Hero

by Leighton Del Mia

  He shakes his head. “Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you. You’ve got to let them handle the Cartel. Riviera’s gotten even more aggressive since you offed their boss, and they want blood.”

  “They have something of mine, and I won’t stop until I get it back.”

  “You think you can walk in this station and walk right back out? I can’t let you do that.”

  “The fuck you can’t. I don’t have time for this shit.” Before I turn to leave, I rest my knuckles on his desk. “If I find out you’re lying to me, I will destroy your life. Starting with this station and ending with your family.”

  His face contorts. “You’re threatening my family?”

  “That is no threat. It’s a goddamn guarantee.”

  He blinks at me. “Who are you? Do you hear yourself? You’re supposed to be the good guy.”

  “I never agreed to be the good guy. My job is to protect, and that’s what I’m doing.”

  “It doesn’t matter anyway. We’ve got to book you, Hero. Mask off and everything.”

  I slam a fist on his desk and point at him. “You don’t have to do shit. You know what I do for this city.”

  “What you do is make a mockery of this force.”

  “That what this is about? You’re embarrassed because you can’t keep up?”

  “You know it isn’t. You do good, but you don’t deal with the wreckage. People trying to impersonate you and getting themselves killed. Unsolved murders that I foot the bill for. Less confidence in the city’s police force, which means a rise in petty crime. And in the case of the Cartel, you got the FBI so close we got no more wiggle room.” He jumps up from his desk as I back away. “I mean it. This is the end.”

  Only Cataline is on my mind, and his orders are meaningless barking in the background as I exit the office. Two men grab my arms, but I shrug them off. Outside on the station steps, people have congregated.

  “Stop,” Chief Strong shouts from behind me. “You’re under arrest, Hero.”

  The crowd’s collective gasp grates in my ears. From the top step, I scan over their wide eyes and covered mouths. Somewhere I register that the officers are securing my arms behind me, but I’m glued to the spot. There’s an undercurrent of excitement as the crowd grows. A voice yells, “You can’t do this!”

  Everyone erupts in angry chants. I hear them all, no matter how noisy it gets. Saved my son from drowning, nothing without him, should be thanking him for his service . . . .

  I’ve never stopped to look at those I’ve helped. To me, they’re just the benefactors of a predator who feeds his darkness with scum. Seconds pass before a symphony of clicking shutters begins, and the news van of a competing media company drives up.

  Suddenly I’m in handcuffs, men pulling me backward. I yank my wrists apart, and metal snaps. The force of it sends one officer flying into a far-away column. Norman’s in the back of the crowd by the car, lines deepening in his face.

  “I don’t know what the hell this is,” the chief says, “but you need to come with us right away. If you run, we’ll have no choice but to fire.”

  I bullet down the steps with handcuffs dangling from my wrists, and the crowd parts automatically. A gun’s hammer cocks behind me, but the shot doesn’t come until I’ve cleared the mob. It lands in my upper thigh, merely an annoyance.

  I outrun the policemen easily. I don’t need to look back to know I’m leaving fearful faces behind. I block them from my mind, along with the song of sirens behind me.

  My driver has the car idling where we planned earlier, an alley not far from the station. He takes off as soon as I slide into the backseat next to Norman.

  “What could I do?” I ask when Norman looks at me.

  “You had no choice,” he says. “It’ll be fine. Others have witnessed your strength before.”

  “Not like this. Nobody’s watched me take a bullet and live to tell about it.”

  “Except the Cartel member in the warehouse.”

  “He’s good as dead. Who’s going to believe that was merely adrenaline? I can only use that excuse so many times.”

  “We’ll deal with the backlash after we have Cataline.”

  I nod with a tight jaw and look out the window.

  “And maybe then, it’s time to consider ending this.”

  “Ending what?”

  “All of this, sir.”

  I look out the window, not even willing to entertain the thought.

  “Master Parish?”

  “What?”

  “I asked where you’d like to go now.”

  “I don’t fucking know.”

  “Best we go back to the mansion and wait, sir. They’ll be in contact when they’re ready for us.”

