by Tia Louise
I’ve been trained for situations like this. I have to put my personal heartache away for now. I have to box it up and set it aside and remember the days before I had a partner. I know this compound like the back of my hand. We might be flies caught in a web, but I know the critical strings to cut to set us free.
A desert is in my mouth, and my head is blistering pain when I wake the next morning. I’m lying on the cold Spanish tiles, an empty tequila bottle in my hand, and the sun streams through the double doors in hot shafts of light.
I guess it’s after noon. I have no idea what time I finally passed out last night. As I suspected, it took the entire bottle to kill the pain… only the pain is still with me, burning in the pit of my stomach. I’ll take another shot at killing it tonight.
In the meantime, my focus returns to the unfinished business tying me to this place. Araña keeps his arsenal hidden in several locations throughout the grounds. His most heavily stocked is in his bedroom closet. I only saw it once when I was here undercover, but like Imelda Marcos’s walls of shoes, my eyes had been dazzled by his display of guns of all sizes, shapes, and levels of automation.
The chances of me getting into that stockpile are less than zero, but I know of another, smaller stash on the main floor near his office. A shard of glass cuts my insides when I remember the very place where I first laid eyes on my husband, the beautiful man facing me with guns in both hands. We’d both been breathing heavily from the fight and the adrenaline, and when we saw each other…
I have to stop this line of thinking. I have to stay strong, focused on my new mission.
Standing slowly, my head pulses with every beat of my heart. I pour water from a crystal decanter into a tumbler at my bedside. I need food. I need to figure out where Araña is today and how I can get my hands on a gun.
Pulling open the closet, I’m greeted by the old clothes I’d worn in the days when I was seducing him. I was put here to infiltrate his organization, learn all I could about the logistics and the men involved, squeeze out every bit of information possible, and then kill him. It was that simple… until it wasn’t.
I take a filmy white dress out of the closet. It’s similar to the one I wore the last day I was here, sleeveless with buttons up the front. The neck scoops low, and the long skirt is full, which I actually prefer because it doesn’t restrict my movement. The best part of this outfit? It makes me look innocent. I tie my hair in a high ponytail to accentuate the illusion.
In less than thirty minutes, I’m headed downstairs to find food and to covertly scope out how many men are here, how well they’re armed, and where they’re stationed. From there I’ll attempt to sneak into Araña’s hidden arsenal.
“Miss Steele,” the familiar voice scrambles my thoughts, putting me immediately on guard.
“Rafael.” This former Mexican drug lord has been hiding out as Araña’s head cook for almost a decade. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“You thought I would run?” Black eyes narrow on me, and he’s holding a ten-inch chef’s knife.
“It’s what rats do when they’re cornered.”
“We are not rats, novio. We are wolves, and we will surround you and tear you limb from limb.”
My jaw clenches. Men like Rafael are the reason I joined the black ops. They’re the one thing Evie and I had in common… before we both fell in love, before Mace. Pain seizes in my chest, but I push it back in it’s compartment. I have to hold it there until I finish this job. Then I’ll walk away and mourn my love.
“Is that so?” My chin lowers, and I level my eyes on his. “The last time I was here, these lobos ran like scared perritos.”
He crosses the space to me, and I plant my feet, ready to fight. I might be unarmed, but I still have my combat training.
“Araña has said we cannot touch you.” He flips the large blade over, pointing it just under my chin. “Should that ever change…”
Our gazes are fused, and I don’t blink. I don’t move as he traces the tip of the blade over my chin. The noise of a door closing breaks his show, and he drops the weapon, turning on his heel back into the kitchen.
“Yes, perrito,” I say under my breath. “Run when the bigger dogs come calling.”
I look back to see a guard now standing inside the living area. He’s not watching me, but he is holding a rifle. That’s two… I continue into the kitchen and take out the plate of deli slices. I take cheese and two pieces of crusty baguette. It’s not much of a breakfast, but it’ll give me the strength I need to finish this job. There’s no way in hell I’m asking Rafael for anything. That fucker would poison me and blame it on poor refrigeration.
