Something sharp dug into her side as she rolled, and then she hit the water.
Cool, deep, the river swallowed her. Consuela refused to drown. She kicked up until her head broke the surface. Gasping for air, she shook her head and opened her eyes. She could see the lights of the van’s headlights as the vehicle approached the water. The sounds of men shouting as they searched told her they couldn’t see her. She had to be silent. In the dark, she couldn’t see how wide the river was. Under the cloudy sky, she couldn’t see much of anything. The water’s current pulled her along, away from the van, and she let it.
Consuela could swim, but she focused on treading water and letting the river do all the work. She kept her motions to a minimum, her goal to not make any noise.
She watched as men appeared on the bank and played their flashlights over the water. They must have heard me fall in and my gasp for breath. She gently moved her arms and legs under the water, helping the river carry her farther and farther away. The light beams of her captors couldn’t reach her now. If she stayed silent, she had a chance to escape.
She hadn’t been able to see much of where she was, except for the lights of a gas station, the last lights of the town. She couldn’t see the entire sign but memorized all she could see. She filed that away with the rest of what she’d heard and what she’d noticed as she’d escaped the house. The porch. Three steps down. A front window with a board over half of it. These facts she held close.
Then the lights of Brandy faded until there was only darkness and the river. Just in case, Consuela would drift a little bit longer. She had the sense she was putting more distance between herself and her kidnappers than she ever could alone, on foot.
She tried counting the seconds, to have some idea how much time passed, but her thoughts fractured. She couldn’t seem to focus on anything.
Then she slipped below the surface of the water once more. Shock and terror made her kick up, break the surface for a second time. She gasped and drew in a huge breath. It was dark, and dank, and she had no idea where she was, but she could see the bank on the same side she’d fallen in—at least, she thought it was the same side. Yes, the current would take her in only one direction, so it had to be.
Using her last bit of strength, she began to swim toward land. Hot searing pain in her left shoulder shocked her. That arm wouldn’t work very well, so she used her right arm and kicked her feet. Finally, tall grass brushed her hand, and she grabbed at it. She had to grab again, and when she kicked out with her feet, she hit mud. With her last bit of energy, she tugged with her hand and pushed with her feet and then collapsed in a bed of weeds. Her feet were still in the water, but the rest of her lay on dry land.
Consuela gave thanks to God and then let the darkness take her.
Chapter 7
“Thanks, Joe. I really think that having Clint on the team is the right move for us to make at this time.” Ramón held his cellphone to his ear as his eyes took in the view of another Houston morning. The sun glinted off the glass and steel office towers of downtown and shone down on the city with a warmth that promised to morph into real heat well before noon.
Texas, God bless her, could be hot as hell for most of the year.
It had occurred to both Ramón and Clint the night before that since they were both involved in investigations that pointed toward Sérgio Torres, working together made sense. On a personal level, they both needed to stay close to Marcia until that bastard was brought to justice.
Ramón would feel a hell of a lot better if the other man, a man he was quickly coming to think of as his brother, had his back by protecting their woman on the nights he had to prowl. Though he didn’t know his new boss well, Ramón had no compunction in calling Joe Grant and putting that proposition forward. The SAC was a good agent, one who wasn’t concerned with his own ego or who got the credit for the arrest—just as long as the arrest was made. He was also a man who’d married a woman born and raised in Lusty and who had deep ties to that community. From all he knew of that small town and her citizens, he guessed Joe would understand Ramón’s need for personal backup where Marcia Crane was concerned.
In all these things, he quickly learned that he and his boss were definitely on the same page.
“It makes perfect sense to me,” Joe said. “I know Sergeant Parrish’s C.O. quite well. I’ll explain that our cases have unexpectedly intersected. We know Torres was on the list of johns used by Victor Swift, and the DPS still hasn’t closed that case. They’re looking into whether or not any of Swift’s connections were involved in human trafficking as well as drug smuggling, and we’re all pretty certain that Torres has his fingers in both of those pies. I can’t see the Deputy Director having any problem with this arrangement.”
They were all certain of Torres’s quilt, but knowing wasn’t proving, and that was where they were stuck. Yes, they could raid his next “auction” and arrest the man. But that would only get him off the streets for a small amount of time. They wanted him, his network, and the names of his suppliers. They wanted enough evidence to put him away for the rest of his life. If they could nail him on a murder charge, that would be bonus. Ramón had no doubt it would happen. But for the time being, they didn’t have enough evidence. Ramón couldn’t put it into words if he tried, but he had a very strong feeling that Torres was the root of an awful lot of the evil he’d been chasing for years. He also believed with every bit of cop sense in him that they were on the right track, and when things began to move, they’d move fast. They needed to be ready for that. He needed to be ready, and he would feel much more confident with Clint in his corner.
“I’ll get back to you as soon as I talk to the Deputy Director of Law Enforcement Operations at the DPS, Ramón. Until then, watch your six.”
