It’s a tense moment.
But it gets broken soon.
“WHAT THE FUCK?” I hear a raspy voice say right from behind me, a Russian accent to the words. “YOU TOLD US TO MEET ALONE! ALONE!”
Turning on my heels, Beretta at the ready, I find three Russian guys standing a few feet away from us. They’re wearing tracksuits, and one of them even has a gold chain around his neck.
Oh, right, and they all have guns.
“Please explain, Alejandro,” Grayson orders him, poking him in the head with the barrel of his gun.
“I...uh...I made a deal with the Russians...I figured just in case someone found out about me and came to steal the formula. Kind of like what you’re doing now. So I made a deal with the Russian mob...I was to give them the formula, and I’d get paid enough money to disappear.”
Fuck, now even the Russians are after the formula?
“Hello, xiécoc,” Grayson tells the newcomers calmly, and I rack my brain for the little Russian I know.
“Uh, wait,” I hesitate, nudging him with my elbow. “Did you just call them cocksuckers?”
“GET THEM!” the lead Russian yells.
Ah, fuck.
The only thing Grayson and I have the time for is for a quick exchange of glances. Then we’re off, each of us jumping to different sides. Grayson drags the accountant after him, dragging him by the scruff of his shirt, and I roll behind the wall of a storage unit.
A split second later and the loud pop! of the Russian’s guns fill the night. “Fuck,” I hiss, taking the safety off my Beretta and sucking in a deep breath.
Okay, let’s do this.
As the Russians stop to reload, I take a quick peek and start firing. “Burn in hell, Vlad!” I yell, and I can’t stop a grin from spreading over my face as I see one of the Russian assholes falling to the floor like a discarded heap of clothes.
Bullseye, bitch.
I look to the side, just to check if Grayson saw what I just did, but all I see is Alejandro laying on the ground, unconscious. Grayson is nowhere to be seen, and the Russians have already started to fire again, the bullets hitting the wall behind which I’m hiding.
“You dumb whore,” someone says behind me in a thick Russian accent, and I feel my blood freeze in my veins. I turn around to see the barrel of a gun staring me in the face.
Shit.
I didn’t seem him coming.
And now...now I’m done for.
“You should be nicer to women, you fucking asshole,” a deep voice growls behind the Russian. Next thing I know, there’s a loud sound and the Russian’s face caves in as a bullet goes through his skull, blood and brains raining everywhere.
Jesus Christ, my shoes are brand new.
Sigh.
“You alright?” Grayson asks me, crouching to my side.
“Yeah,” I tell him, only now realizing that my whole body is trembling. Shit, being this close to death isn’t fun. “Where the hell did you go?”
“I wanted to get the drop on ‘em. I just knocked the accountant out so that he couldn’t run.”
“Smart.”
“I know.”
What an asshole.
An extremely handsome, charming asshole who just saved my life.
“One guy to go,” I tell him, pointing over my shoulder.
“Easy,” Grayson smiles, and then leans in to whisper something into my ear. I listen intently, and then I just give him a nod as he returns to the shadows.
“I GIVE UP!” I shout, putting my Beretta on the ground and kicking it over so that the Russian asshole can see it. “I can give you what you’re after!”
“Come out! Hands in the air!”
God, I hope this works.
Slowly, I get up to my feet and walk out from behind the wall, hands raised over my head. The Russian crawls out from his hiding spot, eyeing me furiously, and then waves his gun at me.
“Where’s your friend?”
“He ran away. He just—”
I don’t get to finish my sentence. Grayson appears from behind the man and, instead of using his gun, he traps the Russian in a headlock, his biceps bulging as he chokes the poor bastard out.
“Done,” he merely says as the guy collapses, his lifeless eyes staring up at the sky.
“This was intense,” I breathe out, adrenaline still coursing through my veins.
“No,” he laughs. “Just a regular Tuesday. But you did okay.”
“Could you be any more condescending, asshole?” I laugh, my whole body burning from the inside out. It’s true—a sudden rush of adrenaline might make you really, really horny.
