Savage Secrets (Titan #6)

by Harber, Cristin

  “Not her. You.”

  That was exactly what he wanted, to leave Caterina safe with Roman, but she’d probably de-ball him later if he tried that move. Taking longer to respond than he should have, Rocco shook his head. “She goes where I go. Package deal. As does that man.” He pointed to Roman. “I need assurances that she’s safe after your thugs made their move.”

  The man stepped forward and placed his palm on Caterina’s shoulder. She didn’t react. Didn’t have to. Rocco’s muscles surged forward. His shoulder caught the man before his brain caught up and said not to attack. They slammed against a storefront. The man’s head smacked back, and spider-webbing cracked the glass. Trickles of blood ran down his neck.

  “Never touch her.” His body pounded. Unanticipated fury caught him off guard, but he channeled it. His hands cupped the man’s neck. “I’ll tear your throat out if you lay hands on her again.”

  Sweat beaded on the man’s forehead, and lack of oxygen turned it a gonna-die-soon shade of fleshy red. The other ACG men approached cautiously from behind but didn’t engage. Roman hovered, ready for whatever Rocco needed.

  “Got me, dickhead? Touch her and die.” Rocco rippled his fingers then released.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The familiar sing-song of adrenaline rushing through Rocco’s veins centered him. Amid the coughing and hacking, Caterina stood next to him, unfazed. There may even have been the slightest smile on her face, though she tried to downplay her amusement. Funny how he was getting to know her slightest tics.

  Rocco glared at the other men and returned his gaze to the cougher. “We prefer discretion. I prefer a blanket of anonymity. That is how I do business. I don’t care if it is El Mateperros or not. Understand me?”

  Sirens roared.

  Rubbing his throat, the man stood down and walked toward the other men. A quick nod and a mumble, then two Mercedes sedans rolled up.

  Rocco turned to Caterina. “You okay, darlin’?”

  “Never better.” Her eyes twinkled.

  He squeezed her hand, uncomfortable with the anger bubbling in his chest. “Someone touches you like that again, prepare for the unexpected.”

  In her heels, she went up on her tiptoes again and whispered into his ear, “Un segundo.”

  There she went with her Spanish again, as if he could ever say no. At least he understood this one. One second. Got it.

  Caterina stepped to the disoriented man who still rubbed his throat. She let loose a fury of words he didn’t know but would pay to hear again. Tearing him up, then down, verbally assaulting him for laying a finger on her. Shock pinched the man’s face. He seemed even more surprised at the finger poking than at the scuffle.

  Cat turned back to Rocco, went back to her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Had to get something off my chest.”

  Talk about a proud moment. He chuckled, shaking his head. Roman tried to hide a laugh with a cough, and the ACG men were either embarrassed or in shock, but all parted as Caterina walked toward the waiting Mercedes. Her lips screwed, and her head tilted, letting dark brown hair fall over a smoky eye. “Are we leaving?”

  “We are.” Roman moved toward her, and Rocco followed.

  The driver of the car held open a door for Cat like some pleasant terrorist chauffeur. When Roman took the front passenger seat, Rocco slipped in the backseat with Caterina.

  She whispered close enough that no one else could hear. “Temper, temper.”

  Lacing his fingers into to Caterina’s, Rocco tried to focus on their goal. They needed details on the ACG’s upcoming attacks—not just Big Ben—in order to prevent them. They had to find out how extensive the network was and if the rumors about their financing had any truth. They had to do everything they could to take down El Mateperros, bring him to justice, and dismantle the ACG.

  Easy enough.

  The driver handed each of them black silk scarves. “Eyes, please.”

  That was expected. Caterina took hers without questioning and fashioned it over her eyes. Roman glared from the front passenger seat, but did his too.

  “Between the two of us—” Rocco glared at the driver. “If something smells wrong, the ties come off, and you’ll be in a world of hurt. You feel me?”

  “El Mateperros prefers anonymity.”

  “As do I. But I’m only willing to play this game up to a point. That stunt outside earned the ACG no goodwill with me.”

  He donned the blindfold, then listened and anticipated every move, memorizing the turns and traverses. They were going back and forth. The luxury sedan clipped carefully over railroad tracks at the same crossing more than once. Made sense. The driver was being careful to keep their precious Dog Killer hidden. Rocco didn’t much care since he already been there. A couple of blindfolds and beefed up ACG blowhards trying to touch his woman wouldn’t keep him from mission accomplished.

