BOUND

by Akeroyd, Serena

  Around twenty detectives were piled into the open-plan room. Not a one of them had a thing to say to her, and that desire was reciprocal. The uniforms congregating around the water cooler slowed their talk as she approached, and she felt their eyes on her as she passed them. Their words grew louder when she left.

  Climbing the stairs that would take her to the main atrium, she quickly signed out, and left the station with surprisingly little regret.

  It wasn't that she wanted to become a fuck toy for however long a gang boss wanted her, it was that this place, her once sanctum sanctorum, had skewed.

  Her allies were eying her like she was the spy in their midst. They weren't congratulating her on her arrests. They mistrusted her. She'd gone so deep they didn't know where her loyalties lay.

  And as much as she resented them, how could she blame them for feeling that way? She didn't know where they lay. She was different. Her loyalties had changed.

  She couldn't, wouldn't condone what Martinez did. He was involved in some bad shit; shit that made her cringe because she knew they’d make her Pop cringe, but in a weird way, he was a decent human being.

  That had to count for something, didn't it?

  But there was no making this better.

  He was blackmailing her into fucking him.

  It was either screw or be screwed—in the eyeballs and thrown to the fishes for dinner.

  Any decency she'd believed the man had, had long since left the building.

  Standing on the top step of the station, she overlooked the chaos. Cars were pulling in and out at the front of the building. Flashing lights and sirens blared as brakes squealed when cars swerved into their allotted spaces. Cops dragged perps up the steps. Hobos stumbled down the stairs, newly free from the cells and their warm beds for the night.

  It was beautiful madness.

  One that had been a part of her world for so long, that living without it was going to be hard.

  Her daddy and granddaddy before him had been career cops. Her mother was the assistant DA.

  Crime had been her bread and butter for as long as she'd lived. Yet, everything had changed since she'd gone deep. The world had changed.

  Right and wrong hadn't, but the line between them had always been fine for her. That line was learned, not understood. She tried to live by the code her Pops had taught her, but she fell off the wagon occasionally. And she wasn’t alone. There were so many wrongs in her department, so many perpetrators of crimes from behind the shield their uniform offered them, that the hypocrisy irritated her. She had worked hard to maintain a semblance of decency, and until going undercover, she’d done a good job of hiding in plain sight, but they just flaunted the rules. It really wasn’t fair.

  Detective O'Malley ran books. There was a trio of cops who ran a protection ring in their particular playground, and she was aware of four other ongoing scams. Scams that meant the cops were just as fucking bad as the bastards they were supposed to be putting away.

  Things were no longer black and white. She'd left the Academy so certain in her future. So sure as to what she'd do. Work a beat, make detective, push through the departments, end up hopefully on Vice, Homicide, or Narcotics. Then, if luck were on her side, maybe get picked up by an agency—FBI, DEA…

  As it was, she was closer than she'd imagined back as a rookie. With this haul, the DEA might be sitting up, taking notice of who she was. Instead of doing her level best to impress them, she was taking time off and whoring herself for one of the guys on their ‘Most Wanted’ lists.

  Huffing at the thought, she slowly descended the stairs, her eyes on the scuffed steps when her mind was elsewhere. Sometimes, she had to concede, there was more to life than promotion. In this case, survival.

  If Lucia was one thing, she was a survivor. She knew exactly what to do, and when, to get by. She'd had a lot of practice at it.

  As she left the precinct, she realized it would be a long time before she was here again. Maybe never, depending on what happened over the coming weeks. She wasn't sure if she was sad about that or not. Five years ago, she'd have been traumatized—her career had been her raison d’être, her reason for getting up on a morning when the wolves were baying at the door, screwing with her mind. But now, things were different. She was different.

  Going undercover had freed the side her Pops had worked hard to bury, and that beast didn’t appreciate being caged once more.

