“Life, huh?” he continues, his tone growing lower. “I know how this life has been hard on you and...I know that you haven’t given up on revenge.”
I turn around on my heels fast, my heart skipping a beat as I hear him say it. If anyone had heard what Rafe said, I’d be as gone as dead. My boss doesn’t look too kindly on the word revenge.
“Rafe…”
“I’ve always known it, Eliza. And how could it be any other way? I don’t blame you, not after what happened with your father.” He gives me a sad smile, then it’s his turn to place one hand on my shoulder. “But don’t worry. No one will ever hear me say a word about it. I’ve seen you grow, and I’d never do something to hurt you.”
“Thank you, Rafe...I…”
I don’t really know how respond to that, truth be told. It’s not like I have the courage to deny all the things he just said. Revenge? It’s always been something I’ve pushed and pushed to a dark corner of my mind, hiding it from view. But it’s always been there, like an old scrapbook waiting to be uncovered.
“Don’t mention it,” he brushes me off, back to his normal one. “I’m just happy to see you do all this...it’s quite impressive. Few persons would be able to pull off something like it.”
“ELIZA!” I hear Grayson shout from underneath me. He’s standing behind the chemist, who has been running analysis on the few samples we’ve managed to produce.
I run down the stairs as fast I can, and he grabs my hand and pulls me inside one of the offices..
“It fucking worked, Eliza,” Grayson says, pulling me into his embrace. “We did it.”
Sixteen
Grayson
“We did it!” I say, looking at Eliza Lang like I’m going to lick every inch of her up to properly celebrate our achievement.
I can’t take my eyes off Eliza.
I want to scoop her up into my arms and like twirl her around and shit like that.
What the fuck has happened to me?
After everything, it feels good to let off some steam. I let myself smile. Rub the back of my neck and look at her sideways with a grin. “Let’s go celebrate. Have drinks. No one knows about this but us,” I add when she raises an incredulous, gorgeous eyebrow at me.
Who knew eyebrows could be gorgeous? I mean, I’m a man, right, so I don’t notice things like that.
Except it is impossible not to notice every little thing about Eliza. She fucking enraptures me, takes my thoughts hostage and holds them up without asking for ransom.
“What?” Her eyes narrow into slits but there’s the unmistakable upturn of a grin appearing at the corner of those suckable, fuckable lips. I want to grab her by the hair, kiss her, and lick down her jawline and her neck until she moans in my ear. I want to feel her squeeze tight and grasp me.
So yeah I’m not exactly eager to go our separate ways. I want to delay the inevitable.
My eyes must be pleading with her, and in this moment I’ll be any amount of desperate it takes to have more time with her. I can’t be without her…it seems fucking surreal to imagine that the woman who was my greatest enemy is the person I can’t stand the thought of being without. That I can’t, literally cannot, think about the future without seeing her in it.
“Just a drink, doll,” I say, reaching out for her hand.
Eliza takes my hand tentatively and I twirl her. She complies, laughing slowly at the sensation of turning around after we have a successful batch of cocaine prepared.
“We should celebrate. Just one night. What’s one night?” I ask, trying to keep the heaviness out of my voice.
Because for me, that one night?
It’s fucking everything.
From the fucking start, just looking at Eliza Lang, I was in goddamn trouble. I didn’t want to kill her. I didn’t think of her as the enemy. She’s made me into some kind of fucking bitch, whimpering internally at wanting to be with her.
I’ll tell you the truth. I told you that I’d always do that. She makes me feel...
Fuck, I can hardly say it.
It’s ridiculous.
When I tell you, you’ll see it’s ridiculous.
But she makes me feel safe. She makes me feel like I actually belong.
Eliza makes me feel like my whole world should be about protecting her, and loving her, and being like adventurous and shit. Eliza actually makes me consider that life can be fun. Life can be good.
So, yeah, one night is everything. Because that’s likely all Eliza is ever going to give me. If even that.
