Overboard (A Crow's Nest Novel Book 2)

by Natasha Raulerson

  “Make me come.”

  He kissed the back of her neck, and his fingers found her core. He thrust harder, faster, and played with her clit. It drove her over the edge, and she screamed as the world exploded around her in pure ecstasy. He pulled back and slammed into her one last time, giving his own primal cry as he came.

  Out of breath, sweaty, and still riding the waves of her orgasm, Cassidy rested her cheek against the cool table. Miguel took a few seconds to catch his breath. He kissed along her shoulders and she shivered, closing her eyes.

  This man—he brought things out of her that Cassidy never dreamed of doing before.

  It scared her that she liked it so much.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Rain started soon after they’d finished having sex. Miguel had found Cassidy hot as hell, speaking her mind, screaming her pleasure, calling his name. The woman drove him insane, and not just with lust. There was something about her, even now, lying in bed with her head on his chest, it was utterly intoxicating. She’d been embarrassed soon after, but he’d taken her to the shower to clean up—and then they’d gotten dirty all over again. He showed her exactly how much her emboldened state turned him on.

  The boat rocked slightly from the tumultuous waters, but it didn’t bother him. Didn’t seem to bother Cassidy either. She seemed more relaxed now than he’d ever seen her, and Miguel liked that. He knew the business with Ivanov was far from over. They hadn’t heard from Honey, so he assumed she was still working on cracking the drive. They’d call when they had something, and not before.

  He stroked her arm gently and she snuggled closer to him as thunder crashed around them. She’d been dozing in and out for the last hour. The last woman Miguel cared to have snuggle with him was his girlfriend before he joined the Marines. They’d broken up before he deployed. Nothing catastrophic, no turmoil, they just realized that they weren’t meant to be. He still saw her every once in a while. She’d married a year ago and was pregnant with her first. After he came back from Afghanistan, Miguel liked to fuck. He liked to feel good, but he never led the women on. He wasn’t leading Cassidy on now. For the first time since being home, he wanted to take a chance on her—and hoped she was willing to take a chance on him, scars and all.

  Lightning flashed around them. Storms soothed Miguel. Not that he’d been anxious, but he enjoyed the ambiance. For the time being, at least, Cassidy was safe. Until Honey cracked the drive, there wasn’t much more they could do—and Cassidy wasn’t obsessing. That was a bonus.

  A creaking noise made its way to the room. His body tensed as he frowned. Cassidy lifted her head, looking at him through half lidded gaze of sleep. He put his fingers to his lips to keep her quiet. Her gaze became alert and fear slid into those baby blues.

  Miguel slid out from under her, grabbing his jeans from the floor, and stood, pulling them on at the same time. His hand gripped the handle of the sig that had been on the night stand for easy reach. Cassidy grabbed her shorts from the side of the bed and slid them on under a shirt of his she’d been wearing. Smart girl. If they had to make a fast getaway, he didn’t want her having to worry about being half naked. Miguel wouldn’t mind the view but running away from the bad guys naked generally didn’t give someone the upper hand.

  He nodded toward the bathroom, and she shook her head—that stubborn streak resurfacing at the most inopportune time. Wonderful. He rolled his eyes and held out his palm, gesturing for her to at least wait here.

  She grabbed the spare gun he kept in the other bedside table and stood her ground.

  Good, at least, if anyone was on the boat—and he was pretty certain someone was—she’d be armed. How anyone had found them though—that was the dilemma. No one could track their cells. Cassidy didn’t have one and his was a burner. The houseboat fell under the umbrella of The Crow’s Nest—and the physical address wasn’t at all were they were parked. There was absolutely no way anyone should have been able to find them.

  Going down the stairs would just make him a sitting duck. It was narrow and there’d be no where to duck if a spray of bullets washed over him. Keeping his steps light, he opened the door to the balcony. The storm washed away any sounds that it might have made. Wind and rain crashed against him, soaking through his jeans almost instantly. In Florida the rain was almost never cold, especially not as far south as he was. Everything around them was pitch black. The only way to get to him was on a boat. It had to be parked on the other side because he couldn’t see anything. They must have idled up which would explain why he didn’t hear anything.