Rafael’s presence confirms my suspicion. I have no allies in this place. Every man here is either a drug lord hiding out or one of Araña’s goons. They all know me, and they think they know my role in the burning and takedown of this compound six years ago. Only my original assignment was much more sinister. None of them would be alive if I had succeeded.
My sandals are silent on the tile floors. I slowly walk through the breezy corridor connecting the main house to Araña’s study. I’ve counted three more men—two walking around outside and one at the back entrance. At least Rafael the asshole has given me valuable insight. They’ve all been ordered not to touch me. It’s valuable and ominous. It means Araña has his own plans for disposing of me.
When I reach his office, I stop. My heart beats loudly in my ears, and I look to the right and the left. I haven’t seen him anywhere in the house, which means he’s either behind this door or off site. Taking several calming breaths, I reach out for the handle and slowly turn it. The door opens, and the lights are off.
I exhale slowly, but my heart thuds faster in my chest. I’ve got seconds to get in here, find what I need, and get out. Or come up with a fucking airtight excuse for what I’m doing in here.
Quickly crossing the space, I say a prayer as I type in the six year-old passcode outside the closet door. The lock clicks, and I jump back, looking over my shoulder for shadows, straining my ears for the noise of footsteps. Nothing.
It can’t be this easy, but still I’ve got to try. Stepping inside, I go straight to the back, shoving the clothes aside. I type in the code on the silver metal door, and with a whoosh of air, it slides open revealing a series of narrow metal drawers. Pressing my fingers against the front, the air-cushion release slides out, revealing trays of weapons—small guns, knives, clips, and silencers. I’m just about to pick one up when the voice behind me spins me around.
“I see you remember everything, Amorosa.”
My stance is defensive, fists clenched. “Call me nostalgic.”
Araña does a little chuckle, and puts the cigarillo in the side of his mouth as he reaches past me to press the front of the case. I hear the drawers slide into place and retract into the wall again. I hold my expression steady, not allowing him to see my fear or disappointment.
“How well do you remember this?” His hand is on my thigh gathering the thin material of my dress into his fist. “I remember it so well. I remember this dress…”
“I remember you had many women wearing dresses like this.”
Pushing his fist away, I try to make a break for the door, but he catches me, spinning me around, and holding me by the neck against the wall.
“It’s true.” His voice is calm. The side of his forearm presses against my windpipe, and my face heats. I can’t breathe, and I grab his hand with one arm, pulling it away from my throat. “But you were the only Blanca. My white rose. You left the night I was to plow between your petals.”
I hate his stupid metaphor. It had taken all my creative skill to keep him off me when I was here before, and even then I hadn’t been able to keep him completely away. I’d had to make a few concessions to stay alive.
“How I miss the taste of your sweet nectar,” he smiles, sliding a hand up my waist and over my breast, palming and cupping it, rolling my nipple between his fingers. I want to spit in
his face. “Tonight I will have you many times, in every way. My men will watch. Then I will show you what happens to mujeres who fuck with me. Nazario!”
His hands drop off me and his oversized thug of a bodyguard joins us in the small closet.
“Take her to her room.” Araña grabs my upper arm and shoves me at the man. I bounce off his side with a grunt. “She is not allowed to leave until tonight. Bring her to the main house at eight.”
10
Jessa
Pacing my small room, I try to decide the best way to use the ace up my sleeve. Araña didn’t look when he closed the drawers, so that fucker didn’t see I’d taken his NAA Mini Revolver. Now I’m holding the tiny silver gun in my palm working out a plan of escape.
I don’t have a silencer. If I shoot Nazario, more guards will come with bigger weapons, and I’ll be unarmed and killed. Story over. On the flipside, I could wait until Nazario escorts me to the main house, shoot him in the neck and run. I know the layout of the grounds, and I have a much better chance escaping if I follow that plan.
That only leaves Lajuana.