I look at her and I see that thoughts are warring in her mind, too.
I wish I could hear Eliza’s thoughts. But I wonder if I would regret that. After all, if Eliza thinks I’m a monster like everyone else, I couldn’t be surprised. If Eliza thinks of me that way...it shouldn’t hurt. I am a monster. Of course she can see that. But am I fool for thinking she sees something else? I don’t even know if there’s anything else to see.
But fuck, the beautiful thing about loving her is that it gives me hope. Hope that she could see me as something else. That I could be something else, something more. I want so much more than one night can ever give me, but if she’d have a drink with me, let down her hair, and just relax with me, it would be like I was watching what a real life behind a glass would be. Like an exhibition in a museum, playing for a day.
It isn’t that I don’t want the cartel life. In fact, I could never leave. I would be miserable without my life of crime sense.
But with Eliza there’s layers to life.
A fuller life. And fuck if I don’t want that shit. I really do.
“One night?” I ask Eliza simply. I’m doing the best to keep my voice from betraying what a little pussy I’m being, pining for her.
But if she says no I might have to fucking beg.
There’s something in her eyes, and she looks off in the distance again. I want to ask her, what are you thinking when you look out like that? But talk about personal.
And hey if we start drinking, maybe we can get personal.
“Let’s do it,” Eliza says slowly. “We’re two sorta co-workers and we’ve just had this big project success. We should celebrate,” Eliza says with a big, wide, beautiful grin on her perfect face. I want to hold it. I want to kiss those lips.
And though calling us co-workers when I want to fuck her brains out should cut my balls off, it actually makes me want to smile, too. It’s some moment of normal, it’s some concession of togetherness...I don’t even fucking know.
Eliza could be saying Fuck Grayson Teague And All That He Stands For and I’d just be happy that my name was in her mouth. I like her talking about me.
“So there’s just one question left to answer,” Eliza says.
“Yeah?” I ask her.
“What’s your poison?” she asks, laughing.
Fuck, you are. You are my poison and my antidote, Eliza Lang. I would walk through goddamn fire for you, even if you set it up to burn me down.
“Let’s see a man about some tequila,” I tell her.
“Ooh!” She nods. “Jalapeno tequila. I love that shit.”
I laugh. There’s something really fucking cute and innocent about how she said it.
“Never tried it, maybe I should,” I say, and I feel fucking awkward like I asked her to a middle school dance or some shit. When kids my age were going to dances, I was learning about major arteries to cut. So yeah I’m a little fucking rusty I guess when it comes to some shit. I mean, my palms are sweating and my ears feel hot. What even is that. “Let’s go,” I tell her. As if I’m equal parts terrified she’ll change her mind and I’m so nervous that I have to talk, say something, to help alleviate the swelling feeling in my chest that makes me want to grab her and hold her.
“Not so fast,” Eliza wags a finger at me.
Fuck, what?
“You don’t just ask a girl out and not let her get ready. I’ll see you in five minutes.” Eliza smiles at me, pauses for a second, and then saunters
off.
What can one girl do in five minutes? But then again Eliza looked so goddamn gorgeous already, I guess I’m excited to find out. I wash my hands and splash some cold water on my face and still have time to spare to wait for her.
The anticipation is everything. I don’t think I want this night to ever end.
Seventeen
Eliza
“Two more?”
“Two more.”
Raising one hand up in the air, Grayson waves at the bartender. Without even asking, he lays two more glasses of tequila in front of us; we touch glasses and then down the damn thing in a split second.
The other patrons of the bar have already started to throw daggers at us with their eyes, but so far no one has mustered enough courage to confront us. I guess that even though people in here might not know who Grayson Teague is, he still has an intimidating presence all the same.
Maybe we should have gone to the seediest watering hole we could find, and not the most upscale bar in the city. Which, by the way, is in the most expensive hotel we could track down around here. But what the hell—we’re celebrating, aren’t we?
