Her hand closes over mine, and I don’t realize that I’ve squeezed my eyes shut until I open my eyes and look up at her.
The sun is haloing around her and she looks like a fucking angel.
“I’ll fucking kill you with my bare hands if you pull anything. This isn’t trust, it’s an agreement for the time to get and test the formula, okay?”
Eliza definitely looks like an angel. One who gets my cock so hard it almost fucking hurts.
“Of course, baby,” I say, winking at her. “You can’t trust either of us,” I add.
“Either of us?”
“We’re not like people who see this as a job. Who have anything else. This is our lives, it is all of them. We sleep, breathe, and eat this world and it eats us. Which means we never met an opportunity we didn’t spread the legs of and lick all its juices up.” I pause my words and watch her breath catch in her throat.
Seems like Eliza is getting as worked up as I am.
There’s a fire inside us both, and I hope we can control the flames before they consume us.
Ten
Eliza
For several days, Grayson and I practically live on the phone.
I call Rafe, seeing if he knows anyone who can help us.
My eyes perk up, and I look to Grayson, wordlessly letting him know we might have something.
“Put that on speaker?” Grayson mouths, essentially asking if that’s okay.
I nod, something warm breaking inside me. It feels so natural to have Grayson in my life.
Rafe’s gravelly voice comes through the phone.
“I don’t know for sure, but rumor is someone with a connection is in town. No one’s eager to open up. Lorenzo’s cool with pooling resources for now, so see what Teague’s contacts know.”
I think how there was a time I thought about how Rafe isn’t that much older than me, how it is impossible to ignore how much other women want him, but I put the phone down on the table and touch Grayson’s hand on his coffee mug as I listen to Rafe.
“Thanks, Rafe,” I say.
Smiling, I look to Grayson. “Well, your play now. We could be done playing phone tag, if you have something?”
Grayson grins widely. Butterflies are dancing in my stomach. It’s criminal how gorgeous he is when he’s happy, even for a second. My heart aches when I think about how lonely and unhappy his life must be.
“Well?” I ask eagerly.
“He’s pretty hard to track down, but even as spooked as our cartels are about us working together, I know my buddy will talk to me. If anyone knows anything, it’ll be him,” Grayson says.
He strokes a finger over my hand now, pinning it down with his on the table while he makes the call.
One of Grayson’s contacts, Taylor, does confirm that someone with a piece of the formula is close by, working at a self-storage place in Detroit.
It’s clear that the self-storage unit is a place to launder money. The guy we’re looking for worked with our chemist friend before leaving at the same time the lab blew up. Bonita Muerte hasn’t made the connection yet but Grayson thinks that if anything, the formula or knowledge of it might be with him.
I hate places like this. They totally make my skin crawl.
To make matters worse, things aren’t intensely awkward with Grayson after he turned a human being into pink applesauce in front of me when he was there to kill me.
No, they’re awkward because we’re fighting like two little kids trying to get anything done.
It has seriously been the least smooth operation of my life and I am about ready to fucking scream if I have to go through another minute of it.
This fucking guy knows where the formula is and we need to get it from him.
“Sounds like we have things in the fucking bag,” I groan.
Grayson shoots me an angry look. “Well, we would if,” he pauses and leans closer. “You just let me watch this guy.” His hot breath on me and the sight of him is fucking with my head.
The fact that every time I look at him it stirs some deeply inappropriate sexual thoughts in me doesn’t help this situation at all.
We’ve been going back and forth on this for a ridiculous amount of time.
Grayson Teague and I may be working together now, but he couldn’t be more the enemy if someone designed him to be my opposite.
Seriously, he is so fucking off limits I want to smack myself.
“Whatever,” I say with a sigh.
It isn’t just our strategy we’re arguing about.
We’ve been staying in separate rooms despite how odd it looks to the front desk people, everywhere we’ve stayed. We apparently seem like a fighting couple to them, which makes me wonder how many American couples plan to go on vacation and then end up getting separate rooms? What the fuck is that?
One of our arguments that Grayson and I had was that he wanted me to use his last name when I checked in. Yes, to our separate rooms. But fuck, he’s worried someone’s going to find my name? I’ve never been discrete and if I need to be, doesn’t that seem like it would raise red flags? I use a different name, calling it my maiden name, and he looks all wounded.
Like, seriously?
So here we are. Literally standing in the fucking parking lot next door to the self storage facility. Arguing about what to do.
Grayson and I have the guy we need the information from, yet, still, we're running backwards in oatmeal trying to get anything done.
I smooth my hands over my dress and attempt to not ball my fists in total frustration at having to deal with someone else instead of just getting the job done the way I would.
"We should interrogate him after we watch him," Grayson says. "Get what we can out of watching him and then we talk to him." The tone in his voice is pure. Its one that brooks no dissent. He’s that kind of person.
Takes one to know one. I feel the same but I don't want to take his tack here and blow the whole op.
"If we're watching him then he'll probably know and he won't tell us shit," I say, rolling my eyes. This is pretty fucking obvious, right?