  “How am I supposed to do that? I can’t just sit by knowing they have her.”

  He shakes his head. “What choice do you have?”

  My only form of escape eludes me. No matter that I close my eyes and will myself to calm, I can’t sleep. I don’t know how much time has passed before Guy returns, but when I hear the door, my eyes fly open.

  Though the low sun lights the room, he flips on a dying bulb. He’s still bare chested, and I furtively admire the colorful tattoos spanning his shoulders and arms. Behind him, the boy from earlier enters with a tray of things.

  “Buenas, querida,” Guy says, walking until his shins almost touch my kneecaps. “You look nice in that position, but you can stand.”

  “Spanish?” I ask.

  “I picked it up when I was younger. I do it without thinking, since I spend so much time in Mexico.”

  My gaze wanders over the script and images that paint the skin so close to my face. On his forearm is the tattoo Frida noticed: a small, oxblood rose with “Riv” curling through the center.

  “Like them?” he asks.

  My eyes jump back to his. “No.”

  “Shame.” He licks his lips while running one finger down my throat and hooking it under the neckline of my sweater. He drags it across my collarbone, and goose bumps pebble over my skin. “I’d love to mark you with something.”

  Even though I’m cornered, I try to step back. “Can I eat?”

  He glances over his shoulder and nods. The boy passes him handcuffs and leaves the room. Guy drops and dangles them in front of my face. “Arms above your head.”

  “Why?” I ask quickly. “I can’t go anywhere.”

  He waits silently until I give in and extend my fingertips toward the sky. He’s tall enough that he can easily lock a cuff around each of my wrists. “You think Calvin overreacted by hiding you these past few months,” he says as he works, “but he understands that when we want something, we can be ruthless.”

  “You saved me from those men, though.”

  “I saved you,” he says, pulling up on the shackles so I’m forced onto my toes, “for myself. Because you have something I need.” When he drops his hands, mine remain. I tug and look up to see they’ve been hooked over a rusty nail protruding from the wall. My feet are arched and my midriff peeks from under my sweater, but he says, “Perfection.”

  He bends down to the tray and returns with a colorful, hand-painted bowl of strawberries. Their happy red and sweet smell are out of place in this dour room of dust and concrete. He presses the tip of one to my lips until they part. I bite down, just grazing his fingertips with my teeth, and he discards the stem at our feet. Without removing his amused eyes from my face, he feeds me another one.

  After the third, he trades the bowl for a bottle, gently tipping it to my lips. Water floods and drips over my chin, but I lap it up to wash away the grime settled in my mouth.

  He screws the lid back in place and picks up another strawberry. I go to bite, but he pulls it away so my teeth snap at nothing. “Now for what I need,” he says. “Tell me about Hero.”

  “I don’t know anything.”

  “I know he’s Calvin Parish, and I’ve seen him fight. I saw him take a bullet without flinching—out of his armor. Carter swor
e he didn’t know how he did it. Seeing how easily he gave you up, I believe him. So, what do you know?”

  I shake my head. “Nothing. If he wouldn’t tell Carter, why would he tell me?”

  “If you tried, I believe any man would give you all his secrets.” He bunches the fabric of my sweater in one hand and lifts it, letting his knuckles graze up my stomach. When his fingers slip underneath, a touch both rough and tender, my nipples harden. His other hand trails the strawberry up the same path until it’s between my breasts. “You’re very responsive,” he says when I shudder.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  He lowers his mouth to my ear. “Hero killed the Cartel’s leader. The mindless idiots out there,” he says, nodding backward, “want revenge. They don’t know what I saw, though. I’m the only one who knows his identity and his capabilities. Tell me the truth. You have my word it’ll remain our secret.”

  “Did you send those men after me?”

  “In the forest? Yes. With Carter’s help, obviously. But they didn’t know anything other than their assignment.”

  “Why do you want this information?”

  “I don’t need revenge. I don’t see the past. I see the future. I see opportunity. In my world, power is greater than currency.”

  “What does that have to do with Hero?” I ask, nearly drunk with truth. After all the information Calvin withheld, I’m basking in Guy’s every word.