  He climbed over the banister and jumped onto the first deck, ducking to keep out of sight. The strong wake could account for any excess rocking as he moved on the balls of his feet to get a better look inside.

  His blood ran cold.

  The fucking Cleaner stood next to the table that he and Cassidy had just christened. Bruised, with a few butterfly bandages on his forehead where Miguel had pistol whipped him. A new set of scratch marks crossed under his jaw.

  If he hadn’t been holding Maricela against his chest by her throat, Miguel would have shot him right there.

  With her hair wet and matted, along with her clothes, she came across as disheveled, but even so there was a determination on her bruised face, one that refused to let her show her fear. That was his sister. Smart, and stubborn, she probably put up one hell of a fight—considering the marks. For the bruises alone, Miguel was going to kill the son of a bitch this time. If he got the chance, slowly. In a discreet location where he could encourage him to scream loudly. Miguel would like to hear the sound of his mangled cries.

  A second man walked through the door. Tall, built, and carrying his own gun. The Cleaner nodded to the stairs.

  God damnit!

  They outgunned him, and already out hostaged him too. If they got Cassidy, that would be two hostages to his zero. It would make it even harder to slip out of the situation. The only element he had was surprise. Right now, they thought he was upstairs with Cassidy. Staying low, he moved to the front door, which goon number two left open. Rookie move. Always close anything you open. If someone follows, the sound will be warning enough. He stood and rounded, crossing the floor in three steps and aimed the gun at The Cleaner’s head. Unfortunately, from this vantage, Maricela stood between them. He had a gun pressed to her ribs.

  “Let her go,” Miguel said in a low, dangerous tone. Anger made his muscles rigid. This guy had gone after Cassidy, taken his sister hostage, and infiltrated Miguel’s home. For all of the above, he would pay with his life. Miguel wasn’t stupid enough to leave him alive again—but first, he needed to get his girls safe. Cassidy was upstairs, so was another man.

  Please remember to take the safety off.

  The Cleaner smiled, feral and unstable. Something had shifted about him. He didn’t seem as in control. Miguel had seen that look in the mirror a time or two and it didn’t bode well.

  “Miguel,” Maricela said. “I’m sorry—”

  “Don’t be sorry, love,” The Cleaner said as he pulled her closer against him. “You did such a good job.”

  Miguel didn’t say anything. When this was over, he’d tell Maricela it wasn’t her fault. Reassure her.

  It wasn’t. It was his.

  He never should have gone to the party. Though more than likely, they hadn’t followed him there. They figured out who his family was through old fashioned searching. Not like it was an international secret. Considering the situation, Miguel didn’t think Ivanov would go after his family. It would be too public. Then again, maybe Ivanov didn’t know what his soldier was up to. The Cleaner probably grabbed Maricela when she had gone out on an errand.

  A gunshot went off above their heads and The Cleaner grinned. “That would be your pet blond. A wounding blow. She’s wanted alive.”

  “She’s not going anywhere with you,” he said. Over his dead body.

  “Nope. I’m not.”

  The thug who went upstairs was now coming back down,
his hands up, face grim as Cassidy pointed a gun at his bald head.

  Miguel grinned. “Atta girl.”

  Cassidy had never been so scared in her life. Somehow, she’d managed to get the upper hand on the guy who was coming to kill her. She hoped Miguel was okay, and when she saw him standing with a gun pointed at The Cleaner, her heart dropped.

  Maricela!

  Thoughts of Kendra washed through her mind. A woman who should be alive but wasn’t because Cassidy needed vengeance for her sister. No matter what Miguel said, Maricela had been right. Cassidy didn’t have any right to put these people in harm’s way for her own vendetta. More than that, she couldn’t ask Miguel to make an impossible choice.

  The Cleaner tightened his grip on Maricela. “Well, don’t we have a predicament.”

  Miguel smirked. “Nah. This isn’t a predicament. This is a standoff. One where we’ve got the upper hand.”

  He laughed. “I don’t think so.”

