SPIDER'S WEB

by Dani Matthews

  Nikolas abruptly ends the kiss and mutters an expletive under his breath. “I didn’t mean—”

  I don’t let him finish as I grab his head and cover his mouth with mine. I need this. We both need this, because I can see how much he’s hurting too.

  All he needed was my consent, because he comes alive as he tangles his hands in my hair, his tongue thrusting into my mouth.

  My fingers fumble with the buttons on his shirt, and one of them pops off in my rush to touch his bare skin. Neither of us break the kiss as his hands brush my hips and then grip my dress, yanking the hem upwards.

  His shirt has fallen open, and I run my hands over his sculpted chest. His skin is hot and smooth to the touch, and I find myself frustrated. I don’t want to end the kiss, but I want to look at his body.

  Nikolas, unaware of my thoughts, clamps his hands on my hips and physically nudges me backwards until my back comes into contact with the nearest wall. Fabric tears, and I realize he’s ripped my panties to expose the flesh between my legs. Liquid heat instantly pools between my folds as our kiss grows out of control.

  Screw wanting an eyeful.

  My hands flutter down his abdomen to the button on his pants. I pull on it, and then hurriedly yank the zipper down that’s hiding his arousal.

  Nikolas breaks the kiss and shoves my hands out of the way. With one hand, he pushes down his briefs and pants, freeing his bulging erection. When I see how engorged and thick he is, I can’t resist wrapping my hand around his hot flesh.

  He releases a growl, blue eyes flashing with raw need as he hoists me up into his arms and pins me against the wall. My hand quickly falls away from him as he spreads my thighs, gripping them tightly to help support my weight.

  His eyes meet mine, and his are hooded with desire, but there’s also a question in them.

  “Don’t stop,” I whisper.

  The look in his eye turns primal as he buries himself inside me in one thrust. I gasp from the sensation as he pins me against the wall with his hips before withdrawing to plunge into me again and again. The force of his thrusts causes my shoulders to jerk each time and my spine to meet the wall. It causes pain where my stitches are, but not enough to stop this delicious madness.

  I want more.

  I need more…

  Clutching his shoulders tightly, I find his earlobe and bite it. His body tenses, and then he begins to forcefully enter me harder. “Yes!” I groan, arching my back and trying to meet every thrust.

  His eyes lock on mine as he fiercely pumps inside me, and I meet his gaze, lips parted as we frantically chase the ecstasy that’s so close. His expression becomes strained as he moves faster, perspiration appearing across his forehead.

  The sensation of him sliding in and out of me is so mind-blowingly good, and the tension in my body tightens exquisitely before exploding, wrenching a husky cry from me.

  “Fuck yeah,” Nikolas growls as he slams into my slick folds, his hips ruthlessly chasing his own release. When it comes, he thrusts deeply inside me before tensing as he releases a sexy, primal groan that sends my core into convulsions again.

  I hold onto him tightly, burying my face into his neck as I struggle to catch my breath. His chest is heaving against mine as he continues to grip my hips to keep me supported.

  Unable to resist, I press a soft kiss to the throbbing pulse in his neck, and he responds by squeezing my hip with his hand.

  After a long moment, he blows out a breath and reluctantly eases me to the floor. My legs barely want to hold me, because their trembling so badly from my post orgasmic haze. He backs away from me and pulls up his pants. As he zips his fly, he looks at me with eyes the color of a brewing storm. Reality is back in full force, and he needs to check on his men. “I need to go, Gatita,” he says softly.

  I silently nod.

  His eyes hold mine a moment longer before he turns and opens the door, leaving me. When the door quietly clicks shut, I flinch.

  After blowing out a shaky breath, I head for the bathroom and begin stripping out of my clothes. Once I’m beneath the spray of the water, I feel my throat close up and tears mix with the water. I don’t regret being with Nikolas because it felt so…right. But the violence of the night is wreaking havoc on my nerves, and I keep watching it all playout behind my eyelids.

  Slowly, I slide to the floor and bury my face in my arms as I release the sobs that are demanding to be released.

