by LP Lovell
"You need the cartel," I say through clenched teeth.
"I don't need anything. Now call him, let him know you're safe and well."
I want to slap that smug grin off his face, but instead I stand from the couch and dial Gabe's number. I could call the Russians bluff, but sometimes you must pick your battles. I don't need to go to war with him over a phone call. Sadly, my pride doesn't agree, so I must swallow it.
The phone rings twice before the line clicks over. "Hola," Gabe says.
"Gabriel." Ronan watches me from the couch, casually smoking his cigar while commanding his little puppets.
"Camilla!"
"Put him on speaker," Ronan says. I scowl at him, and he simply lifts a brow.
"Is that the fucking Russian?" Gabe asks.
"Yeah." I put the phone on speaker. "Want to tell me why you decided to crawl into bed with him?" I can barely suppress my rage. I'm in this situation because my stupid brother got into some shit while I was behind enemy lines trying to kill Jésus and get our city back.
"It's complicated," he groans, "very complicated, but he helped us get Juarez."
"And now I'm in his house as a prisoner," I say with a snarl.
"Tell that pale fuck he can suck my Colombian dick!"
My brother is rash and can provoke our enemies like no one else, but he does have a certain way with words. I move over to the piano and lean my elbows on the top. "I've been told to call you. I'm assuming as proof of life," I say, and he sighs. "So what, he threatens to kill me and suddenly you're his bitch?"
"Mila—"
"How is the business?" There's a pause. "Gabe?"
Ronan snaps his fingers. "Enough chit chat," he says. I stare at him and lift a brow.
"Tell that shitfuck to kiss my ass," Gabe says. "Jésus is dead and the Los Zetas are after us."
"Jésus is dead?" All the pieces suddenly click together in my mind. I look at Ronan and a slow smile works over his lips. Oh, now I see. Help Gabriel win the war, and then put him on a false throne with his sister as collateral to ensure he plays nice. Clever. Ingenious really. Has Gabriel never heard that you shouldn't make deals with the devil? I take the phone off speaker and press it to my ear. "You made a deal with Ronan?" I say.
Ronan glares at me. "Hang up the phone."
"He had me by the balls," Gabe shouts.
Ronan stands, and I back away, rounding the piano to put it between us. "I don't give a fuck," I growl into the phone. "What could he possibly have on you, Gabriel, you stupid fuck?"
"Every-fucking-thing, Mila! He's like the goddamn devil. I think he owns the fucking FBI!"
Ronan must have heard that, because his lips quirk up. "Little kitty, I'm losing patience." He circles around the piano with his cigar in hand, and I mirror his movements.
"Handle the Los Zetas. Gut their fucking whores, kill their wives and children, burn their businesses to the ground. If you lose me my cartel I will hang you by your own fucking intestines, Gabriel!" I hang up and slide the phone across the piano to Ronan.
"How savage," Ronan's eyes flicker as he picks up the phone.
"I'm offended! You hold me captive while making a deal with my fucktard brother. Why didn't you come to me and make a deal?" I fold my arms over my chest.
"You can't even follow simple instructions to hang up a phone. Why on earth would I make a deal with someone like you? Such a temper." Ronan tsks. He puffs his cigar and steps to the side, and I move the opposite way.
"Ah, but anger is effective,” I say.
"But it's really not." A condescending grin crosses his face. "After all, look where it's gotten you."
"You got lucky, Russian.” I narrow my eyes at him. “We both know it."
"I'll let you believe what you must. I'd assume it's hard for someone such as you to accept defeat."
I lean forward, bracing my elbows on the piano, and his gaze drops to my chest for a second. "It's when backed into a corner that people are at their most dangerous." I glide my finger over the lacquered piano top. "Like animals."
"And it's also when people are cornered that they are trapped. Like animals." He inhales. "Let me make one thing clear, I am not one to test. You do as I say, when I say it."
"You can hold me captive all you like, Russian, but it doesn't mean I'll play the part."
"I don't know that you understand what the word captive actually means." He leans across the piano toward me, his eyes blazing with some sick form of delight.