Araña was right about one thing—she’s the perfect leverage. I could run away and plan a return trip to save her. In the meantime, she’d be subjected to the torture they’ve planned for me. She’s only fourteen. My stomach roils when I imagine her raped and beaten. These men are animals. They’d most likely post it on the Internet for the world to see. I’m sure they’re planning to do as much to me.
“Fuck!” I stomp around the room until I’m at the window. Pressing my head against the frame, I allow a moment of weakness as the tears fall. “I fucking need help.”
My throat is raw and I’m so tired. I want this thing to be over. I want Araña dead. It’s in that moment that I know what I have to do. The answer falls over me with calm resolve, and I go to my dresser. Retrieving a pair of nude stockings, I rip them in two and use the long end to tie the tiny, silver revolver to my thigh. I’m just in time for the door to crack open.
The men sit in various locations around the room. Nazario has me by the arm as he leads me down the wide staircase to where they’re all waiting. A quick scan tells me seventeen men fill the large, open room. All of them hold drinks, and some are in groups of three. Their eyes gleam with lechery.
In the center of the room is a divan. It’s dark, mahogany wood with blood-red velvet upholstery. One side goes up with an arm like a scroll. Araña reclines against it, and his hand is on his crotch, slowly stroking. He’s wearing a white linen shirt and loose, drawstring trousers. I suppose that will preserve his dignity while he strips away mine.
“Ahh, my blanca rosa,” he growls, continuing to stroke himself. “Or should I say negra rosa?”
Rafael laughs loudly from the audience, and my lips instinctively curl in disgust. They all disgust me.
Nazario leads me to the center of the room. I don’t fight him. I allow him to hold my upper arm, keeping pace with his strides. I’m showing no signs of fear or capitulation. Once I’m standing before Araña, he walks away, to one of the seats lining the perimeter, where I assume he’ll jerk off as he watches his master abuse me.
“Amorosa,” Araña rises slowly in front of me. He stands so close his chest grazes my breasts. I’m in the same white dress I wore before, and I stand very still, waiting for the exact moment to make my move. “You are still so beautiful.”
He cups my jaw with his open hand then he curls his fingers and runs his nails along my skin. I fight a shudder of revulsion.
“Are you wet for me, pequeño? I’m so hard for you.” He takes my hand and guides it to his crotch, holding my wrist in a death grip as he forces me to stroke his erection.
My teeth clench, and I bite back a jab about Viagra. I need him relaxed. I need him to think I’m giving in to him. It’s time.
“Oh!” I say as if I’ve had a sudden realization. Blinking up, I make my eyes round, dewy. “It’s so big… I never knew it was so big.”
His eyebrows quirk up, and he’s almost buying it. Still, I need to do more. Turning, I press my body against his chest, arching my back and rotating my hips so that my ass is against his crotch.
“I wish we had music,” I purr, moving against him.
One hand moves to my stomach, and I see him motion to the other side of the room. “Musica,” he orders.
It takes a bit, but soon, the soft trumpets and drumbeat of a marimba floats around us, and I close my eyes, allowing it to guide my movements. The lights dim as well, and I continue grinding.
“Yes,” I sigh. “That’s what I like.”
His hands move to the center of my thighs and start to rise. On the beat, I turn to face him bending my knees and twisting down his body, teasing him as if I’ll suck his dick. Inwardly, I dare him to put that vulnerable member in my mouth. Outwardly, I infuse my eyes with longing and desire.
Stopping at his crotch, I circle my nose around the rigid lump hidden just beneath the fabric, and when I look up again, I’ve got him. The men in the room make loud catcalls, and I glance to the side to see some already have their cocks out stroking them. I only wish I had enough bullets…
I rise and stand in front of him. “Sit,” I whisper, holding my hand out to the small couch. “I want to show you how wet I am.”
He only hesitates to lower his trousers, freeing his erection. I couldn’t have choreographed it better myself. He leans against the red velvet back, pelvis in position, I’m sure, for me to sit on him. I reach between my thighs, slowly lifting my skirt, sliding my palms up the insides, against my smooth skin.