But I can’t think of that right now.
I have a job to do.
“Wakey, wakey, Alejandro,” I say as I prod the account with the tip of one foot. “Time for you to keep your promise.”
Twelve
Eliza
“Here it is.”
Poor bastard is almost ready to cry again. He thought he’d get out with the formula and cash out, but now...well, now he has betrayed his employers and is handing us the only thing that might have kept him alive.
Sucks to be an accountant, I guess.
Silent, and still holding his gun, Grayson grabs the folder from Alejandro’s hand. He takes a quick look at it, and then hands the whole thing to me. I flick through the pages and my heart sinks.
It’s coded. All of it.
“Where’s the fucking cypher?” Grayson growls, but the accountant just raises his hands up in the air, a terrified expression on his face and...he pisses himself. I can do nothing but sigh as I see the fabric of his jeans growing darker and darker around his crotch.
“I...I don’t have it!” He squeals. “The Russians were getting that from someone else. The chemist who developed it trusted the cypher to one of his associates, and...well, I have no idea where it is. He never gave it to me as insurance.”
“Can it be cracked?”
“I...I don’t think so. It’s very, very complex. You’ll need the cypher,” Alejandro insists, and then he goes down on both his knees right in front of us. Joining the palm of his hands in a praying gesture, he pleads to us, “I’ve done all you’ve asked of me. Please, let go of me!”
“Do you know who has the cypher?” Grayson insists, deadpan.
“No...but…”
“Then you’re of no use alive to anyone.”
“Wait, my children!”
“Listen here, asshole.” As he speaks, Grayson presses the gun’s barrel against Alejandro’s forehead. “I looked you up. You have no family. You’re a fucking deadbeat asshole that spends all of his cartel money on cheap hookers and drugs. Now, I don’t care about any of that shit. But you lied to me...and for that…”
Without saying a word more, Grayson simply pulls the trigger. Alejandro tumbles back, blood splattering the wall behind him.
“You know,” I start, eyeing Grayson with a surprised look on my face, “I thought you fell for his bullshit. I was starting to think you had a soft heart.”
“Never.”
We get to the motel, a seedy place in the outskirts of Detroit, when the sun’s already rising on the horizon. Grayson exchanged his blood-soaked shirt for a clean one in the car, and I did my best to scrub all the blood from my shoes and dress. I didn’t do a very good job but, hey, maybe the motel guy will just think I’m having a particularly bad period.
I know.
Nasty.
Sorry.
Grayson and I go to our separate rooms, and I draw a bath the moment I’m inside mine. The place isn’t exactly fancy—I’m just happy there are no cockroaches prancing around—but at least it has a bathtub.
As I ease myself inside the tub, I close my eyes and let my whole body relax. God, when Grayson took off his shirt inside the car...oh, his body. His muscles have been sculpted to perfection, and the scars and tattoos that dot his skin make him seem even more attractive.
I actually had to bite my cheek and hold my breath,
just so I wouldn’t do anything rash. And, believe me, right then all I wanted to do was something very rash. Like jumping on top of him and ride him until one of us passed out. I don’t know what it is about him—his killer looks (nice one, huh?), his cold charm, or his fierce sense of loyalty—but he always makes me...I don’t even know how to describe it. I guess wet would be the right word, but it doesn’t really describe the crazy mess he turns me into.
Oh. shit.
Nevermind that’s he’s a psycho killer—why does a guy like him have to work for the other side?
My thoughts suddenly scatter as I hear someone knock at the door.
“Eliza!”
Wait—is that Grayson?
I jump out of the bath then, and I dry myself off as quickly as I can. Meanwhile, Grayson just keeps knocking, doing it harder and harder each time. Jesus, if he keeps at it soon enough he’ll just kick the damn door down.
“Coming!” I cry out as I grab the robe I hung on the bathroom door. As I rush toward the door, I notice the urgency on his voice. Maybe...maybe he came to my room because he’s being plagued by the same thoughts I am?