  Twenty

  Nikolas

  As I leave Catalina’s room, I have a brief moment of clarity as I recall that I hadn’t used a condom. I never forget, but in that moment, all that mattered was being inside Catalina. We’d both needed it, and it had been a long time coming.

  I’ve never been put in the position of protecting someone else instead of having my men’s backs. My first instinct was to protect Catalina since my men are trained for situations like the one we’d just experienced. The sight of her on the floor, trying to minimize herself as a target is an image that will stay with me for a long time to come. Her eyes had been huge and full of terror, and my only thought was to get her to safety. I tell myself it has nothing to do with my growing feelings for her and everything to do with the information she still has on Herrera. But deep inside, I know I’m just lying to myself. It’s something I’ll have to dwell on later though, right now, I need to focus on my men.

  Guilt has been eating away at me since the moment we’d left the cocktail lounge. I should have never gone out tonight, let alone brought Catalina. With Herrera being desperate, I should have made my schedule more unpredictable. Santos and Catalina were right. I’ve been letting revenge go to my head, and I’ve been arrogant over the assumption that I’d held all the cards.

  Fuck.

  Callum, one of the members of my security team, is heading towards me.

  “News?” I demand.

  “They’re coming in hot. Santos took three bullets, Xavier one,” he informs.

  Son of a bitch. That was the very last thing I wanted to hear. “Make sure a team is stationed outside the gates to intercept anyone foolish enough to follow.”

  “Already done.”

  “Call Dr. Jennings,” I bark out, striding towards the front of the estate as emotions overwhelm me. Santos is family. If he dies…this shouldn’t have happened, and it’s all on me.

  When I step out onto the front drive, I see my men prepared and ready. I’m certain Dr. Jennings will be here shortly, but there’s a chance we’re going to have to improvise until he arrives. I won’t know until I find out where the bullet wounds are located.

  As I wait, tension coils tightly throughout my body, and I rake a frustrated hand through my hair. Santos is all I have left. If he dies because of Herrera, I’ll never forgive myself. We’d promised to always protect each other, and I feel as if I’ve let him down tonight. Part of me wants to blame Catalina, but it’s only a small part and not enough to sway my opinion of her. Tonight wasn’t her fault. Hell, I’m the one who’d invited her with. The only person the blame should fall upon is me.

  Headlights flash across the property as the SUV makes its way up the winding drive. I stride across the paved driveway to intercept it before it can come to a complete stop. All the doors open from all sides.

  Tomàs struggles to pull Santos out of the backseat, and I hurry over. Santos is barely conscious and covered in blood. As we heft his bodyweight between us, Xavier approaches, his shoulder and arm drenched in blood.

  “My shoulder can wait, it’s not that bad. Take care of Santos, he’s lost a lot of blood,” he says grimly.

  Tomàs and I practically drag Santos inside since he’s a weighty motherfucker with all that muscle, and the rest of my men follow in our wake. “Dining room,” I grit out. Dr. Jennings isn’t here yet, so we’re going to have to do what we can until he arrives.

  Callum and the others hurry ahead, and I hear something crashing to the floor. Probably the stupid floral centerpiece that I’ve always hated. As soon as we ent
er the room that’s never used, I see the tabletop has been swept clean.

  Santos groans as we set him on the table, adjusting him so that his entire body is lying flat on the surface. With the chandelier above, it’ll be easier to see his wounds rather than using a guest room.

  “We need towels and scissors,” I order. My eyes scan over him, noting most of the blood is centered over one shoulder, his stomach, and his left thigh.

  Someone shoves a scissors in my hand, and I quickly begin cutting away the bloody shirt. A small hole is oozing blood from his shoulder, and another is located in his abdomen, near his belly button. Fuck.

  “He’s losing too much from his leg,” Tomàs says with a curse.

  My attention shifts, and I cut away the fabric around his thigh. Sure enough, blood is practically squirting out of the hole. I put a hand over the wound and glance at Santos, who is ghost white and wincing.

