Fire & Dark (The Night Horde SoCal Book 3)

by Susan Fanetti

  The movement of her body on the bed pulled at the clamps and the chain just enough to make her whimper. Then he sped up, and in a few thrusts he was going with savage speed and force. The bed slammed against the wall as Connor slammed into her, and she was coming again, this time screaming into the pillow.

  As she came down from her latest explosive climax, Connor bellowed and leaned forward to grab her hair. He came, yelling and clutching her brutally. When he finished, he let go of her and pulled out with a sigh.

  Mrs. Lee banged on the wall.

  “I’m done. I’m done, Connor. I’m done. I need to be done.” Fuck, she hurt.

  He moved quickly, flipping her onto her back again. First he released the clamps, and she nearly screamed as blood rushed back. With the lightest of touches, he brush his thumb over each nipple and then kissed each one, too. Then he freed her wrists.

  “I hurt you.” He frowned down at her, brushing hair from her face.

  With her tingling fingertips, she soothed the furrows from his brow. “I wanted it. I just needed it to be over when it was.”

  “Maybe we do need a safe word.”

  “You stopped when I needed to stop. I think we communicate just fine. That was pretty much perfect fucking, if you ask me.”

  He laughed quietly and caressed her face. “I don’t know where you came from, Pilar Cordero, but there’s nobody else like you.”

  Feeling spent and fragile, feeling exposed but not vulnerable, Pilar snuggled into the crook of his body, where he was propped on one elbow. “I’m falling in love with you.”

  He flinched and took hold of her chin, turning her head back so he could look straight down into her eyes. “What?”

  Though she felt a little anxiety, she didn’t back away from what she’d said. “You heard me. Does that scare you?”

  His grey eyes were dark, and his scowl was not encouraging. “Don’t you fucking play me, Cordero.”

  Pilar could have gotten defensive at that, but she had just been very well fucked, so she was mellow, and she knew where his words had come from. “We decided to be serious. You brought me to family dinner. We fuck like we do, and we talk like we do. You can’t tell me you’re not feeling it, too. I’m being honest. And I already told you I’m not keeping my eye on the emergency exit.” She smiled as his scowl shaped itself into something much more open, but still wary. “Okay, I lied a little. I’m not falling. I already landed. I love you. There. Now I’ll always be the one who said it first. I win.”

  He laughed, and his expression became simply calm and pleased. “Every damn thing is a competition with you, woman.” His smile faded, but his expression didn’t darken. “Yeah. I think I do. I love you, too.”

  No man had ever spoken those words to her before. To hear this man say them—her eyes began to burn. Pilar did not cry. In the life she led, the things she’d seen and would yet see, there was no place for tears. It was a second or two before she realized what the burning was. She blinked it away before tears happened, but Connor had watched that all play out on her face. She could see the knowledge in his eyes.

  He smiled. “Well, isn’t this somethin’.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “I’m not doing that.” Connor stared up at the rocky cliff face and shook his head. “It is absolutely not happening.”

  Pilar put her hands on her hips and made a theatrical and entirely unnecessary scoffing noise. “Dude, since you’re standing there in jeans and fucking biker boots, I didn’t think you were. I can’t believe you won’t wear shorts. It’s going to be ninety degrees out here soon.”

  “No shorts. You’re lucky you got me out here.” Pilar, on the other hand, wore a pair of khaki shorts that did fabulous things to her ass and made the bronze tone of her skin glow. He thought she might look hotter in those shorts, climbing shoes, and her almost-sheer t-shirt than she had in that black dress.

  No. The dress was hotter. But she looked good now.

  “You told me you’ve camped a lot.”

  “Biker camping is not this. Biker camping is passing out on the ground next to your bike. But I’m here. I’ll…” He was going to say he’d take a ride, but that would leave Pilar out here alone being a daredevil on that stupid cliff face. “I’ll just wait here.”

  She’d dragged him out to the desert to camp, enticing him with stories about fucking under the stars and sleeping coiled together in a sleeping bag.

  The night before had been fantastic. They’d ridden out side by side, Pilar on her little orange Victory and him on his big black Harley. As soon as they’d gotten clear of traffic, she’d revved the throttle and torn off, turning the last leg of the trip into a race. He’d let her win—the view had been superior behind her.

  They’d stopped at a little market near the park for firewood and dinner, then arrived at camp in the late afternoon. It was midweek in September, after school was back in session, so there weren’t many people around. They’d made camp, had a rustic dinner of bread, cheese, fruit, and booze, and made a fire.

  That had surprised him—he’d expected her to be anti-campfire. She wasn’t, but she was particular about fire safety, so they hadn’t bedded down until it was completely out and cooling.

  Hence the fucking under the stars. And what stars they’d been. Several of Connor’s brothers came out to the desert often, but he never had. He’d ride out here—the roads were great for riding—but he’d never been interested in the landscape, which was brown. Every season, every day, brown—light, dusty brown. He preferred the variety of the mountains or the coast. But last night, he’d gotten a sense of the place’s allure, and not just because the sex had been fantastic. Their sex was always fantastic. But the canopy of stars in a sky that seemed to swirl with dark color had been breathtaking.

