I waited for Paulo to start walking, keeping my eyes on Diego until he muttered under his breath and dropped back onto the couch. Only then did I follow, trying to organize my thoughts, which were way too fucking scattered to be facing off with the devil himself.
Soon enough we were taking up the same positions we had earlier, only this time it was a bo
ttle of rum in my hand instead of tequila, and there was plenty left. Paulo gestured towards me as he got comfortable leaning against his desk. “Well?”
“I want the girl.” The words left my mouth too quickly, and Paulo’s lips twitched.
“Then go have her.”
Fingering the bottle in my hand, I shrugged, mimicking one of his colder smiles. “I already did.”
A chuckle was his only answer for a moment. “I see.” Paulo crossed his arms, evaluating me with those coal black eyes. “You know, cuadro, I was starting to think you were some kind of maricón. You never touch the girls that come here.”
“I’m no maricón, jefe. I don’t fuck men.” The insult made me twitch, but I kept the rum at my side.
He shrugged a shoulder, not seeming to care either way. “So, if you’ve already fucked her, what more do you want?”
“I don’t want to share her.” I let the disgust show on my face. “I’m not interested in having her after Diego is done.”
Paulo only nodded, resting his palms back on the smooth surface of his desk. “And what about me?”
My stomach twisted, but I forced my expression to stay blank. “Do you want her, jefe?”
“I might, but tell me what your offer is, cuadro, I’m listening.” The man looked at me like we were discussing the weather and not the body of a young woman trapped in his fucking basement.
“You said she still owes five grand. I’ll cover it in exchange for not having to share her.”
Paulo clicked his tongue, shaking his head slowly. “You don’t touch a single girl in front of us, in all the time I’ve known you, but this girl you want to pay five thousand dollars for? Why?”
“She sounds pretty when she cries, and even better when she screams.” Not a lie.
Black eyes glittered at my words, and Paulo leaned forward slightly. “Did you make her scream, cuadro?”
Hero Undercover: 25 Breathtaking Bad Boys Page 37