Oh, if only those assholes around us had any idea what we’re celebrating right now. Doesn’t really matter, though, does it? Soon enough everyone in the world will realize that the game has changed. There will be a war, that’s for sure. The cartels are going to be at each other’s throats, trying to survive the new pecking order, but the Bonita Muerte cartel and my organization will be standing right at the top, handing participation trophies to all the other wannabes.
Too bad that’ll put Grayson and I on opposite sides once more.
“Hey,” he whispers at me, resting his hand on my lower back. I feel a shiver go up my spine as I feel the gentle pressure of his fingers on my body and, as I look into his eyes, I feel my insides clench. Maybe it’s the tequila, but damn...why does Grayson keeps getting more and more handsome? “What are you thinking about? Don’t tell me you’re gonna quit on me.”
“Not at all,” I laugh, still not taking my eyes off his. Rapping my knuckles on the counter, I tell the bartender to bring the bottle and just leave it. It’s going to make for a pretty hefty bill, but what do I care?
When I see something I want, I just get it.
Besides, it’s not like I’m aching for money. Hell, I could buy this place instead of just the bottle; and who knows, maybe I’ll need to in the foreseeable future. Laundering money isn’t an easy task, after all.
“It’s hard to believe our little partnership is coming to an end, isn’t it?” I ask him; even though I try to keep all sadness out of my face, I’m pretty sure he can read it there. “It wasn’t easy, but I think we were a good team.”
“We are a good team.” Grabbing the bottle, he refills both our glasses and then leans toward me. “We are the best of fucking teams, Eliza. What we did together will single handedly change the drug trade for good. We’re like fucking gods.”
“Right,” I laugh, biting the corner of my lips. “Like gods, huh? Too bad our employers will reap all the benefits.” Sighing, I just shrug and drink my tequila, allowing the alcohol to burn its way down my throat. “Oh, well, part of the job, right? And as long as we keep our heads down and keep on getting paid, I think we’ll do just fine.”
“Yeah,” he whispers, taking his glass of tequila in one hand and staring at it intently. Then, he throws his head back and downs it in a single movement, slamming the glass back on the counter. “Maybe I’m tired of doing just fine, Eliza.”
“What is that supposed to mean? You’re Grayson Teague of the La Bonita Muerte cartel. It’s not like you’re a nobody. And within your organization, you can pretty much have anything you could ever want.”
“Maybe what I want isn’t within the organization.”
His voice is steady, his hand is still on my lower back, and his eyes are boring holes into mine. Is he...talking about me?
My heart does a slight somersault inside my chest, and I feel my lungs starting to work overtime to get the air in. At the same time, red blood rushes toward my cheeks, and I force myself to look away from him. Christ, is it getting hot in here or is it just me?
“Just think about it,” he grins, each word that leaves his mouth packing a punch. “Everyone was trying to get to that formula, and only we managed to do it. Together. I don’t give a fuck about what anyone says, but no one else would’ve been able to pull this shit off. The fucking Russians tried, and every single South American cartel was vying for a piece of the formula...and still, we were the ones that got it done.”
“You almost make it sound as if our employers need us more than we need them,” I throw at him. Jesus, my body is just working on instinct, but this little sentence I’ve just said was enough to release a rush of high-powered adrenaline into my bloodstream. If anyone ever heard me say that…
“Probably now more than ever,” he continues, lowering his voice and leaning in so that he’s closer. The smell of his body—leather and gunpower, a man’s scent through and through—is so distracting that I have to do a conscious effort to concentrate. “We have the formula in our hands, no one else knows that we’ve managed to complete a batch...just imagine it, will ya? What could our bosses do if we decided to jump ship and run things solo?”
I stare at him, not saying a word as I try to process what he just said.
“Exactly.” Running the tip of his tongue over his lips, he closes in on me and brushes his mouth against my ear, whispering into it. “They wouldn’t be able to do a thing, would they? The things we could do together, Eliza, can you picture them?”