  Cassidy’s stomach flip flopped. The look in The Cleaner’s cold eyes worried her. There was no emotion, no fear. Something wild maybe, maniacal. Not that he hadn’t been creepy before, but now, he seemed more so.

  “Let’s do the math here, shall we?” Miguel said in his normal sarcastic tone. “We have guns pointed at both of you, Einstein. Try anything and we’ll shoot you both, square between your ratty little eyes.”

  The Cleaner curled his lips up in a feral smile. “I have no love for the boy. He knew the risks coming in here. If he dies, he dies.”

  The man in front of Cassidy stiffened. She couldn’t see his face, but imagined, other than his body language giving away his distress, that it remained neutral. Hit men didn’t usually show fear.

  “If I were to kill this woman,” He leaned his face close to Maricela’s. She cringed trying to turn her face away as she closed her eyes. “You would be much more heartbroken then I would be over the boy.”

  Boy. The Cleaner was right. Cassidy thought the same thing when he first came in the room. He couldn’t be more than twenty. The scruff on his face had patches of someone just coming into manhood as opposed to someone older and he carried himself with the overconfidence of someone who still thought he was immortal. This, Cassidy realized, was probably his initiation into the real deal—and she had a gun to his head.

  There’d been too much killing as it was. Too much blood spilt. Guilt clogged her throat.

  “You won’t kill her, dickweed,” Miguel said. “She’s the only thing standing between you and getting out of here alive.”

  The Cleaner ran his tongue along Maricela’s cheek. She cringed—and so did Cassidy. Her stomach roiled for Miguel’s sister.

  “But imagine all the fun I’ll have when I take her with me.”

  Miguel’s lips pressed into a firm line. “I will take you out before you walk off this boat.”

  The Cleaner sighed. “I’m growing quite bored with this game. You will give us the girl, or all of you will die. It’s as simple as that.”

  Cassidy’s palms were slick with sweat. She tightened her hold on the gun, hoping it didn’t slip from her grip. That would be the last thing they needed.

  “Fuck off,” Miguel said.

  “Very well.” He grinned and moved the gun to Maricela’s head. “Say goodbye to your sister.”

  “Wait!” Cassidy couldn’t let this happen. Miguel was gambling, and Cassidy didn’t have a good enough hand to see it all the way through.

  The Cleaner looked over. “Yes?”

  Miguel didn’t take his eyes away from The Cleaner, but his shoulders hunched. “What are you doing, Sirena?”

  What she should have done when it became clear that Ivanov wasn’t going to rest until he had her in his clutches. He could have killed her half a dozen times, but clearly, he didn’t want that. No, he wanted Cassidy alive and brought to him.

  It was time to end this.

  “I’ll go with you,” she said. “You let Miguel and Maricela go, and I’ll leave with you. No fighting. No arguing. I will just go.”

  “No!” Miguel’s voice barked through the boathouse. “That is not an option, Sirena. It is stupid.”

  She ignored the objection. Miguel wasn’t going to agree to it no matter what. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t his choice.

  “Do we have a deal?” she asked The Cleaner.

  She felt terrible. No matter what choice she made, someone got hurt. Miguel might not like what was happening, but at least this way, Cassidy ensured the only person who would be hurt was her.

  The Cleaner stared right at her as he licked his lips. She didn’t think it was a thoughtful gesture, but more one meant to unsteady her. On the inside, Cassidy quivered with fear, but somehow her hand remained steady. If she had to pull the trigger, she didn’t know that she could. Not in this situation. Not when the guy she had a gun to was really just a kid who’d probably been raised in the life and didn’t know any better.

  “Well?” The boldness in her voice surprised her. Maybe she wasn’t a physical fighter, but Cassidy was smart—smart enough to realize that at this point, there was no way to get out of this situation without someone dying—and she couldn’t let anyone else get killed because of her.

  “Cassidy, don’t do this.” Miguel’s voice took on a hard edge.

  “Deal,” The Cleaner said.

  “How do I know you won’t go back on your word?” Cassidy asked.

