by Jianne Carlo
“Look at me, Jacinta. I want you to remember that something that told you Emilio wasn’t to be trusted. Hold on to that, and if you ever feel it again, trust it.” His palms warmed her face, and his eyes had gone muddy again. “Always go with your gut.”
“My gut tells me that you know my mother. And you know much about me but do not want to tell me.” She covered his hands with hers and willed some nuance of what he felt to show in his gaze.
“I don’t know your mother.” He met her stare. “I know of her, but I don’t know her.”
“Por favor. Tell me what you know.” He blinked, looked away, and an icy chill coated her skin. Dread weighted her shoulders. She dropped her hands and fixed her focus on a knot in the table. “She is dead.”
“Yes.” He lifted her chin. “Her name is Rosa Nunez. And she died recently.”
“Nunez. That’s the name you called me before. Have you known from the start?” She gritted her teeth, knowing if he lied now, all that had happened between them meant nothing.
“I didn’t know until I saw your face in the car. You are the spitting image of your mama.” Demon kissed her forehead. “You’re handling this well, kitten.”
“Do not patrosize me. I would have the truth now.” She crossed her arms and chewed one lip until it stung, needing the pain to stop certain tears.
“Patronize. And that’s the last thing I would do to you. The truth is that your mother died suddenly not two months ago.”
Her insides twisted, and she bent over, clutching her stomach.
Winding his arms around her, he dropped kisses on her forehead and hair and hugged her so tight she couldn’t breathe. “It’ll be okay. I promise. It’ll be okay.”
“No.” She swatted his shoulder. “You don’t understand. It was okay before I left the cloister. Nothing is okay now.”
“I know you’re hurting. And if I could, I’d take it for you. Lean on me. Let me take care of you now.” He caged his whole body around her, touching her everywhere. “I’m not letting you go. Cry. Hit me. Do whatever you need to.”
She squeezed her eyes shut for a second and then surrendered to the safety of his embrace. Tilting her head back to meet his gaze, she let the heat and sheer intensity of the declaration in his brown eyes wash away the rawness of the pain. She touched his jaw, enjoyed the softness of the stubble covering his chin, and knew without a doubt she loved him. “I thank you. I don’t know what I would have done these last days without you.”
He colored, a bright stain coursing over his stubborn jaw, and cleared his throat. “You should eat more.”
Something he’d said earlier hit her hard, as if she’d been punched in the stomach.
“Two months? You said my mother died not two months ago? Had I not delayed my decision to leave the cloister—” Jacinta jabbed her fist against her mouth. So close. She had been so close. It was no use; nothing would stop the tears. They rolled down her cheeks in great, fat blobs, and her chest ached. Hearts did break, for hers split apart in that moment.
“It’s okay.” He had her crushed so hard against his chest that she couldn’t move, and she didn’t want to. He brushed his lips over her temple, her eyebrows and crooned softly to her. “She loved you.”
Jacinta hiccupped. “No. She sent me away.”
“To protect you. To keep you safe. Trust me. She didn’t feel she had any other choice.” Demon framed her face and gave her a little shake. “Look at me, Jacinta. What I have to tell you is not good. Know one thing. I’m by your side. I’ll be here for as long as you want me.”
His eyes were the color of molasses; all the green had vanished. Ghost shivers coasted over her nape, and fear tainted her saliva acidic. “Tell me.”
“Your mother has a brother. His name is Pedro Nunez. He’s a drug lord. You know what that is?”
“Sim, sim. I am not stupid.” She pushed away the plate and the cold, congealed food. The smell of the fish and sheer, sharp pangs of horror had her stomach rioting.
“You’re smart as a whip, but you’ve been locked away from the outside world since birth. There’re huge gaps in your knowledge.” He brushed his lips across hers. “Remember what I told you before, that you can’t pick your relatives? Hang on to that. Pedro Nunez is better known as o Assassino Sorridente.”
She gasped and smacked a hand over her mouth. Her fingers and toes went icy. Even in the cloister, they knew of the Smiling Killer, the man who’d massacred an entire village for surrendering one of his men to la policia. How he liked to strangle his victims to see the moment the life left their eyes. This man was her uncle?