  Staunching the blood isn’t going to work anymore, not when he’s already lost so much. How he hasn’t bled out already is beyond me. Whoever had applied pressure against it on the way here had likely saved his life.

  “Flashlight,” I order.

  Someone has one out in an instant, and I lean over his thigh and spread the wound with my fingers, searching for the artery that’s obviously been nicked or severed. When I see the source of the spurting blood, I pinch it between my fingers. “Check his pulse,” I tell Tomàs as I glance at Santos. He looks like he’s lost consciousness.

  “Pretty thready but still there,” Tomas replies.

  I glance at Callum. “Press those towels to the other wounds.” My eyes shift to the other men gathered in the room, watching to see if Santos is going to pull through. “Secure the perimeter,” I instruct. There’s nothing more any of us can do for Santos.

  The men quickly scatter until it’s just Tomàs and Callum in the room.

  Thankfully, Xavier hurries in with Dr. Jennings on his heels. I remain beside Santos, pinching the artery as the Dr. Jennings surveys the wounds. None of the bullets went through cleanly, which means they need to be removed.

  “He should be transferred to a hospital,” Dr. Jennings warns me.

  “I’m paying you to make certain we don’t have to draw that kind of attention,” I remind. If Santos woke in a hospital, he’d skin me alive—family or not.

  “If he needs further surgery, I may not be able to do it here.”

  “Then we’ll handle that hurdle if it comes.”

  It’s a long night as I remain in the room as the doctor removes all the bullets with only a few minor issues. As expected, Santos needs a blood transfusion, and from past experience, we know Tomàs is already a match.

  Finally, Dr. Jennings tells me exactly what I was hoping to hear. Santos should make a full recovery as long as he stays in bed for a few days. After that, Dr. Jennings suggests limited movement until he begins to heal. That’s going to be next to impossible, but I keep that thought to myself.

  After the doctor is escorted out, I move to Santos’s side and study him. His face is still quite pale, but at least he’s out of danger. Tonight was too close. Both he and Catalina have asked me to put this thing with Herrera to rest. This need of mine to avenge Manny is going to get someone killed, someone I’m supposed to be protecting.

  Twenty-one

  Catalina

  Is it considered hiding if you’re only seeking solace? A few days ago, I’d found the study hidden away on the first floor, and the leather armchair sitting near the window calls to me today. The room is large with bookcases along one wall, and a fireplace located on the other. Tall windows grace the farthest wall facing the property, allowing sunlight to filter into the room. There are a few abstract paintings decorating the beige walls along with two, sizable wall sconces. An elegant desk is located against one wall, but it’s mostly bare, which tells me it’s rarely used. There’s also a brown leather sofa to relax on, and of course, the armchair that I’ve grown to love. A few tall plants are strategically placed around the room to give the study a welcoming feel.

  It seemed like the perfect place to gather my thoughts without interruption. Sure, I could have just stayed in the room I’d been assigned, but I’d needed a change of scenery.

  I’m currently curled up in the armchair, staring out the window while lost in thought. I’d slept horribly last night. Every time I’d close my eyes, I’d relive the nightmare that had unfolded at the cocktail lounge. Then, to get the horror I’d witnessed off my mind, my thoughts would shift to Nikolas and the fact that we’d had sex. That would set off an entirely new set of emotions, and now I’m left feeling utterly drained and somewhat sore from our escape from the bullets.

  I’m relieved to be alive, and during that moment of unrestrained frantic sex, I’d felt a sense of…acceptance. Nikolas and I had been dancing around each other for weeks, and last night was the breaking point. We’d acted on instinct, and it was good, really good.

  Today though, I’m feeling a little out of sorts. I hadn’t expected to be intimate with someone else so soon. I feel like I owe Zac more time, that he deserves that much. There’s a sense of guilt deep within me, but it’s not just related to last night. So much has been happening lately that Zac is becoming more of an afterthought these days. I loved him so much, so I don’t understand how I could be moving on so easily when I once hadn’t been able to consider living another day without him.