  When she made it onto the sidewalk, she wriggled her shoulders; they felt tight, physical proof of how oppressed she’d felt in the precinct. The noise of the city drowned her senses, let her escape a while from the consequences of her actions, but as she crossed a few roads, walked around a few curbs, that inner voice that saved her ass undercover bleated a warning. As she rounded the next corner, she managed to look back and saw a Merc tailing her.

  Spotting Rico behind the wheel, she glared at him as he pulled up. When the car came to a halt, she strode to the back door, yanked it open, and gritted out, “Didn't trust me to do as I was told?”

  “Get in.”

  The two-word command had her pursing her lips, but she did as bid. With a grunt, she slipped into the vehicle, slammed the door, and belted up. It yanked at her insides to obey, but Martínez was in a mood. She'd seen it enough before. His eyes were hooded, the lids heavy, and the atmosphere in the car practically throbbed with his anger. The luscious pads of his lips were flattened out, and the creamy golden skin at his jaw had pulled taut.

  His caramel orbs glittered as they captured her own. “And you said you didn't stare at me.”

  Gritting her teeth, she slumped back into her seat. The windows were tinted so she could peer out with no fear someone at the precinct would spot her. Hiding in the shadows was her preferred place to be, so it was comfortable for her.

  Comfortable enough to let the silence rest.

  Until, that is, the car headed down a road she passed infrequently. Hell, the last time she'd visited her parents' place had been two Christmases ago. They weren't exactly close.

  She scowled as they drove past the boring red-brick carriage house, slow enough that she couldn't make a mistake about the intent behind this visit. “Are you for real? You know where my mommy and daddy live, so I need to toe the line?”

  Martinez grinned, the toothy smile made her eyelids flicker in annoyance. “It was Rico's idea.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” She yelled, “You're a fucking dick, Rico.”

  The privacy panel slid down. “Suck it, bitch,” he snapped.

  “Wouldn't you just love that?”

  “Children!” Martinez barked. “Less of the arguing. That privacy panel was up for a reason, Rico.”

  Lucia watched as a two-second staring contest happened right before her eyes. For those two seconds, Rico's eyes weren't on the road. Whether that was the reason for dropping his stance, or if it was out of genuine submission to Martinez, she didn't know.

  It wouldn't have surprised her if it was the latter.

  Martinez was a scary bastard.

  So in control all the time, so at ease with violence. Far too similar to her for her comfort.

  The privacy panel scooched up, and she was left in the relative quiet of the cab.

  “Kill them if you want,” she told him easily, meaning every word. “I mean, if you did, I'd feel about as little as if you ran a passerby over. As much as I’m sure they’d feel if you killed me.” The story would have been a different one if they’d driven down Pops’ road, but he didn’t have to know that. Not after making this jerk-off move.

  He blinked at her, his horror at her meaning palpable and, therefore, interesting. “I have no intention of hurting your family. I had no intention of taking this route. Rico leans toward melodrama.”

  “You don't have to tell me,” she gritted out. “I came up against him often enough.”

  “Ah, yes, as Lucy. How could I forget?”

  His sarcasm made her scowl.

  “I hated that fuckin
g name.”

  Not just because of the reference to the Fallen Angel, but because it had been too similar to her own name and hearing it fucked with her senses. Senses that were already on high alert thanks to being undercover.

  “You didn't appreciate having Lucifer as a nickname?”

  She rippled her shoulders, trying to ease the tension gathering there. “Would you?”

  “No. But then, I'm catholic. You, I would assume, aren't.”

  “What does one have to do with the other? You kill people too.”

  His smile was grim. “I pay people to do it for me. According to Father Iñez, my soul is clean after confession.”

  “You fucking hypocrite.”

  Her hiss brightened his grin. “Yeah, I know, Lucy. Maybe you'd feel better if you went to confession.”

  She frowned. “I'm not religious.”

  “Maybe you need a different kind of confessional.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You need parameters, Lucia.” He tutted under his breath. “Amazing how close your moniker was to your real name, isn't it? No wonder you found it easy to slide into the role.”