“Take a deep breath, honey. Breathe. You look like you’re about to pass out.” He grabbed her hands and began rubbing them hard. “Damn it. I wish we had liquor around.”
“I will not swoon. My uncle is a murderer. Was my mother a whore?” Maybe it was best that she had not known her mother. Maybe it was best her mother had died. Maybe she should have never left the cloister.
“No. Rosa Nunez’s only flaw was having Pedro for a brother. We don’t have much information on your mother. Pedro kept her prisoner at his Colombian ranch. But from what little we know, she tried to escape from him on a regular basis.”
“You are telling me the truth?” Jacinta studied his face. The muscle in his cheek had stopped twitching, and his thigh muscles no longer felt like they could bounce coins high and wide.
“I am.” He held her jaw. “Have you any memory of any other place but the cloister?”
“No. Why do you ask me this?” She searched his features, but he wore the warrior mask once more.
He shook his head. “No. I’m trying to piece things together.”
“Who are you? You said we don’t have much information. Who is we?” Straightening, she fixed him with a fierce glare and jammed her arms across her chest. “I should like to tell you something.”
He sighed. “Go ahead.”
“Do not lie to me in this. It is bad enough that you have been inside of me and I do not know your name. I would have some measure of trust between us.” She jutted her chin.
Her throat clogged when he hooded his eyes and that muscle in his cheek twitched. “I’ll tell you all that I can right now. Pedro Nunez killed his sister. According to our sources, there was a fight, and in a fit of rage, he stabbed her to death.”
Jacinta jumped off his lap and backed away when he tried to touch her. “No. No. I will go louco. No more. What evil am I spawned from? A brother who kills his own sister? A half brother who would not only violate me, but let his amigos do so as well? I must meditate. I must be alone.”
He didn’t attempt to stop her but nodded and growled, “I’ll go up on deck.”
“No. I cannot be caged now. I will go up on deck.” Jacinta didn’t even realize she cried until her vision blurred. She stumbled out of the kitchen. Bumped into the steering wheel in the engine room and never felt the pain, too numb, too frozen to register even the light drizzle that dampened her hair and arms when she staggered onto the deck.
She curled into a ball on the bench. The tears wouldn’t stop. Jacinta cried for the mother she had never known. Sobbed for her mother’s pain at the hands of her brother. Wept for the dreams she could no longer cling to. Dreams of a family who would claim her, dreams of aunts, uncles, cousins, sisters, brothers. Hiccupped and coughed until her throat was hoarse. Didn’t notice when Demon took the bench opposite, firmed her hands around a mug of hot, sweetened tea, and swaddled her shoulders with his camouflage jacket.
When the hiccups died away, she drank the tepid tea and blinked him into focus. “Tell me the rest.”
He moved to her bench and settled her sideways on his lap. The rain had stopped, and the quarter moon reappeared. His grave expression, the tight set of his mouth, the way he avoided her eyes warned her that whatever he had to say would only compound the vile news he’d already given her.
“Emilio’s mother’s name is Elvira Vilas. She was raped by Pedro Nunez two decades a
go. Many months later, she married Jose Genro.”
“The governor of Roraima. Emilio’s father. And mine too if we are half sister and brother.” Jacinta steeled her spine and edged back so she could see him. “Why would my half brother want to harm me? Did my father, Jose, know about me?”
“Emilio’s motivations, I can’t begin to guess at. From what we can deduce, Jose married Elvira for her political connections and for revenge. She’s the daughter of Rafael Vilas, the governor of Amazonas.”
“I know of him. I do not understand. Why would my uncle rape this man’s daughter, this Elvira?”
“She and Rosa, your mother, were friends. Rafael once worked for your uncle. They had a disagreement. Grew to be enemies.”
“My head aches. I am so confused. What does this have to do with you? With me? With what is happening?” She knuckled her temples, but the throbbing wouldn’t abate.
“About two months ago, Pedro’s commander in chief was killed.” His hawklike stare held her hostage. “I am his replacement.”