"You wouldn't be the first man to try and keep me," I say. And they all paid the price eventually. When your father is a powerful drug lord, you become very valuable... to everyone but him.
"No, I don't try anything. I succeed with all things." He takes a drag from the cigar, allowing wisps of smoke to creep through his perfect lips. "I will keep you for as long as I please."
"Oh, what fun we'll have," I say sarcastically as I back away from the piano and take a seat on the couch. "All the shit around here I could burn." I run my finger over the arm of his velvet sofa.
His eyes study me while he makes his way around the piano and sits beside me. Maybe I should be careful with him, but I like this thrill of anticipation. I like the way my heart beats in my chest, the unpredictability of it all. He could kill me. He could kiss me. Possibilities, possibilities.
"I do not need you, Camilla. Jésus kept you to fuck you. I'm keeping you simply for amusement..." He waves his cigar through the air. "For now, at least."
Without warning, he fists my hair and yanks my face to his lap. My scalp burns as I struggle against him. He's too strong for me to fight and easily holds me down, drowning me in the spicy scent of his cologne as he presses my face harder against his crotch. "I warn you, I bite." I bare my teeth.
He thrusts his hips up, his cock swelling against my cheek. "I can smell your pussy from here," he says. "What fun you and I shall have."
My temper wars with the primal want rapidly tearing through me. I hate him, but the sexual tension between us—the promise of violence—it’s like a dizzying form of foreplay that I can't help but partake in.
Fucking asshole. "Didn't take you for a rapist."
He jerks my head to the side, forcing me to look at him. One brow subtly lifts, and suddenly he looks like a dark angel, beautiful and cold. "Now, we know that wouldn't be rape. Would it?"
"Fuck you," I spit. "I'd rather fuck a rotting corpse."
He shoves my head away from his lap and stands, glaring down at me. "I expected you to have much stronger survival instincts than this."
"Aw, are you sad because I won't suck your dick like a good little captive?" I push to my feet, instantly bringing myself chest to chest with him. The heat of his body bleeds through the material of my dress. The air crackles with tension and adrenaline thrums through my veins. I can't remember the last time I felt so alive. Ronan Cole may be a bastard, but his power is almost infectious and war with him...would be like nothing else.
"You underestimate me," he says. His hand skims my waist. "On every level." His fingers linger on the small of my back. A shiver tears down my spine before he tugs me flush against him and inches toward my neck. "Would be a pity to ruin such an exquisite face," he says before his teeth rake over my throat, and sink into my skin so hard that I gasp. And then, just like that, he releases me and takes a seat on the sofa again.
He's dangerous and powerful, and I'm drawn to him in the same way that an adrenaline junkie is to life threatening heights. I'll likely fall and die, but the trip down would be a rush unlike any other, so, I weigh my options. I could fight him tooth and nail for however long I'm here which could be infinite. Or...I could take this opportunity to get close to Ronan Cole, watch him, seduce him, work him. And when the time is right, I can either use him or kill him. I can work this to my advantage.
Chapter 8
Ronan
“Puppeteer” – MAX
Camilla glares at me.
Oh, I know she must hate me. She's easy to wind up
—like a little toy. It does give me such a thrill when she tests me for I truly don't know how I'll react. Everything in my life is so predictable, and while that is what I need... it becomes tedious. And the worst damage she can do? Well, there really is nothing she can do as long as she's here, now is there? So, play with her I shall... "Dance for me, Camilla," I say with a smile.
A fire lights in her eyes and her nostrils flare. "Do I look like your own personal stripper?"
"You look like whatever I want you to be."
"Fuck. You!" She folds her arms across her ample chest. I've decided she's the most beautiful when she's angry.
"I said, dance."
She steps closer. "I will cut you, Russian."
"I'm quite fond of knives." I fight a groan as I remember how smoothly the blade slid over her thigh. A soft blush forms on her cheeks, and I can only hope she's thinking about it, too. On a sigh, I stand, and she takes a wary step back. "You make this so much harder than it has to be," I say as I grab her by the waist and pull her against my body. "You will do as I ask, either by choice or by force."