"If we're good at watching him," Grayson steps closer to me and looks at me like I've forgotten how to tie my shoes or something. Not that you tie Louboutins, mind you. "Then he won't know that we're watching him." He's emphasizing the fucking words out like a dumb child.
"How often do you not know you're being watched?" I throw my hands up in the air, turning around and then putting them on my hips, facing him again. "And do you get away with it by killing anyone who might tell, because racking up a needless body count isn't exactly covert, either."
Are we losing the three-legged race at the fair or something? Because what we aren't doing is working well together. At. All.
Grayson, to his credit, looks like he's actually considering my words.
"Are you better at watching or questioning?" I ask him. If he's cooling down, well, so can I.
A wicked smile spreads over that too perfect, cocky, smug face of his. "I don't have to ask which you're better at, the way you look. I'd tell you all my secrets," Grayson says with a laugh.
"Oh, would you?" Something about the way he laughs makes me purr internally.
I hate when books say there's like a pregnant pause. Like, what the hell is it pregnant with? But this pause is totally loaded with some kind of little swimmers. The more he looks at me like that, not saying anything, the less I want to fight about this and the more I want...well, I don't know what I want.
I have to fight back the urge to laugh at this situation, the intensity is just so much. Grayson and I are practically two seconds away from slap-slap-kiss. Like slap, how dare you? Slap, how dare you? And then, bam, we're kissing...
Except we're so not kissing right now. We have to get some progress going on this coke squared miracle formula or neither one of our bosses will have it and then this is all for nothing.
So maybe, yes, we are going to need to start working together. Like, actually working together instead
of butting heads constantly.
I look at him, pressing my lower lip into my teeth. “Yeah, let’s try not fighting like an old married couple for like two fucking minutes and see where that gets us,” I offer.
He gives me a weird look like he’s totally oblivious to this whole dynamic. Though, granted, he kind of is. Grayson Teague never had a family. Never had parents. He doesn’t even have friends. He’s a single-minded weapon and that’s what makes him so good at what he does.
Of course, it is also what fucks me up entirely. I can’t deny that I’m attracted to him. That’s why I’m fighting with him so much. I wouldn’t be so combative if he didn’t have such an effect on me. I’m guessing he’s a little more mature too, no matter how emotionally stunted.
Just...fuck.
Like right now. Totally inappropriate of me to look at his ass when he looks away. But it’s a good ass. And I realize that there’s something about when I’m with him...my life seems better. Go with me on this, but I never have a normal “look at his butt” moment with anyone. And I love what I do. I wear the best clothes. Stay in the best hotels.
But fuck I just wish I had a boyfriend.
But, again, if I was going to do that, did I really have to pick the person who was undeniably my most inappropriate attraction ever?
I can’t exactly have breakfast in bed with Grayson Teague.
He punched me, I punched him...he choked me, and then he killed someone for betraying me. Fucking Juan, gives me all that shit in San Diego and really he’s secretly jealous and decides to kill me and steal my mission?
What the fuck?
It does get me thinking, though. Other people are going to be looking for this formula. Other people in my cartel are probably going to want this job.
Maybe having a ready to murder for me sicario is the best I can do right now.
At least when he looks away I can look at his ass. How it ripples with power.
And when he looks at me, it makes me want to melt. Seriously, the way he smiles at me does something wicked in my panties, like he’s tearing them off with his teeth just by looking at me.
I’m only human, so how could even I resist a man who has that effect on me?
Eleven
Eliza
Compromise.
Sometimes, it’s all about compromise. You know when you simply can’t decide if you want to buy those Louboutins or the Jimmy Choos? And then you simply buy both, plus a pair of Manolo Blahniks?
That’s compromise.
Alright, admittedly I’m not very good at it. But I’m making an effort with Grayson. I mean, if we want to make some progress, we have to start working together. No way in hell am I going back to my boss empty-handed, and that right after collaborating with the enforcer of one of our fiercest rivals.
Yeah, that would go well for me.
“And here he comes,” Grayson whispers, sitting up straight on his seat, binoculars glued to his eyes. I’m sitting on the driver seat, legs folded and a Chinese takeout bag on my lap. What? A ‘stake out’ sounds similar to ‘steak out’, and so I decided to bring some food with me. I agreed to do this, but it doesn’t mean I have to go hungry.
And it isn’t that bad, really.
Sure, sitting inside a car for hours isn’t my idea of fun, but...being this close to Grayson has its perks. For a psycho, he can actually hold a conversation. And, well, he’s as hot as they come. So, anytime I can I steal a glance at him, burning the memory of his strong arms in my mind, all just so I can remember it tonight...you know, for research.
Sure, okay, I know I was being a bitch about watching this guy we’re after. And now you know that I relented and let Grayson run surveillance on this asshole.
Now, I won’t tell Grayson, but he’s right—watching Alejandro before we make a move is the right call.
See, our little friend Alejandro, now trying to act all stealthy while he moves toward a storage unit, is an accountant. Not just any accountant, but one that’s very, very good at laundering money for one of the cartels. Once good old Benjamin Franklin passes through this guy’s hands, he comes squeaky clean on the other side—and that even if his face was muddled with blood and cocaine. Good grief, who knew Benjamin Franklin was such fun?