She knew he expected her to flinch and turn away from him. Jacinta kissed his cheek. ”You forget how we met. I know in my heart that you are not like my uncle. You are no rapist, nor a murderer.”
“You scare the spit out of me. You have to stop trusting strangers.” He rolled his eyes. “How do I get this into your head?”
“You are no stranger to me. It is as if I have known you forever. Tell me the rest.”
“They call me la Semilla del Demonio. And I have killed many men.” He stared at her unblinkingly, his voice deeper and rougher than the boat’s engines when they fired.
“The Demon Seed. That is why you will not tell me your name.” All the spy movies she’d watched since leaving the cloister crowded her brain. “So I do not blow your cover. Now I understand. Once again you try to protect me like you would a child. How often must I tell you—I am not helpless.”
But the realization lifted her spirits and scrubbed away the hurt. “And when I refuse to call you Demon, I undermount your cover.”
“Undermine.” He shook his head, but that rare smile appeared like a blinding blast of sunshine, and she touched the three dimples when his lips curved—two dimples on the right side, only one on the left because of the scar.
“What am I going to do with you, kitten? Didn’t you hear what I said? I’ve killed dozens of men.” He leaned his forehead on hers, and his warm, coffee-scented breath tickled her face.
“Mas, of course. You are a warrior. I knew that from the first, from your actions and stance on the beach. And you, you are a SEAL, no? I have read much about them in the papers.”
“An ex-SEAL. Many ex-SEALs are mercenaries. Kill for whoever pays the highest dollar.” He folded his arms now, and she grinned.
“Not you.” She didn’t bother to add any more for something worried her about all he had said, but she couldn’t define what.
“You can’t know that.”
She threw her hands up. “There can be only one reason you are replacing this commander. You will take o Assassino Sorridente back to America. To punish him for his crimes. It is the right thing to do. I will help.”
“That is the one thing you will not do.” He captured her wrists and brought his nose to hers, making her eyes cross. “Because you won’t be in the same hemisphere as of two days from now.”
“What do you mean? That is not possible. Emilio has my travel papers.” Her eyelids suddenly became heavy to lift. She yawned and covered her mouth with one hand.
“Not a problem. It’s all arranged. In two days, you’ll be on a plane to the United States.” He glowered at her, his shaggy eyebrows pulling together like a jagged rope.
“No. You patronize me again. I am not helpless. How can you even think of such a thing? I must find out about my mother. I must visit her grave.”
She had to see where her mother had lived. Maybe there were more pictures, a prayer book, a diary like the one she kept. What a treasure that would be. Another wide yawn stretched her mouth, and she didn’t have the energy to do the polite thing and hide the tonsils that must surely show.
“Listen to me. Pedro killed his own sister. Do you think he would hesitate to kill you? He wouldn’t. Not for a second. If you thought Emilio was bad, Pedro’s a thousand times worse. He kept your mother a prisoner, Jacinta. She sent you away because she knew what he’s capable of.”
“How do you know this? What are you not telling me?” She yanked her wrists free and drummed her fists on his chest. “Did Emilio know my mother is dead?”
“What do you think?”
“I think he knew. Revenge. That’s what Emilio wanted. To send me to my uncle after many rapings. I do not understand. Why did he take me to Venezuela?” She dug a fist into her aching temple and succumbed to a series of several more yawns.
“You’re as pale as a ghost. And you’ve got smudges under your eyes. That’s enough for tonight. We’ll continue this tomorrow. You need some food in your stomach and a good night’s rest.”
She shook her head, but her mind remained fuzzy. “I thought I felt turvy-topsy before, but this is worse. I feel as if I have cotton in my brain.”
“Topsy-turvy. I put a sedative in your tea. It’s kicking in.”
Not able to choke off the yawn erupting from her mouth, she tried to summon the energy to glare at him. But when he gathered her close, she rested her cheek on his bare chest needing to hear the comforting sound of his heart beating.
Drained, emotions spent, she allowed him to carry her to the bunk, stood unresisting when he stripped her, and replaced her clothes with a T-shirt that smelled of him.