  As he speaks, he runs the fruit along the curves of my breasts. “I recognize some of myself in Hero. He’s a man with mission, purpose, driven by something to the point of obsession. But now I know that physically, he’s more than that. Men put bullets in his chest, yet he didn’t fall. I want that.”

  “You wouldn’t use it for good.”

  “Good,” he says. “What is good? All my life I’ve struggled to survive. Nobody’s ever shown me good that I haven’t forced from them. Let me ask you, is Calvin Parish good?”

  “Hero is.”

  “Hero’s a killer.”

  I swallow and look away. “Only to those who deserve it.”

  “And who decides that? You’re defending a murderer. One who tried to break you. I can see it in your eyes. You return to me a different girl.”

  “I don’t return to you at all,” I say. “And you know nothing about Calvin or Hero.”

  He arches an eyebrow and raises the strawberry near my face. “Your determination is surprising. Let’s try this again. Three months ago, you were snatched from under my nose. I assume you were in that mansion the whole time. What’d you see there?”

  “Nothing.”

  The sick-sweet smell invades my nostrils as his other hand slides into my hair. He grips the roots and pulls hard enough that I yelp. “I admit, Cataline—my dick’s got it bad for you. You’re getting the royal treatment here. But that doesn’t mean I’m your lovesick hero. Answer my fucking question, or I’ll show you how this type of thing normally goes down.”

  Banging on the door jolts my body.

  “Pinchependejo,” Guy mutters. “This is Carlos. Our secret, remember?”

  Guy opens the door and blocks the entrance with his body, but a man who can’t be much older than me pushes his way in. His black hair is slicked into a ponytail, and his chest inflates when he sees me. He laughs at the handcuffs. “¿Quéonda, Guy? I thought you never play with the merchandise.”

  “She isn’t merchandise.”

  Carlos comes so close to me I can smell rancid cigarette smoke on his breath. He looks everywhere but in my eyes. “Bueno, I don’t care what you do with her as long as she’s in one piece when he gets here.”

  “She’ll be ready.”

  Carlos inclines toward my wounded lip. “What’s this scrape? It’s not enough. She needs to look bad.”

  “I’ll handle it.”

  Carlos raises his chin. “Don’t fuck this up, Guy. I want him sorry he ever looked in Riviera’s direction.”

  “What do I have to do with this?” I ask.

  “Shut up,” Guy says.

  Carlos looks at me and lightning fast, snatches my chin. “He hurt mi familia. My family. I want his head rolling at my feet. But first I want to hurt him back. If I could find his family, I would bring them all here and make them beg for mercy while he watches. But all I have is some fucking white girl he follows everywhere.”

  I twist my face from his hand. “You’re wasting your time. He won’t care what you do to me.”

  He chuckles. “I think you’re wrong. Pero, anyway, we can find other uses for you. You good at sucking dick?”

  Guy crosses his arms, unblinking.

  “That’s none of your business.”

  Carlos looks over his shoulder at Guy, who shrugs.

  “You’re going to let her talk like that? Maybe I should find someone with balls to do this.”

  “I got her here, didn’t I?”

  “Nah. I think I should take over now.”

  “I said I’ll handle it,” Guy snaps. “Give me your belt, asshole.”

  “I’m your boss now, gringo. You can’t talk to me like that.” Carlos unbuckles his belt, muttering to himself. He slides it from his pants and hands it to Guy. “I’m going to watch. If you can’t do this, we got a problem later.”

  Guy comes at me and whirls my body around so my arms twist. “Stay put,” he says as my front presses up against the wall. The belt slaps across the seat of my jeans suddenly, and I cry out from shock. I’ve barely registered the sting when he lands a second blow.

  “No, pinche gringo,” Carlos says. “Like this.” I turn my head over my shoulder. Carlos grabs for the belt, but Guy catches his forearm.

  “Get the fuck out,” Guy says slowly. “I’m getting pissed.”

  “Fuck you,” Carlos says, wrenching away. I strain to watch as Guy pulls him back by his shirt and shoves him toward the door. Carlos flips him off, but I hear the door slam a moment later.