  Pilar’s little backpack tent had a screen sunlight at the top. While she’d slept in his arms, he’d lain and stared through the tent at the stars for most of the night. He’d felt small and infinite both at the same time. And perfectly content.

  And he’d known he was going to mark this woman. End of story. It had only been about a week and a half since they’d first used the word ‘love,’ and far too early to bring it up, but that night, staring up at thousands of stars in a purple and blue sky, he’d seen his future.

  Now, he was watching his future climb the side of a rocky cliff with no gear but her funky shoes. He sat on a rock and watched, trapped between his fascination of her ability; his lust for her sinewy body, the muscles in her legs and arms rippling and glistening, her thick, fluffy ponytail swinging; and his bone-chilling fear as she climbed higher and higher. Up a cliff, without a rope. Rocks littered the foot of the cliff. He imagined her broken body lying on them.

  Every now and then, she’d stretch wide and put her foot somewhere, then let it drop back, and each time that happened, he’d clench, sure that she’d lost her footing. But then she’d find a better hold and climb some more. By the time she got to the top, he was halfway to a heart attack. Then she waved and disappeared down the other side. She’d told him there was a way to walk back down.

  He sat where he was until she made her way back to him. She’d been right—he was getting hot sitting in the desert sun in his jeans and boots. But he was also finding some of the same kind of peace he’d felt the night before. Like his life had settled on its track. He hadn’t even known he’d been derailed.

  When she approached, he stood up. “I can’t believe you climb cliffs for fun. Tell me you don’t come out her on your own.”

  “Dude, that’s not a cliff. That’s barely a hill. Just a bunch of rocks. Someday I’ll show you what climbing a cliff looks like. And no, I don’t come out alone. I usually come out with Moore.”

  She dropped that and looked up at him, and he could see the challenge in her eyes. Well, fuck, yes, he was jealous of that guy. Kyle Moore was her best friend. She spent as much time with him as she did with Connor. Moore slept in the same room with her as often as he himself did, too. H
e was in love with a woman who might actually be able to deal with the life he led, and he shared fifty-fifty custody of her with another guy. It sucked.

  And they were handsy with each other. He got that there was nothing between them. He did. He believed her, and he got it. He wasn’t threatened. He was just jealous—of their time together, their friendship, whatever. He’d work it out eventually.

  So to answer her now, he just grunted.

  “You gotta let that go, Connor. I’m not giving up my best friend.”

  “I’m workin’ on it. Give me time.”

  She slid her arms around his waist. “You’re all hot and sweaty. Me, too. Wanna ride?”

  He grinned and kissed her. “Now that sounds like fun.”

  ~oOo~

  That night, they sat by the campfire, watching it gutter out. Pilar rested between his legs, against his chest. She played absently with the rings on his left hand. With his right hand, he combed his fingers through her loose hair. And they talked. Alone in the desert night, they talked. For hours, until the fire was dark and cold.

  In the tent, before they slept, he fucked her slowly, gently, telling her what he wanted from her body, what he wanted to give her from his. Seducing her to patience.

  Yeah, he saw his future.

  ~oOo~

  Two days later, Connor, his father, and Bart sat in a hotel suite in the suburbs of San Diego. Dora Vega and her two closest associates, Luis Torres and Matias Cruz, sat with them. The six of them were arrayed around the living room of the suite, and Dora had provided light spread of hors d’oeuvres and drinks.

  Usually, the Horde met with business associates in a less polished atmosphere—in an out-of-the-way dive bar or just some abandoned building. But La Zorra preferred to maintain a sense of decorum in her business meetings. Even when they met in the middle of nowhere, she came supplied to approximate a business meeting.

  She always dressed like a business executive, too. Most of the boss-type men they worked with dressed with some degree of flash. Even those who wore suits would have stuck out in a downtown executive suite. But Dora dressed conservatively. Today, she wore a slim black skirt and a light blue silky blouse, unbuttoned just to the point that it was impossible to forget that she was a dramatically beautiful woman. Her simply-styled hair, the little bit of gold and diamond jewelry she wore, her plain black high heels—the whole package was a balance of power and poise that Connor couldn’t help but admire.

  She was a conscientious hostess, too. Each man had a glass in his hand filled with his favorite drink: Connor and Bart had Jack, and Hoosier had Jameson. As they took their first sips, Dora asked, “Has there been any—what’s the word you use—blowback from my special request?”

  She meant the Cartwright hit. His father answered, “No. Bart and Sherlock are keeping track, but it’s been five weeks, and they have nothing. Case is going cold.”

  Bart picked up. “It’s not cold yet. They’re still working it hard. But if we had left any trace, they would have found it by now. The chatter we’re finding says they are looking overseas, at terrorist organizations. Homeland Security has it now.”

  “Ah,” Dora said, and Connor thought she looked pleased.