  “It took me three killings to earn that nickname.” Nasty fucking jobs they’d been too. “Shame ‘Lucy’ sucked balls. And don't change the subject. What are you talking about? Parameters? What parameters?”

  “I think you know exactly what I mean. You need someone to take charge. To monitor you.”

  The notion outraged her, not that she could let him see that. “I'm an adult. Over twenty-one. I can do whatever the fuck I want.” She was proud of her dismissive tone.

  “And you've been doing that to great success, haven't you?” His gaze narrowed. “You need me, Lucy.”

  “Don't get ahead of yourself. And I hate Lucy. I prefer fucking Eva to that.”

  “Eva, it is,” he conceded with a disinterested shrug. “A name is a name is a name. I'm not getting ahead of myself. This is what you agreed to.”

  “I didn't.”

  “You did. Someone needs to teach you there are consequences to your actions. That person is me. I'm the only one who understands you, Eva.”

  “I doubt that,” she butted in.

  “As best as anyone can. I know you're fucked up. I know you're twisted. And I know if evil has a true definition, you fit most of those checkpoints, and yet, that isn't the real you.”

  Something about his words made the small hairs on the back of her neck stand up. “What are you going to do to me?” She eyed him like she would a snake. The calmer he was, the more ferocious the sting would be when he eventually struck.

  “You'll find out later.”

  Lucia sat up in her seat, for the first time, not slouching. The way he was talking, he was talking about sex.

  Controlling her through sex.

  Just the idea made her chest burn, made her lungs feel scorched.

  Sex was one thing, but controlling her through it?

  Like Josiah.

  The over-warm atmosphere of the cab was immediately dispelled at the memory. If anything, she felt chilled. Clammy.

  With fear finally eating at her nerves, when they started to head for the docks, she had to wonder what the fuck was going on.

  In her guise as 'Lucy,' she'd been down here enough to know that nothing good went on at the docks. Close to the boats was one thing, but in the back alleys? No way. They were near an area she always stayed clear of unless she was armed up to her eyeballs.

  Which, as luck would have it, was where they were headed. The swank limo pulled in, headed down toward an isolated part of the busy wharf, slipped down a few more alleys, before braking to a halt. Rico, the schmuck, immediately climbed out and left her alone with the jefe.

  What the hell that meant, she didn't know. But she refused to show her bewilderment at the location in case it was misconstrued as concern. Any weakness would be exploited, and Lucia, who’d grown sick of being victimized a long time ago, never felt worry over death.

  Death would be an escape. What was there to fear?

  * * *

  “We taking in the view or something? I’m getting bored.”

  The one woman whose voice could give him a hard on was a fucking pig. And she spent half her time bitching at him.

  Sometimes, God truly played with the lives of the people he'd created.

  It was either a message from above that now was the time to leave the gang he'd started with his brother as a means to support their family, or, there was another intent behind making a cop his own personal version of a siren.

  “I needed to talk to you before we went back to HQ. This is nice and quiet.”

  “We're going where?”

  Even her screech screwed with his balls. There was something about Lucia that fucked with him. He didn't know what it was. Her taste in clothes was shit—she wore stuff that would make his abuela turn her nose up. She hardly wore make up, never wore heels. If anything, she was like one of the guys. It was why she'd risen through the ranks so quickly.

  All of a sudden, she'd been there, and he'd been the only one to really spot the tits under her shirt. To the rest of the lobos, she'd been a merciless killer. One who always got the job done. One of four women hovering high in the ranks, Lucia—Eva—had quickly made a name for herself in Los Lobos Rojos. She'd commanded serious respect from his men.

  Early on, two months after she joined, he'd tested her loyalty. For newcomers, he always put them to the test sooner rather than later. It usually weeded the chaff from the wheat. It hadn't worked in her case, because she'd obeyed. To the letter.