  “Why is he doing this?” I ask.

  “Don’t worry about him. He’s an idiot. If not for us, he wouldn’t have made it a day without his father.”

  “But—”

  “Forget him,” he snaps. “We’re running out of time. You need to tell me what you know about Hero.”

  “I just found out he was Hero the other day. I swear. He wouldn’t tell me anything else.”

  He closes in on my back, and I wince when his pelvis presses against my ass. “Was he born that way?” he asks close to my face.

  “I don’t know.”

  “How did you entertain yourself there?”

  My eyelashes flutter at the strange question. “I read. Took pictures.”

  “Is he immortal?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I honestly don’t.”

  “Open your mouth.” When I don’t respond, his fingers come around to my jaw, squeezing until my mouth opens with a gasp. He traces a strawberry along my upper lip before setting it between my teeth. “Don’t bite.” He rips open my fly and shoves a hand in my underwear. When he finds me, he inhales deeply and moans by my ear. I want to look, to protest, but the flavored saliva pooling in my mouth distracts me. “Three months,” he says hoarsely while his fingers tease my entrance. “Did you suck him off?”

  The abruptness of his question turns my cheeks hot.

  “Did he touch you? Fuck you?”

  My answer is a whimper.

  “After all that time,” he continues, “you have no other information?”

  I shake my head.

  Guy untwists me and drops into a squat, grasping the waist of my jeans like handlebars. They slide over my ass and to the middle of my thighs when he pulls. I ram my knee into his chest, but he catches it in a strong hand before he can fall backward. His teeth pull at my panties and then release so they snap back. Breath heats my skin as he kisses me through the fabric with his whole mouth, his hard tongue snaking lower and lower.

  He looks up at me, his chest rising and falling quickly. “Should I continue, or will you
tell me what you know?”

  He doesn’t wait for an answer but pulls my underwear down to meet my pants. His hands slide between my thighs. Both thumbs pry open my folds, and I swallow as best I can, breathing hard through my nose. “Así me gusta,” he murmurs. “If I were Calvin, I would never let this from my sight.” I feel something cool against my skin and look down instinctively. Drool drips from my mouth onto the floor as Guy rubs another strawberry along my slit. I squirm, trying not to clench my teeth. He dips the tip inside me then looks up and takes a bite.

  My mind scrambles to keep up, but all I can think about is not closing my mouth and the searching fingers between my legs. Would Calvin care if someone else touched me? Is it enough of a reason to give up his secret? Guy’s eyes are fiery with the burn for information, something I understand all too well.

  He puts his middle finger in his mouth and sucks. He’s looking at me in a way no one else ever has—like I’m something to be both cherished and devoured. He pushes his finger inside and hooks it, massaging me. I gasp up at the ceiling, nearly choking on my own saliva. “For such an innocent girl, you are sinfully wet,” he says.

  He fingers me with an even rhythm, cupping my clit with his palm when he’s up to his knuckle. I’m fighting off the warmth pulsing in me, straining against my cuffs. Any amusement fades from Guy’s face; instead, his brows draw up in an almost pained expression. His thumb circles over me, and my hips jerk involuntarily. I close my eyes and think of Calvin, picturing his face as my struggling weakens and my body surrenders. His hand disappears suddenly, leaving my insides grasping at nothing. He stands and touches his slick fingertip to my bottom lip. My breaths are shallow as he spreads my wetness over the corners of my mouth and up to my cheeks until his finger is dry.

  “I bet you’re a beautiful fuck,” he says. “There’s guilt in your eyes, but the way you flush pink is making me so hard.”

  My heart stops at the word fuck. Calvin owns that part of me. He’s the only one I want there. Guy shows me both hands in surrender. “Tell me, innocent, stubborn Cat. What makes him Hero?”

  My protest is indistinguishable due to my aching jaw and schooled tongue. Guy’s hand caresses me again; his touch is deceivingly light, but my body reacts, already so close to the edge. “I’m beginning to think you enjoy this.”