  “That doesn’t get us out of the woods just yet. DHS could look south if looking east doesn’t pan out.”

  “I understand, Connor. Thank you.” She sipped daintily at a gin and tonic. “I’m impressed by the quality of your work. I’d like to meet with the man who got it done.”

  Trick was having trouble dealing with having gotten that job done. He was a quiet and thoughtful guy, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was always diplomatic. He tended to answer questions posed to him with bald honesty. Connor wasn’t sure it would be such a great idea to have La Zorra speak with him directly.

  But his father said, “I’ll bring him when we meet next.”

  Thinking about his friend, Connor asked a question he normally would let lie. “Now that the job is done, can we get some idea about why you needed Cartwright gone?”

  Her lieutenant, Luis, said, “She would have told you if she’d wanted you to know.”

  Holding her tall, clear glass in both hands, Dora Vega contemplated Connor over its rim. “As I told you, the reason is compelling.”

  Connor held her brown eyes. He wouldn’t push with words, but he wouldn’t be the first to look away, either.

  They stared at each other until Dora’s mouth lifted in a slight smile. “Luis, Matias, step outside for a smoke, please.

  “Señora…” Luis protested.

  “Please.” At her simple, firm word, a command in a plea, her men left the suite.

  The most powerful woman—no, the most powerful person—in the Mexican underworld picked up from a tray a dainty cracker laden with some kind of black goo. “I assume you did some research, Bart.”

  “Only enough to get a read on the target. We didn’t dig into you.” The Horde officers had discussed that at some length, but the protection around her was state-of-the-art, and both Bart and Sherlock had said that they could get in, but not without her knowing. The risk, therefore, was too great. They did all they could around the edges.

  “Thank you. And what did you learn?” She bit into the cracker.

  “Cartwright was District Attorney for three years. He worked as an Assistant U.S. Attorney before that. With the Feds, he worked a lot of drug enforcement cases, but he never sat first chair on any of note, and none of the cases intersected with your interests. He got his J.D. at UC Irvine. He’s an L.A. native. Married with two kids.”

  “And before he got his law degree?”

  Bart shook his head. “His trail fades out there, and we didn’t have a lot of time to dig deeper. We went back as far as we had to to get a sense of him and then focused on the intel we needed to plan the job…” His last words drifted off. “He worked for the Feds before he got his law degree, didn’t he?”

  “He did. Homeland Security, in fact. It wasn’t work he was made for, but he was a field agent for three years.”

  “And they obscured his record. Which they do for undercover agents. This is about your ex-husband.” Connor spoke the words to Dora and then turned to his father, who was nodding; he’d put it together, too. And Bart.

  David Vega was, or had been, a Special Agent with the Department of Homeland Security. He’d been deep undercover with the Perro Blanco cartel and had risen to stand at Julio Santaveria’s right hand. He’d also taken an interest in one of the young women Santaveria kept as clerks, a pretty young thing named Isidora. They’d married and had three children, all while Vega was living his double life.

  “My husband, yes. In that way, it’s personal. It also bears on business, of course. Mr. Cartwright worked with my husband. He was also a greedy, corrupt man. Shortly after I took over the Águilas, he made overtures to me, suggesting that we might work together. When we couldn’t come to terms, he made threats.” She finished her fancy cracker and lightly brushed her hands before she picked her drink up again. “It is not easy to be a woman in my world. The men who live in it do not respect women. They think I can be bullied. I’ve achieved what I have because they are wrong. I answer every threat in the same way: I ensure that the man who makes it will not make another.”

  “He made threats?” Hoosier asked.

  But Dora shook her head. “The specifics aren’t important. Let it suffice to say that Mr. Cartwright thought that my feelings about my husband were a vulnerability. They are not.”

  Bart leaned forward and set his empty glass on the table. “Can I ask…do you know what happened to your husband?”

  “You may not ask, no.”

  Connor’s antennae pinged like crazy. She did know—moreover, now he was sure that Vega was alive, and that she was in some kind of contact. What the fuck did that mean? A drug boss and her Fed husband? What the fuck? They needed to get out of here and talk.

  He cast a glance at his father, who met his eyes briefly, but that look was en
ough. They were on the same page.

  His father turned to La Zorra. “Dora, I respect your need to protect your secrets. But I need to protect my family. What’s our exposure here?”

  “From this, if you did your job, then your exposure should be negligible if not nonexistent.” Her expression sharpened. “But this trouble in your own yard—that’s another story. This beef you have with the Aztec Assassins. That’s an inconvenience. This is not a time for my peace with the Fuentes to be disrupted, and that gang is an important supplier for them. I need that resolved.”

  “We agreed to sit back and let that cool off. It’s cooling. They’re beneath our notice.”

  Connor was surprised at his father’s assertion, but he made sure not to show it. The Aztecs were not cooling. They weren’t escalating, but they were poking. Trying to get the Horde to make the first move. Looking for a fight. His read was that the Fuentes had given them the same instruction, or advice, that La Zorra had given the Horde—stand down unless there was aggression from the other side.