“Yes,” he hisses as my skirt goes higher.
“I’m not wearing panties,” I tease as the fingers of my left hand reach the stocking around my leg.
Holding that hand on my skirt over the makeshift strap, I continue lifting my right, diverting his attention. His breathing increases visibly. He’s straining to see me finger my clit.
From somewhere to the left, I hear the mutters of men jacking off. I hear a “Fuck yeah,” and I want to vomit.
Araña is not watching as my left hand follows the stocking strap to the small metal revolver locked and loaded on my outer thigh. My fingers close around it. I pull it from my skirt, but as I’m whipping it around, a male voice shouts.
“She’s got a gun!”
BLAST! I pull the trigger without hesitation, but the shout distracted my aim. Instead of shooting him right in the dick, I hit him in the thigh. Taking advantage of the haze of onanism filling the room, I sprint toward Lajuana’s quarters.
“STOP!” Araña roars. “Stop her!”
Pushing my legs hard, I run at my top speed down the long hallway. I haven’t seen her all day, and I can only hope she’s here. I reach her door as I’m hearing the thud of boots right behind me. Twisting the knob, I throw it open and dash inside.
The lights are off. I’m breathing hard and my pulse roars in my ears.
“Lajuana?” I gasp looking right, left, right again.
She’s not here.
It’s empty.
“NO!” I wail, spinning around, when I’m caught by the waist.
Strong arms like bands of iron lift me off the ground and brace me against the wall. The door is kicked shut, and I hear the lock turn. My back is pressed against what feels like a wall of granite, but overwhelming all of it is the scent—warm citrus and crisp linen. My throat closes. Air surges into my lungs so fast, I can’t breathe. I struggle against the familiar arms holding me until they relax, and I land on my feet.
Holding his wrists, I slowly turn. Tears blur my vision at the sight of his dark hair. His navy eyes look down on me, and the sob rips from my throat.
“Mace!” I lunge forward into his arms, trembling violently.
I’m off my feet again, and my legs go around his waist. I hug his neck, kissing anything I can get my mouth on, his ear, his temple, his cheekbone. My fingers open and close, clutching at his collar, his hair, until finally our mouths collide.
&nb
sp; Warm lips part mine, and we consume each other. Tongues meet and curl, taste and savor. Soft whimpers come from my throat as I grasp him, kissing him, holding him. His large hands hold my ass, and his beard scuffs my cheeks.
“Jessa,” his deep voice is like hot caramel in my veins.
Leaning forward again, I press my forehead against his neck, and I hold him, inhaling his scent so deeply, allowing the vibration of relief and deepest joy to heal my shattered insides.
“Oh, Mace, I thought you were dead.” I’m still whimpering, holding him, and his large hand slides up and down my back.
“I’m getting you out of this place.”
“What about—”
“Lajuana is safe. Ella helped me get her out about an hour ago. It was the fucking worst thing I’ve ever done, but I had to trust you could handle yourself in there.”
“I wasn’t going down without a fight.”
“I wasn’t going to let you go down.” He catches the back of my head, pulling my mouth to his again.
Our lips part, and I kiss him hard, like he’s the most decadent chocolate, tiny licks, little nips… I never want to let him go, but a loud BANG! outside the door snatches us from the bliss of reunion back into the hell of this unfinished business.
“Here.” Mace steps to the bed and lifts a thin Kevlar vest.
I kiss the tiny revolver and slip it back into the strap on my thigh before quickly securing the protective fabric around my torso. Next he places a Beretta 92FS in one of my hands and a .45 USP Elite in the other.
“You’re fully loaded,” he says.
I look up at him with fire in my eyes and a smile on my face. “You know exactly what to say.”
“I like your hair,” he says, giving me a wink. I laugh, and he cocks two Browning Buckmarks, one in each hand. “Let’s finish these fuckers.”