  He'd had her kill a Narcs cop, and she hadn't failed him. Had even shown him the head. Knowing what he did now, he wondered how that act burned in her belly. She'd killed one of her own, and all to get close to him.

  Hell, it had worked.

  “Did you really kill O'Shea?”

  The question, from left field, had her freezing. Her hiss was long and slow. She turned to look at him, frost in her eyes. Ice that told him the truth behind the lies. This woman was dangerous. More so than any of the many other cops he'd come into contact with over the years. More so than the worst of his men.

  “Yes.”

  He whistled. “That must have been hard.” He knew that was a lie—she felt no remorse at having taken one of her fellow brothers in blue.

  “You dragged me here to reminisce?”

  “No. But I wanted to know how deep under you went. Or whether your buddies at the precinct helped you out.”

  “I went deep enough,” was all she said.

  “Sometimes, there's no going back. I wonder where you're at.”

  She eyed him, a blank look in her stare. Whatever he asked, she wasn’t going to answer truthfully. That look said it all. “What did you want to talk about?”

  “According to the lobos, you were kidnapped by the Cobras.”

  Lucia frowned. “What the hell do you mean?”

  “That's where you've been these last few months,” he patiently explained.

  “Are you crazy? They'll never believe that! Why the fuck do we have to go to HQ, anyway? Have you never heard of hotels?”

  He sighed. Christ, she tried his patience and made his dick pound out a tune of its own. “HQ is my home. Why would I want to fuck in a hotel when I can fuck in my own bed?”

  “To save me from perpetuating bullshit lies to a bunch of people who'll gut me if they suspect me of even eating in the same diner as a cop.” She slammed her hand down against the leather seat. He saw the sorry state of her nails and hid a grimace. “Anyway, who the fuck will believe it when Big Mouth over there is in on the secret?”

  “That's why we're at the docks.”

  She frowned at him, and he simply pressed the button to lower the window. He beckoned her closer, closer still until she could see through the open space.

  To look out, she had to press a hand to his knee, and he had to stop himself from tensing up at her innocent touch. It was pathetic, but
that was how badly she got to him. So badly that even the prospect of what was about to go down didn't affect his hard-on.

  In the near-distance, Rico stood with his back to the car, looking out onto the river, doing as he’d been told for once. His fists were stuffed in his pockets, his shoulders hunched against the cold.

  He'd been a brother for many, many years. One of the original crew. Not bound to him and Matteo, his younger brother, by blood but as close as was possible. Martinez's lips twitched at the memory of their earnest sixteen-year old selves slashing their palms and pressing them together. A blood pact.

  Hermanos forever, until things had become twisted. The core rotting away until nothing was as it had once been.

  Martinez's fingers curled in on his palm as he sat there watching. Rico just stood there, the seconds ticked away, and then a pop sounded. That pop burst into Rico's body. Another one had him dropping to his knees, the third had him falling flat on his face.

  Beside him, Lucia froze. Her hand, which had rested on his knee so she could look out of the window a little easier, tightly gripped his thigh. She jolted when his second-in-command, Juan, stepped in front of the window. Gun casually held in his right hand.

  “Get rid of the body, Juan.”

  The other man nodded and slipped away.

  “Why did you do that?” she breathed, gaze still focused on the corpse that had been a friend mere seconds ago.

  “He was a threat to you.”

  “You did that for me?” she yelled.

  “No. Not only that. No man in my hood maims women.”

  He could feel the grim cast to his face as he looked at the man who had worked by his side for as long as he could remember. Rico's corpse was disturbingly lax. Disturbing because for Martinez, death was just that.

  Whenever he saw a body, whether he'd petitioned the death or not, he always felt discomfited at the stillness. The angles into which the limbs fell.

  It could be said that if it disturbed him so damn much then he could stop setting out hits. But in his line of work, that wasn't possible. And while Rico had been loyal, a friend even, he meant what he said.