“Grayson, what do you—”
Before I finish speaking, he takes one step forward and grabs me by the neck, pushing me back against the wall. He does it harshly, lifting me off my feet, and that’s when I notice the rage burning in his eyes.
“Taylor’s dead,” he hisses through his gritted teeth, his jaw clenched so tight it’s a surprise he hasn’t broken it. I feel his fingers tighten around my neck, and I do what any woman would do in my situation—I try and kick him in the balls. He’s too fast for me, though, and I end up kicking him in his stomach.
Not ideal, but enough for me to escape his grip.
“What the fuck are you talking about? Have you lost your fucking mind?” I sputter.
“I just got a call from Mexico, Eliza,” he growls, both his hands balled into fists. “Taylor was murdered. They found him on the highway, his car riddled with bullets. Wanna take a guess at who did it?”
“I...I don’t know.”
“The fucking Colombians, Eliza! Your fucking Cabeza Dios cartel!”
As he says it, he takes one swing at me; reacting on nothing but pure instinct, I duck under his arm and then push my feet off the floor as hard as I can. Propelling myself upward, I slam the open palm of my hand on his chin, forcing him to stagger back.
It doesn’t take long for him to get his bearings back.
“You fucking betrayed me,” he whispers, his rage cooling down into a violent need for revenge. “Taylor’s dead because of you.”
“I had nothing to do with it, asshole,” I spit back at him. “We’ve just found the formula, and all we need now is the goddamn cypher. Why would I risk all we’ve done just to ice your friend? Does it make any sense to you, you stupid meathead?”
Grayson stares at me for a long moment, and I can almost see the gears inside his head turning.
“I had nothing to do with it,” I repeat. “But my boss, Lorenzo Quentin…this was probably a warning,” I say to him. “He doesn’t want anyone to get too comfortable with this arrangement we worked out.”
Ever since we started working together and told our respective cartels, I’ve worried about this. Not would they send a warning.
But what kind of warning would they end up sending.
“Swear to me,” he growls, taking one step toward me. I stand my ground, looking him straight in the eye as he closes in on me.
“I’m not going to swear shit,” I reply, my heart racing at a thousand miles per hour. “You either believe me or you don’t.”
“Swear to me,” he continues, his words now a whisper. He reaches for my neck again, wrapping his fingers around it softly. “Swear to me, Eliza...or swear to God, I’ll fuck you up.”
That sets me off.
My heart’s pumping boiling blood.
Who the fuck is this asshole to threaten me. I’d kill this motherfucker if he weren’t so fucking beautiful.
And kind.
And protective.
And make my blood boil.
Adrenaline is raging through my veins.
Placing my hands on his forearms, I jump up and lace my legs tight around his waist, pulling him into me. As he presses his body against mine, our foreheads close together, I grin.
Then I reach for his cock.
“Is that a threat...or a promise?”
Thirteen
Grayson
What is Eliza trying to pull? “You sure you can handle what you’re about to get?” I know when I say these words it will set her off.
But she needs to know. I’m not dialing back one second if she thinks we’re playing here.
“Fuck you,” Eliza spits in my face.
“Oh, princess, I fucking will,” I say, grabbing her arms and pulling her so that our noses are pressed into each other. “I’ll fuck the goddamn life out of you, what else do we have to do while we go on this goddamn wild goose chase while you take me for a dumb fucking prick. You told your guys to kill Taylor didn’t you? How else did they find us?” I’m shaking her.
She doesn’t look afraid. She’s pure spitfire. Eliza looks like she’s ready to kill me, and something about it tells me that, no, this couldn’t have been her.
Would she tell me after me pushing? I don’t know.
Most people would, but Eliza is fucking strong, and strong willed.
So, no, the reason I believe her is something else.
I mean, I can’t trust that. I shouldn’t. I won’t. I’m filing it away for later as intuition trying to tell me one thing and likely my cock trying to tell me that same thing and leading me along.