Her jaw sets as a sarcastic smile touches her lips. "I'm going to get off tonight picturing your dead, bloodstained body."
"How delightful." I force her to move with me, dancing. She obliges by pressing her body against mine and following my lead. The scent of her skin, the way she moves with those deadly curves, her palpable rage...she's an enticing creature. I spin her around before yanking her close again.
"I'll come so hard with my fingers buried in my pussy and you on my mind," she promises, her teeth graze over my neck.
She's filthy, and it does do things to me I rather enjoy. "And exactly how would you propose to kill me, Camilla Estrada?" I dip her, leaning over to skim my lips along her neck before I bite her. "I do hope it's brutal."
"Well, as you're so fond of knives... And is a kill even worth the effort without copious amounts of blood to show for it?" She shifts her thigh between mine, pressing it against my crotch. Oh, she plays dirty.
"You would look so pretty bathed in blood, Krasivaya." I fist her hair. "So very beautiful all in red." Adrenaline fires through me, and I want to test her boundaries because I feel she has very few.
"Red is my favorite color." She smiles and spins on her heels, placing her back to my front. Her hips roll against my hardening cock. She so badly wishes to seduce me, to watch me crumble. But I won't...
"Does it make you angry that I won't fuck you?" I brush her hair to the side of her neck and notice the hint of a large tattoo peeking from the top of her dress. And what a contrast it is against the satin material. She looks so elegant, yet she's utterly ruthless. Like a Lily of the Valley... "I do know how important having men fall at your feet is."
"Does it frustrate you that your tight control won't allow it?" She turns again, bringing her lips close to mine. "Does it make you want to let go for a night?" Her hand slides over my crotch as she quirks a brow.
"I don't mix pleasure and business and you, Camilla," I smirk "are very much business."
"Hmm." Her gaze drops to my lips. "And you, Ronan, are the enemy. But don't we always want the things we shouldn't?"
"Oh, but don't we?" I reach inside my pocket and grab my knife, pulling it out as I shove her against the bookcase. Her breath catches, and I smile before I slice across her chest. She gasps as a thin line of blood wells from the wound, trickling down perfectly over the slope of her breast. I swipe my finger through it, lift my hand to my lips, and touch the tip of my tongue to the drop of blood. "And I do so look forward to the day you're on your knees with my cock in your filthy little mouth,” I whisper, shoving the knife back in my pocket as I let go of her.
She shoots a smug smile at me, and I snap my fingers. Within moments, Igor steps through the doorway and grabs Camilla by the elbow, escorting her from the room.
What a wonderful surprise this has turned out to be. I go to my desk and pull up the security camera footage on my laptop just in time to see Igor shove Camilla inside her room.
She stands frozen for a moment, and I just wonder what she's thinking. How angry she must be that I appear so immune to her charms. It's not long before she turns toward the camera, looks up, and flips me the bird. Clapping my hands, I laugh. So festive and lively... And such pretty blood. I fish the knife from my pocket and lay it on the desk, staring at the sharpened edge. Blood is very much a pleasure of mine. Something fascinating. But that is reason number one as to why I don't get my hands dirty. It's not good to mix pleasure with business. I learned early in my career that it's too easy to get carried away with, and I need things planned, calculated, controlled to ensure everything goes accordingly. However, one thing utterly excites me: Camilla won't be business for long—
"Sir," one of the guards steps into the room. "Anastasia Derevichi is at the front gate."
"I wonder why?" A smile curls my lips and I force the sordid thoughts of Camilla's red blood deep down. "Let her inside the grounds." I step around the guard and make my way down the hall. A servant is by the door waiting with my coat in hand. I take it and step onto the porch, pausing as a black car rounds the drive. A dusting of snow kicks up behind the tires when it comes to an abrupt stop.
The back door opens and Anastasia's long legs swing out. "Ronan," she says, her cheeks red, her face stained with mascara. "He knows."
Don't smile. "Who knows what, Ana?"
"Nikoli.” She covers her mouth with her hand and sobs. “He knows about us!"