Anyway, we got the drop on this guy because of Taylor, apparently Grayson’s best friends and a member of Bonita Muerte. I guess that even stone-cold killers need friends, huh?
Well, turns out that he visits multiple self-storage places where drug money is kept. We don’t know who exactly his employer is. It’s not any of the cartels that we know of. Alejandro is always escorted—two non-descript black SUVs always trail after his car, each one of them packed with thugs eager to unload a magazine onto somebody.
What these thugs don’t know is that Alejandro is a very naughty boy. Every night at 1 am, he likes to go for a drive and visit one of the storage containers they have...and he always leaves with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder.
Yup, that’s right. The asshole he’s stealing from his employers – whoever they are.
“Are you sure he’s alone?” I ask Grayson as I use my chopsticks to pick up a small shrimp. Stakeouts are fun. I just wish I had brought a bottle of Don Perignon as well.
“Yeah, this time he is,” he replies, his voice all business-like. Wiping my chin with the back of my hand, I throw my chopsticks inside the bag and sit up straight.
“So, showtime?”
“Showtime,” he agrees, opening the door on his side and stepping out of the car. I follow after him, and...cue the music.
Seriously, as we walk toward that asshole, now kneeling on the floor as he tries to open the storage container door, it almost feels as if we’re walking in slow-mo. Only thing missing would be an explosion going off behind us.
I’m fine without it, though, since that would probably mean someone had placed a bomb on our car.
Reaching behind my back, I mimic Grayson’s movements and grab my Beretta, careful enough to keep my finger off the trigger.
Yeah, I’m packing a gun. And, most important of all, it comes in a shade of dark gray that matches my shoes. Always dress to kill, right?
It’s not hard for us to get into the storage facility and find our target.
He doesn’t even see us as we come in behind him.
By the time Grayson presses the barrel of his gun against the guy’s head, it’s already too late for him.
“Oh God,” he whimpers, slowly turning around to face us. “This is not what it looks like. I just...I just came here to check some stuff. I would never steal from the bosses, they know that!”
Great way to implicate yourself, fucker.
“Shut the fuck,” Grayson tells him, going down one knee in front of the accountant so that he’s level with him. “You know what happens to people that steal, don’t you?”
“I would never, ever—”
“Didn’t I tell you to shut the fuck up?” Now with the gun pressed against the man’s forehead, Grayson sighs. “Look, Alejandro—yes, we know who you are—we don’t work with your employers, and we don’t give a shit if you’re stealing from them or not.”
“Then...then what do you want?”
“Well, a little bird told us you have something more valuable than money,” I start, taking a step toward them both and giving Alejandro a nice smile. What? It doesn’t hurt to be nice to people.
“I...I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
I roll my eyes. Grayson just looks at me, shrugs, and then points his gun at one of Alejandro’s foot. Next thing I know, there’s a flash of light and a loud sound as a bullet flies straight into his foot. In a matter of seconds, blood starts dripping out from his shoe.
“Ah, fuck, fuck,” he groans, rolling around the floor like some kind of demented hedgehog. “I told you I don’t know anything about a formula!”
Wow.
Did you hear that?
This one is really smart, huh?
“We didn�
�t say anything about a formula,” I smile once more, and then give him a little wink. “But now that you mention it...that’s exactly what we’re looking for.”
There’s a pause. Grayson uncocks his gun. It makes a loud clicking noise.
“Alright! Alright!” Alejandro yells. “I have the formula, okay! The chemist, he gave it to me in case anything ever happened to him. But I never knew he was going to blow up his lab. And I never knew people were going to be dying left and right! So I came up to Detroit. Got a start on laundering money through an operation I already had going for the local gangs that distribute product.”
“Where’s the fucking formula?” Grayson snarls.
“If...if I hand you the formula I’m as good as dead. Anyone who finds me, this is my get out of jail free card...”
“You’re wrong,” Grayson cuts him short. “They’ll do far worse things than just kill you if you don’t give them the formula. They’ll torture you. For days. Then they will torture your family, right in front of you. Only then will they kill you...if you’re lucky.”
“Aren’t we supposed to be convincing this guy to help us out?” I ask.
“Have you ever heard about these?” Grayson continues, ignoring me as he rolls up one of his sleeves and shows Alejandro the long rows of skulls adorning his forearm.
“Oh, God. Oh, Jesus Christ...you’re...you’re from the Bonita Muerte cartel,” he stammers, tears taking over his eyes. Throwing his head back, he starts to sob violently, tears streaming down his face.
“Right,” I whisper, an almost flirty tone to my words, “which means that my friend Grayson Teague here will do far worse things to you than your bosses can come up with in their wettest dreams. He’s a real pro, you know?”
“O-okay…” he finally sobs, raking one hand over his face as he tries to go up to his feet. “Will you let me go afterward? I...I have a family. Three children.”
“Give us the formula with no more trouble, and you’ll be able to live,” Grayson says with a deadpan face. I can’t even tell if he’s being serious. “You have my word. Otherwise, I can’t guarantee anything.”
Don't Trust Him: An Enemies to Lovers Romantic Suspense (King Vs. Queen Book 1) Page 5