She dutifully chewed the chunks of a bar of chocolate he fed her until her jaw grew too weary to function. Drawing on the last of her reserves, Jacinta cleaned her teeth and crawled into the bunk.
He spooned her, his large body warming her chilled skin, wrapped himself around her, and buried his face in the crook of her neck. Sleep claimed her wool-stuffed thoughts like a heavy blanket before she could wish him good night.
* * * *
Though she felt the warmth of the sun and her subconscious registered the morning, Jacinta fought to stay in that half-dazed, delightful stage between distrait slumber and full consciousness. Fantasies fogged her mind, prickles coated her flesh, and her sex clenched. She arched to the tongue lapping at her folds, and her thighs edged farther apart in response to the firm, insistent pressure of hard shoulders.
Peering down the length of her body, a smile stole across her face at the sight that met her eyes—Demon’s head between her legs, the sandy waves of his hair mingled with the dark V of curls leading to her core. He looked up, their gazes met, and he flashed the wicked grin that liquefied her bones.
“Mornin’, kitten.”
She drank him in. His face glistened in the peach glow of a half-formed dawn. The obvious evidence of her arousal coated his nose, mouth, and cheeks. He smacked his lips. “Best breakfast in the world.”
Her inner walls contracted, and she couldn’t drag her gaze away from him, not even if a thousand Yanomami invaded the houseboat right then and there.
“I’ve discovered some of your sweet spots.”
His voice had coarsened, and her stomach hollowed as the bass growl rumbled through her insides. She crushed the pillow lying between her and the wall when the rough surface of his tongue dawdled at the rim of her center.
“Ah yeah. You like that.”
His thumb traced the circle, the pressure forcing her inner walls into a tight, rapid squeezing. Her vision blurred. She sucked in air but couldn’t fill her lungs. Jacinta sighed and surrendered to the sheer pleasure of feeling, of letting go of any semblance of logic, savoring every caress of his blunt, calloused fingers, the slow, careful licking and suckling of each fold, and the tantalizing feathering of his rasped, hot breath over her damp flesh.
He pinched her nubbin. She levered off the bunk and cried out, “Mãe de Deus.”
“I’m
the strategy member of the squad.”
She heard the words but registered no meaning to them, too distracted by his teeth tugging her pubic hair. The stinging sensation spiked her nipples into a tingling, burning neediness.
“I set goals. Devise the strategy to achieve them.”
Wanting nothing more than to force him to nibble and nip at her nub, she opened her eyes to find him fixing her with a predatory stare. “Goal: five orgasms. Strategy: make you beg for each and every one.”
Time had no meaning. Reality evaporated. The sole focus of her existence drew down to his touch, his taste, his scent, his hooded study of her every reaction. His hearing seemed acutely attuned to her every half-stifled whimper and moan, for whenever she made a sound at a particularly electrifying caress, he tortured her by repeating it over and over.
“Who’s licking your pussy, Jacinta? Tell me. Then I’ll let you come.”
He brushed his lips back and forth over her nub, the light grazing so frustrating she tangled her hands in his hair and urged him to that spot. He shook free of her hold, rested his tongue there, licked her and then ordered, “Tell me right now.”
She gasped when he thrust a finger deep inside and continued with the lithe, teasing brushing of his lips on her core. Stretching her tightness, he added another finger. Her lungs squeezed. She couldn’t gather a single thought, needed him to thrust faster, increase the pressure. “Por favor, I beg you, Demon.”
Within a flash, his teeth grazed her nub, and he worked her without mercy, his fingers hitting nerves that sent her vaginal muscles into spiraling spasms that elicited a climax so intense her vision darkened at the corners.
He held her through the fierce aftershocks, sliding up the mattress and raining hot, openmouthed kisses over her neck, throat, and eyelids. Spent, unable to summon enough strength to move an inch, it took long seconds before she felt the heat of his stare and met his gaze.
“I can watch you come for hours. Taste you all day and all night. You’re so beautiful like this. All flushed and dazed. That was orgasm number one, kitten. Four more to go.”