  Caterina’s hand found his again. Cloaked under the black silk blindfolds, they sat in the back seat. He stroked his thumb over her delicate knuckles. It never failed to surprise him how soft she felt, even when the image of her in black, wielding sparking electrical wires was his favorite memory of her. Well, of her clothed.

  Her lips found his earlobe. “You okay?”

  Rocco jerked back to look at her even though he was blindfolded. “Yeah. You?”

  She eased closer, and her lips tickled his neck, then his ear. All part of the man-and-wife charade, but the pinpricks running across his skin wasn’t faked.

  “This means more to me than you will ever know.” She held her breath. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel it. Feel her. “I need you to know that.”

  He shivered. “Understood.”

  “I wish you did.”

  The black tie blocked everything out. No sun. No outlines. He imagined her biting her lip, looking lost, but he didn’t know why. He would rather she work that sinful smile and bat those thick, dark lashes. He wanted her try to convince their onlookers of their newlywed spark, of their deep connection. Too bad he was already convinced. Hell, well past convinced and on his way to believing his own BS. A couple in love...

  Caterina whispered, “If things don’t go as planned. If… something happens, we’re partners.”

  Something? Like what? Nothing could happen that they hadn’t prepared for, with the exception of a trippy freakin’ mental breakdown. He wouldn’t have an episode. That simply wasn’t an option. He’d kill himself trying to stop it before he left her alone with El Mateperros.

  Wait. He wasn’t alone. Suddenly, Roman made much more sense. Which meant Jared knew. Maybe. And what did Roman know? Rocco would deal with that line of questioning ASAP, but in the meantime, he had Cat talking about vague what-ifs and partnerships, and he needed her to focus.

  “We’re married, Kitten. You’re stuck with me.” He brought her knuckles to his lips. “Nothing to worry about.”

  A few more turns and curves and the engines stopped.

  “Blindfolds off.” The driver exited and opened Cat’s door. Rocco and Roman snagged theirs off. Cat twisted her silk tie around her fingers. Nervous? Not this lady. No way.

  But something was bothering her. Then all of her fidgeting stopped like she’d flipped a switch. “This may be the best and worst day of my life.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Caterina had been at El Mateperros’s quaint house just the day before, but it hadn’t had the same effect as it did that moment. Today, she would face him. As she exited the Mercedes, her head spun. She balanced on her heels and stymied the overwhelming urge to run into the house, find El Mateperros, and put a bullet between his eyeballs. Quick and easy wouldn’t do. He needed to suffer, and Titan needed to find out everything they could about the ACG before she ended the Dog Killer’s miserable existence. That was the right thing to do for London, but more importantly, that was the right thing to do because Rocco wanted Titan to assist in dismantling the ACG.

  It wasn’t lost on her that his motivations were playing into her plans
.

  The ACG men exited the second Mercedes, and they all began the walk toward the house. She couldn’t wait to meet El Mateperros. What did evil look like? And what made him hide? Horribly disfigured? Humpbacked and covered in mangled warts? That was a little clichéd, but why else would a man hide so deftly?

  Rocco and Roman flanked her. She barely noticed. They had spoken to her, but she had no idea what they said. In seconds, she would be face to face with the man who’d ordered her family’s massacre. The man who’d earned his name on her family. The Cruz family’s massacre had started El Mateperros’s rise to fame, if the local rumor mill was to be believed. The ACG had been a fledging group the day they’d killed her family, leaving her alive. It was the first day that monster had started his reign of brutality.

  Yesterday, the country house and all its cuteness had irritated. Today it was almost unbearable. Potted flower boxes lined the first floor windows, and the stone path they walked on was smooth, surrounded by manicured grass. Surrounded by the ACG men, Rocco took her hand. Roman walked ahead. Her pulse raced while her mouth went dry. Just feet until she breached the door. Five. Four. Three. Two. And she was inside the home of her prey, her target, her life’s obsession. She trembled in the waves of adrenaline. So very close. Inside the door, nutmeg and allspice hung in the air. Her irritation quadrupled.