Ramón ended the call, a grin on his face. No question, Joe had been spending time with his Kendall cousins, two of whom were retired Air Force flyboys. He turned from the window just as Marcia came into the room. Dressed only in his white dress shirt from the day before, looking deliciously sleepy and sated, she drew him as no woman before her ever had.
Marcia had fallen back to sleep earlier in the aftermath of the very strong orgasms they’d given her. He and Clint had both left the bed, hoping she’d get a few more hours’ sleep.
A quick glance at his cell phone and the time display assured him she’d gotten at least two more. She looked deliciously sleep rumpled and eminently desirable.
His attraction to her scared the living hell out of him. He didn’t want to lose focus on the job because, doing so, especially being undercover, could get him, and anyone close to him, killed. He still had a job to do even beyond Torres. He still needed to hunt down the monster who’d murdered his angel, his sister Angelina.
I’d better remember that I am a man on a sacred mission.
“Was that your boss you were speaking to?” Marcia asked.
Ramón pulled his head out of his own thoughts. “Yes. He thinks having Clint officially attached to the investigation is a good idea.”
She looked toward the kitchen area, a question in her eyes.
“It’s his day off, today. He left about ten minutes ago to get a few things he needed from his apartment. He said he’d be back in an hour.” Until they knew for certain that Clint would be reassigned to work with Ramón, they’d agreed it would be a good idea if the man bunked here for the foreseeable future. Clint generally worked the day shift, so even if the man couldn’t officially have his back, he’d be around for Marcia when Ramón had to leave the apartment, which mostly happened at night.
“He mentioned something about staying for a while last night. I guess he needs a couple of changes of clothes.”
“Yes. He also mentioned collecting something he called his toy bag.” Ramón smirked. He had a pretty good idea what that was because he’d seen several Doms at the Lyon’s Den carrying small black bags.
He didn’t think those men were all doctors.
Since Marcia looked
just a little nervous, Ramón added one more thing. “Christopher has given us the use of one of his playrooms for the day. So as soon as Clint returns, and we eat, we’ll head over there.”
“Isn’t the Lyon’s Den closed during the day?”
“It is—which makes it a perfect time for us to learn.” He met her gaze. “I need to get it right, sweetheart. I don’t want to do anything that will betray me for what I am when it comes to the D/s power exchange—a neophyte.” Then he smiled. “Or, as Rory Phelps called me, a baby Dom.”
Marcia grinned. “I have a feeling that, while we’ll both be learning at the same time, it’s going to be a vastly different experience for each of us.” She smiled and rubbed her butt with her hand, and he knew exactly what she meant.
Ramón took the few steps to her and cupped her face. “Are you nervous, mi ángel?”
“I don’t know if I’m nervous or excited. Probably a little of both. But I do want to see if this will suit me the way I think it will.”
Ramón leaned in and kissed her. He ran his tongue against her closed lips, and when she parted them, when she tilted her head, asking for more, he drank deep.
Dios, he would never get enough of the taste of her! He would never sate himself of her completely. He lifted his head and used his thumb to stroke her bottom lip. Her eyes opened, and in that first moment, she was as open to him, emotionally, as if she had no barriers at all.
Because he was watching for it, he saw the change, the raising of her walls. Those walls were less than they had been, no question. But they were still there.
“I want to believe in this.” Marcia’s expression held nothing back. Whatever was on her mind, she struggled. “I want to believe that you really want me. But until yesterday, I thought you were, well, maybe not pushing me away but definitely holding me back. I’m sorry. I want to believe, but I’m having a few doubts.”
Could he blame her? He had been holding her off, afraid to let her get any closer to him than she already was. He hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with her. It occurred to him then that he had a story he should tell her. If there was going to be a relationship, even a temporary one, he owed her the same honesty she’d been offering him. Ramón reached for her, scooped her into his arms, and then sat on the love seat with her in his lap.
She cuddled into him like a small kitten, seeking his warmth and, he’d bet, trusting him to keep her safe. Despite the doubts she had, she still trusted him. How humbling was that?
“Thank you, Ramón. I like this, being held by you.”
She was thanking him for something he considered the very least he could do for her.
“You’re welcome.” He kissed the top of her head. Hell, he could sit here like this with her until Clint returned and consider it the best-spent time of his day.
He felt her hand stroking his chest. “May I ask you something?”
“You can ask me anything you want.”
“What changed? I mean, at first, you were so stiff with me, making sure there was a distance between us. Was it because you didn’t think I’d be a very good sub?”
Trust Marcia to give him the opening he couldn’t find on his own.
“No, querida. It was because I didn’t believe I deserved you. I didn’t believe I could reach out and take what I wanted.”
“I don’t understand.”
In the end, he found he didn’t have to look for the words. They were just there. “When I was twelve, our house blew up. I knew at the time it was because of a gang—one that papa refused to join. My sister, María Angelina, and I got out. Our mother…she died almost instantly. The fire was burning hot, everywhere. Papa…the firemen held me back from going back a second time. They went in, and pulled him out, but he’d been hit by the blast. He was dying. He knew Mama was gone and that he soon would be, too. He asked me to promise to protect María—my little sister—with all that I had. I swore to him that I would.”