She’s my enemy. And she’s my every waking thought. She’s in my dreams.
I know in my bones that if I don’t bury my cock inside her soon I’m going to lose my fucking mind. I want to tear her clothes off. Claim her as mine.
My thumbs dig into her, pressing circles into her.
“Let go of me!” Eliza yells, pulling against me.
No way I’m letting go of her. I need her. I need her so much that without releasing her for a second I press my mouth against hers, crushing it, devouring it, stealing a kiss that I feel her more than enthusiastically return. I crave the taste of her, sustenance for my tortured soul. She’s the salve to every wound.
Eliza moans into my mouth. Fucking moans. No goddamn way I can stop now. Her whole body melts against mine, the electric currents of hate and lust shooting sparks between us both.
I’m so hard that when she presses harder into me, I grunt with the pure animal need to be inside her.
I let go of her arm to tear off her robe. And I do mean tear. I grab it with one fist, balling it and tearing it violently from her body. Eliza doesn’t skip a beat in wrestling my belt and pants free, pulling down my boxer briefs, gripping my cock and sliding it deep into her pussy as fast as she can, mounting me like I’m a trophy she’s nailing to the wall.
Fuck, this woman had me all twisted up in her before? I’m not fucking killing her. I have this desperate need to fuck her. And now I’m deep inside of her and it is goddamn heaven. Her legs are trembling in tremors around me, at once desperately holding on while her hands seek purchase too, and the next they’re floating freely through space, unable to hold onto anything.
Me? I’m fucking gripping Eliza with everything I have. I’m ramming my cock into her like I have a wax seal to imprint.
But that’s the fucking truth. I’m claiming her body, owning this bitch’s perfect pussy in every way I need to because I cannot fucking stand the sound of her one more moment, and I can’t stand not hearing the way she moans like a greedy whore for my cock. Her inner walls are clenching around me like they’re robbing me, and sure enough, her juicy cunt is going to rob me off every last drop of my cum, for sure.
My real fucking undoing is her looking at me. Her eyes peer so deep into mine, and I’ve never felt more naked in my life, more expose
d, fucking vulnerable. The worst part is that when I feel this way with Eliza, like I have a raw, exposed nerve, I trust her. I fucking trust her against all reason. Like I could let her in.
It pisses me off. I grab her wrists, pull my cock out of her, and turn her around, pulling my cock to squeeze between her ass cheeks before I ram in back in that perfect pussy. I slam so hard into her again and again I know I’m marking her forever. She’s yelping, and I’m squeezing her wrists tight above her head, slamming Eliza’s tiny body into mine hard enough we’re both getting bruises from our hips impacting.
We’re hate-fucking right now. My mouth on her neck right now? Growling, nibbling on her. No sweet tender kisses.
Eliza’s moans are guttural, low, throaty sounds of sex, nothing romantic here.
I’m cold eyed and hate-fucking my natural enemy.
So why does the taste of her skin set me on fire? The scent of her all around me gets me impossibly harder?
Those sounds she’s making undo me. She’s cumming, hard, squeezing my cock so tight it would break a lesser man.
Me? I fucking bolt thunderous, hot jets of my cum inside her, practically roaring as I do, the sheer force of what she does to me enough to damn near knock the wind out of me.
I pull out of her and turn her around, and she drops down to her knees, looking up at me with this incredibly slutty look, sucking every last drop of our cum off my cock, then turns around and heads for her shower.
“See you tomorrow,” Eliza says on her way out, not turning around. I watch how her hips sway and how perfect her ass looks, and how she’s definitely walking a little funny after how hard I fucked her.
Class act way to get rid of me, for sure. I’d be impressed if I wasn’t so fucking stunned right now. I can’t believe Taylor is gone when he was the only person I’d really call a friend.
I know the woman I just fucked into oblivion didn’t do it.
And I know this shit has gotten so much more complicated on every level.
Don't Trust Him: An Enemies to Lovers Romantic Suspense (King Vs. Queen Book 1) Page 6