  Were my feelings not as strong as I’d once thought?

  I’m so confused.

  This is all happening way too soon. Not that last night meant anything more than a way to release the tension and adrenaline we’d been feeling. It’d be foolish to think otherwise. Plus, I’ll be leaving the country as soon as my father gets what’s coming to him. My stay here is only temporary.

  Honestly, the sooner I can leave the States, the better. Because Nikolas is stirring up emotions that I’m not sure I’m ready for—especially when he feels nothing for me except a passing attraction. Give him a few days after I’m gone, and I’ll probably be nothing more than a distant memory.

  My thoughts shift once more, this time focusing on the men that work for Nikolas. Granted, Tomàs has kept me at a professional distance, but I still find myself worrying for him. Especially since I hadn’t seen him this morning. Then there’s Xavier, the man that had put his body between the bullets and ours, protecting us so we could make our escape. I don’t want any of Nikolas’s men to have been hurt. Not even Santos, even though I know the man hates me. Not that I blame him. I was a bit over-assertive the first time we’d met.

  A light knock on the door startles me, and I look up. I’d left the door ajar to be polite since this isn’t a room that I can claim as my own.

  The door eases open and Nikolas stands there. He’s impeccably dressed today, but I can see the small signs that betray he’s tired from what was probably a very long night. “May I?” he asks, wanting to join me.

  I hadn’t expected him to search me out, and I straighten in the chair. “Sure.”

  He walks over, and I note that he’s carrying a small, white bag. He hands me the bag, and then glances at the nearby sofa. “Mind?”

  I shake my head and try to contain a wealth of emotions. Seeing him brings a tingling sensation to my lower body as I recall how it’d felt to have him inside me. It’s a sensation my body wouldn’t mind repeating, while my mind balks over the idea. Developing any sort of attachment to Nikolas is asking for further heartache.

  Nikolas takes a seat on the sofa, his eyes trained on me. “We didn’t use protection last night.” He nods to the bag. “Take that as soon as possible,” he says lightly.

  I nod, because I’d already been worrying about the repercussions of no protection. I just hadn’t been sure how I wanted to bring it up to him. I’m thankful that he’s addressing the issue.

  He rubs his face, bringing attention to the faint stubble across his strong jawline. I doubt he’d gotten any sleep last night.

  “Was anyo
ne hurt?” I ask quietly, referring to his men. I had chosen to skip breakfast this morning and haven’t spoken to or seen anyone. The first floor of the estate was like a ghost town when I’d left my room and made my way to the study.

  “Xavier took a bullet to the shoulder. Santos took three,” he says, his voice gravelly from exhaustion. “He’ll be fine but down for a while. Tomàs is fine,” he adds. He looks like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, and I can see it lurking deep within his eyes. He’s usually so controlled with his emotions, but today, I can see he’s suffering a wealth of guilt over what had happened last night.

  I look at him somberly. “I didn’t mean to put anyone at risk…” It was probably a bad idea to flaunt myself to the public with the hope of taunting my father.

  Nikolas looks at me sharply, his expression sliding into a frown. “You didn’t. I was the target, not you. It was a regularly scheduled poker game, you just happened to be along.”

  Sadness clouds my eyes as I think of those that had been there for what was supposed to be an enjoyable evening. The blonde bartender hasn’t been far from my thoughts, either. She’d lost her life for no other reason than she was scheduled to work that night. I don’t know how many of the other women survived, and I’m not about to ask. The memory of being there is going to haunt me for a long time to come, I don’t want added torment to make it worse. “So many people died,” I say softly.

  “It wasn’t your fault. You weren’t supposed to be there,” he reminds.

  “How did it happen?” I ask tentatively. “The cocktail lounge was full of people…”

  “They came through a back door and were able to get to the stairwell without the patrons seeing. Once the gunfire began, I’m sure everyone scattered. It’s all over the news this morning.” His eyes turn grim as a muscle pulses in his jaw. “I lost two associates and one other is in surgery.”