Holy shit, I’m picturing a lot of different things right now, but none of them has anything to do with running my own cartel. Mostly, they involve Grayson Teague’s naked body and a bedroom in the most expensive suite this freaking hotel has to offer.
Grayson is enough to make my body overheat, but throw in promises of endless money and power, and...fuck, I guess I just short circuit. It might be nothing more than a stupid fantasy we’re daydreaming about in here, but it’s still enough to make me want this man more than I ever wanted anything in my life.
And I always get what I want.
“You and me, Grayson,” I tell him in a husky voice, placing one hand on his chest and grabbing the fabric of his shirt. I pull him toward me until our mouths are almost touching, and I say the words I’ve been dying to say all night. “Take me upstairs, will you?”
Eighteen
Eliza
The moment we’re inside the suite, all bets are off.
He rushes toward me like a tiger, a predator intent on devouring his prey, and the only thing I can do is submit to him. And that’s something I’ve never experienced before: submission.
Most people talk about submission as if it were a forbidden word. A bad word. But it doesn’t need to be, does it? Sometimes, to submit is exactly what you need. It makes you feel needed, and it makes you feel safe. And sometimes, submitting to the right person is exactly what’s going to make you stronger, what’s going to make you dominate your life and those around you.
I’m not saying that it’s easy, or that it’s even aspirational. But sometimes...there’s nothing better than falling on top of a mattress, a delicious predator walking your way to devour you whole, and knowing that there’s nothing you can do about it.
To know that you’ve been caught and that there’s no possible escape...God, it’s the most delicious thing you can experience.
Throughout all my life, I’ve been called bossy and difficult. I guess that makes sense, taking into account the operation I’m in charge of. But it’s not easy, being a woman and having to shoulder the fate of a multibillion dollar operation. Lives—and that quite literally—depend on my ability to keep my head above my shoulders and run things.
And that’s something I excel at.
Deep down, though, I’ve always ached for submission. To leave nothing on the table, and bare all that I am to someone...someone
powerful enough to make that happen. Too bad that men capable of making that happen never really crossed my path.
Until Grayson Teague, that is.
The man is pure power, unbridled dominance burning in his eyes.
With his hands on my waist, he pushes me back against the wall almost too violently, his mouth darting to my neck. As he kisses my skin, I breathe in deeply, his scent making its way up to my brain and taking over me. I close my eyes as he tightens his grip on my hips, the pressure of his fingers making fireworks go off behind my shut eyelids.
“I’ve been fucking dying for this,” he whispers, his lips climbing up from my neck to my mouth. I feel the tip of his tongue parting my lips, and I surrender to his embrace, our kiss becoming more frenzied with each passing second.
“That makes two of us.” Breathing hard, I run one hand through his hair as I let the other fall to his crotch. I press my palm there, and my heart skips a beat as I feel something long and hard hiding under the fabric of his pants. “Is this for me?”
“It’s all yours.” Breaking apart from our kiss, he flashes me a hungry smile and then pulls the straps of my dress down my shoulders. I do nothing as he pushes the fabric down to my waist, baring my bra. We keep staring into each other’s eyes as the fabric of my dresses floats down my body, landing in a heap of jumbled fabric at my feet.
“Like what you see?”
“No…” His word is a whisper, one overflowing with raw desire. And, judging by the massive shape straining against pants, I’d say lots of it. “I fucking love it.”
As his gaze leaves mine, his hands return to my body. Slowly, he goes down on one knee, his mouth dangerously close to the wet mess that my pussy has turned into. “Oh, God,” I whisper as he leans in, my eyelids slowly closing as his mouth heads for the sweet space between my thighs.
Pressing my head against the wall, I let out a moan as I feel his lips brushing against the tender skin on my inner thighs, the tip of his tongue slowly going over the contour of my thong.
Don't Trust Him: An Enemies to Lovers Romantic Suspense (King Vs. Queen Book 1) Page 8