Ramón swallowed and began to stroke his hands up and down Marcia’s arm. Just that touch soothed him and gave him the strength to go on.
“We had no family here, so both my sister and I were placed in a group home—fortunately, the same one. I was twelve, and she was six.” He looked down at Marcia. “That’s where I met Christopher, by the way. I envied his ‘don’t fuck with me’ attitude. I had to be good, do all that was asked because I couldn’t risk being separated from María. So, I put up with everything, did everything I could. When I was eighteen, I left the home, got an apartment within a block of the place. I got a job, started night school. I had a goal. I was going to work for a year and then apply for custody of my sister.
“But not long after I left that home, mi hermana was kidnapped on her way back to the home from school.”
“Oh, Ramón, no!” He heard her tears in her voice.
“It wasn’t long…I didn’t have to wait long. Barely a week. The police came and awakened me in the middle of the night. They…they’d found her body.” His voice broke, and he had a moment to realize that he’d never cried for her. He’d never cried for his baby sister. “She’d been beaten and raped and left…” He stopped and inhaled, seeking calm. Marcia rubbed her hand over his chest. He captured that hand and brought it to his lips.
“They never caught the man responsible. It was speculated that she’d been taken to be used in a sex-slavery ring. There apparently was one operating at the time, using our neighborhood as a relay point.”
“Is that why you became a cop? Why you do what you do? Not just to help other women but with the hope of catching whoever murdered your sister?”
“Yes. It has been the driving force in my life until…well, until I saw you.”
“I’m sorry this happened to you. You were only a boy when your parents died. You did all you could do.”
“Intellectually, I understand, but emotionally? Head knowledge doesn’t negate the guilt I feel. I suspect I will always live with that.”
“Can you look at it a different way? That what happened in the past shaped your future? I bet there are some women and girls who did not have that same fate because you’ve taken some of those bastards off the street. You’re a good man, Ramón Estévez. I saw that the fist moment I opened my eyes and realized you’d taken me out of that warehouse. More important, I feel safer with you than I’ve ever felt with anyone. You were the first one to reach out to me without wanting something in return. You’re my hero.”
Ramón didn’t know if he truly deserved the trust Marcia placed in him or the words of praise she heaped on him. He didn’t know if he had it in him to really step up to the plate and be the steady, constant Dom she needed.
What he did know, without reservation, was that this situation had ceased to be about him and his need for revenge the moment he’d decided to take her out of Torres’s bondage.
This was about Marcia. Somehow, in this short bit of time, she had become the center of his life. She was his new angel. For her, he would risk everything to do what needed to be done, and gladly.
* * * *
Clint kept his attention on the screen of his laptop. Marcia found that very unnerving, under the circumstances. Of course, the circumstances were somewhat unusual.
She sat, naked, in what Christopher Lyons referred to as an interview room. With her at the table, but completely dressed, of course, were Ramón, Clint, and the owner of the Lyon’s Den himself.
She considered the moment when she left the dressing room of the club, naked, knowing who all was going to be seated here to be her first big test. She was very happy that they were operating according to protocol, and that protocol decreed she not look Christopher in the eyes. Well, unless he spoke to her, or commanded her to, of course.
They were about to begin their first encounter as a threesome in this culture—in this club. She didn’t think of what they were about to do as a scene, not yet. They needed to figure out their boundaries, first.
That’s my story, and I’m damn well sticking to it.
>
“I’m ready,” Clint said. “I have your standard contract on screen.”
She’d heard about contracts, of course. There’d been a great deal of information on various so-called “kink” websites about the practice. Some Doms wouldn’t even directly engage a sub unless there was a contract in place, even if said engagement was only going to be for a night.
Contracts were generally considered a good thing because the use of them circled back to what many considered the sacred rules in this lifestyle—that what happens inside the D/s dynamic be safe, sane, and consensual.
Marcia supposed you couldn’t get much more consensual than to have a customized, all-encompassing contract that all parties signed.
“Marcia.” Christopher’s use of her name meant she had no choice but to look at him. There was nothing in his gaze to indicate that he could see her breasts or that he might have seen her pussy when she’d walked out of the dressing room, even though she knew he could and he probably had. Daisy had told her that subs were often naked at the club, and if she were to come there with Ramón, she’d likely be naked at some point, too. Not said, but implied, had been Daisy’s acknowledging that Chris and Rory would see her—just as Ramón would see Daisy.
There is a lot to get used to.
Marcia returned her attention to Christopher. Master Christopher. She’d better remember his title today.
“Yes, Master Christopher?”
“I’ve asked Master Clint and Master Ramón to work with you to create a contract because you’ll be practicing elements of my lifestyle here in my club. Even if the only reason you were doing so was to cement the cover for these two investigators, I’d still want a contract between you on file.”
Avenging Angel [Tales from the Lyon's Den 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 7