Of course he does, but I must pretend to be shocked, so I drag my hands through my hair and pace. "How?" I ask. "How does he know!"
"There were pictures..." I can see her pulse throbbing in her neck, and I delight at the sight. She's afraid of him, but she fears the wrong man.
Forcing a frown, I make my way down the steps and take Anastasia into my arms. "It will be alright." I press my lips to hers, losing myself in the theatrics of it all.
"What are we going to do?" she asks. "He threatened to kill you." Oh, did he now? How wonderful! How pleased I am to hear that. While fucking Ana has been no hardship, I never fucked her for the sheer pleasure. I fucked her because of Derevechi. Because a woman's heart is her weakest point and hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. "I'm leaving him," she whispers.
"Don't be foolish." I step away and motion her toward the car. "He'll have us both killed if you leave." He won't, but she doesn't know that, and I want her to feel trapped.
I hold the door for her as I glance back at Camilla's window. She's standing beside the parted curtain, watching, and I must say, I couldn't have planned this better if I tried. Anastasia and I climb into the car, and as soon as the door is closed, I kiss her. Hard. Brutal, like all I need in the world is her, and in some ways, at this very moment that is true. She is my pawn to move and manipulate in order to take another king off the board.
Chapter 9
Camilla
“Firestarter” – The Prodigy
I watch Ronan get into the car with a skinny blonde and drive away. That woman wants him so badly; she might as well lie down on the snowy driveway and spread her mile-long legs. As if the man needs any more of an ego stroke.
One look at her and he had her right where he wanted her, and I'm just as helpless. Forced to remain his captive, powerless to do anything to help the business I built. Meanwhile, he's playing with me like one of his cheap whores. And I let him. I'm trying to play a game only he knows the rules to.
I nearly had him, until he had me.
I’m frustrated, I'm angry, and I want to fucking hurt him. I want to burn his perfect little life to the ground. The scene of him toying with me so easily replays in my mind, and my temper rises and rises with every passing second. It's his unending calm that annoys me, that perfect control that I can see he places such value upon. I smile at the thought of watching him snap. Watching a man such as him unleashed on the world—it would be beautiful and terrifying. He'd surely kill me, and then he'd have no leverage,
no power over my brother or my cartel.
Just as he wants to break me, I want to break him, and by any means necessary. No one plays me.
I allow the rage to fill me, to take over in a way that usually ends in mass murder, and then I grab the mirror from the dressing table and throw it to the ground. The glass shatters, fragments scatter over the rug. My eyes shift to the new camera in my room, the little red light mocking me with each blink. I know his men can see me, so I pick up a big shard of glass and draw it over the inside of my wrist leaving a cut not deep enough to kill me. Just deep enough to cause a scene. The blood rushes to the surface, and I let it trickle onto the rug. For whatever reason, I think Ronan Cole wants me alive. It's not like I haven't given him every reason to kill me by now if that weren't the case. Maybe I can push him over the edge...
I tear apart the room, pulling curtains down, and flipping furniture over, and when the room is a complete mess, I sit on the edge of the bed, bleeding on the sheets. Almost on cue, footsteps pound down the hallway, and I tuck the big shard of glass beneath my thigh. The door swings open so hard it slams against the wall.
A man rushes in. He looks at me then around the room before tossing his rifle over his back and hurrying to my side. When he's only a foot away, I leap up and slam the shard of glass into his neck. The jagged edges cut through my palm, but I don't care. I snatch the rifle from the strap at his back. More footsteps echo down the hall, and I point the gun at the doorway. Another guard steps into the room and I pull the trigger. Bang. He falls to the floor.
See how Ronan likes this shit, I think as I hurry out the door. I go through the house shooting anyone I see. At the bottom of the stairs I toss the empty rifle aside and grab a new one from the lifeless man at my feet. Five of Ronan's men are dead, and I haven't even reached the guard house yet. Bending over, I pat the man down for more weapons, and find two grenades. Well, this is about to get a lot more interesting. In his pocket are cigarettes and a lighter, both of which I take before stealing his thick coat and walking outside.