  “He will,” Miguel said. “He’s a lying, sniveling bastard. Trust me, I’ve dealt with his type before.”

  She trusted him more than anyone and cared about him more than she had any other man, but Maricela was his sister. They were family, and he had more family than just her.

  “I am nothing, if not a man of honor. If you come with us willingly, I will leave your friends tied up here so they cannot follow.”

  She took a breath and prayed she was making the right decision as she lowered the gun.

  Her hostage turned, grabbed it, and simultaneous backhanded her across the face. He said something in Russian that Cassidy didn’t understand, but the pain translated it well enough as he pointed the gun at her head. Fear made her blood run cold. Ivanov wanted her alive, but that didn’t mean this kid cared. He might not have the impulse control needed to carry out his orders. If so, Cassidy made a huge miscalculation.

  Miguel took a step forward, grabbing the kid by the arm to twist him around. A split second later, Miguel punched him. The kid stumbled back, but kept hold of the gun, pointing it at Miguel.

  “No!”

  The Cleaner also said something in Russian and the man grunted, before lowering his gun from Miguel. He grabbed Cassidy by the arm and pulled her against him, moving the gun to her head.

  “Now.” The Cleaner smiled at Miguel. “Lower your weapon, and the deal keeps. Test us, and I will kill you.”

  For a moment, Cassidy didn’t think he’d do it. She thought he might try to fight his way out of it, but that would be suicide. Not to mention what would happen to Maricela. She silently pleaded that he lower his gun.

  “God damnit, Cassidy.” He didn’t yell it, but said it in a low, dangerous tone as he set the gun on the ground and kicked it over to The Cleaner.

  “Smart man,” The Cleaner said. He shoved Maricela into Miguel’s arms, and picked up the gun.

  Miguel moved Maricela behind him, turning so that if either man pulled the trigger, he’d be the one to get hit.

  “Now, then,” The Cleaner gestured toward the table. “Let’s make sure you two are secure, shall we?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Cassidy secured the zip ties that held Maricela and Miguel to the table. She might be an investigative journalist, but she had no idea how people like this worked. Miguel knew it intimately. They played mind games. Gave false hope. Whatever Ivanov wanted Cassidy for, it wasn’t anything good—and Miguel knew, without a shadow of a doubt, The Cleaner had no intention of leaving them alive. That would be sloppy.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“I couldn’t let either of you get hurt.”

  Miguel didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say as she kissed his cheek and backed away. The Cleaner’s boy toy grabbed her again. That one was going to suffer for hitting her. Not as much as The Cleaner, but Miguel had plans for him. They had no idea who they were fucking with. The anger continued to pulse inside him, burning away everything but the darkness.

  Instead of being afraid of it, Miguel harnessed it, pulling it to the surface knowing he was going to need it for what he had in mind. When the time came, he would draw in and make every single one of them suffer.

  The Cleaner nodded to his protege and he took Cassidy from the boat.

  Miguel jerked against the plastic biting into his wrists. If he’d been tied to a pole, or even just had his hands in front of him he could get out of it no problem, but the table stand was round. It wouldn’t have the same effect. He’d just make his wrists bleed.

  The Cleaner walked over, keeping his back to them as he faced the stove. “Thank you, Mr. Cortez. For being so accommodating. I truly thought you would be…” he shrugged. “More of a challenge.”

  “I was enough of a challenge that you had to bring along a kid to help.” He wiggled his fingers trying to keep circulation going. None of his weapons were in reach.

  Maricela hadn’t said anything, but the gleam in her dark eyes had murderous intent. She might have been caught off guard, but when she got out of here, there would be hell to pay. Miguel just hoped she focused it on the right person. While Miguel had learned to harness and control the anger inside of him, using it as a weapon, Maricela often lashed out without thinking.

  “Maybe so,” The Cleaner said. “But in the end, you have lost. That’s all that matters.”

  Something beeped. Miguel froze. That tiny ominous sound rang in his ears, and he instinctively knew what was about to happen.

  The Cleaner moved to the side, revealing a medium sized bomb. It had a screen on it with a three-minute timer.