  “Weapons.” The man Rocco had skirmished with beckoned his hand at them. “You’ll get them back.”

  Rocco growled. “Again, not how we do business.”

  “Then we’ll take you back.”

  A standoff ensued. Long seconds felt like decades. Caterina shifted, trying for nonchalant but drowning in impatience. Rocco shifted too, then nodded to Roman. They disarmed. She waited for him to motion to her to do the same. A quick nod gave her the go. But with all their eyes on her and her gun way up her thigh… Screw it. She hiked up her skirt, unholstered the gun, and placed it in the hands of a man who might’ve just come in his pants.

  “Check them.” The lead ACG man gestured to them.

  Rocco stepped between her and the men. “Touch her and you already know what will happen.”

  Someone manhandling her might cause Rocco to lose his mind. Last thing she needed was for him to hallucinate. Lord, what would happen then?

  “One more.” She pulled out a serrated blade from her other thigh, and every man in the foyer stared, jaws hanging. “I expect this back.”

  Roman gawked at her, then at Rocco, who knew what he was thinking. She could’ve done a strip tease and not bagged that reaction. Men loved their bloody toys, and when a woman hid them on her body, she had the upper hand.

  The ACG men shuffled, glancing everywhere but at her, all looking as though they’d been busted for peeking up a girl’s skirt. Not too many gun-and-knives-toting ladies must have crossed their paths.

  “Si? I will get that back?”

  Their heads nodded. Even the lower-in-command looking ACG men, who she was sure had no say. All right, already. Time to get this meeting rolling.

  The one who’d ordered their disarming led them down a hall. Knick-knacks decorated shelves. Rows of books lined the walls and were stacked on the floor. Maybe this wasn’t El Mateperros’s house. A grandmother’s, maybe? Caterina’s teeth sawed together. His family lived comfortably while hers had been buried, murdered by his order. Bastard.

  “Wait here,” the lead man said, and she noticed red welts on his neck.

  They were left in a sun room. Fresh herbs grew in labeled little planters along the expanse of windows. Her temples throbbed. What kind of terrorist headquarters was this?

  “Sage?” She scowled at the plant. “Mint?”

  Rocco meandered around the room, poking and reading their labels, then nodded to the books lining the halls. “Didn’t take the guy for an avid reader.”

  “Stephen Covey, Steven Levitt, and Jim Cramer? Dude’s got a whole lot of economics books.” Roman picked one up. “Looking for Fame by Lady Gaga? Really?”

  Her brow furrowed in such a way that a migraine was sure to come. El Mateperros was a pig. A terrorist. What was he doing with lavender and lemon basil decorating a room that was this… gorgeous? Sun streamed in. Loungers and chairs begged visitors to take a seat, relax, and soak in the breathtaking view of greenery. She hated it. Hated him.

  Rocco sidled up to her. “You okay?”

  “Never. Better.” The pressure in her head was going to make it pop off. Today had to be one of the best days of her life. She’d finally have a face to go with the name.

  “If you say so.” He picked a label from a container. “Lemon basil? Who would’ve guessed?”

  Her fingernails dug into the palms of her balled-up fists. Maybe she could emit enough hatred that Rocco would stop commenting on fucking herb blossoms. Roman looked equally intrigued.

  “Daniel Locke.” A smooth voice surprised her from behind.

  Rocco and Roman turned. Bile rushed into Caterina’s throat, coating her tongue. She coughed. Choked. Sputtered. That moment, that very second she’d been waiting for the better part of her life was at hand. The monster had graced them with his presence.

  Her heart pounded too loudly, enough that it drowned out the initial pleasantries between the men. She didn’t hear a thing—too busy succumbing to memories. Shouts, gunfire, and the taste of the blood from her bitten lips. Chewing the inside of her mouth. She didn’t understand why, on her special day, the world was falling apart. Rocco touched her back. She still hadn’t turned around. Her eyes threatened to water, but she refused. She would not let it happen, so help her God. Not for El Mateperros. No signs of weakness. No telltale vulnerabilities put forth for the asshole to enjoy. Fuck him. She wanted his pain. His sorrow. She wanted to capture it, to bottle it to look upon and draw from when she was at her worst.

  Her pseudo husband’s hand walked around her waist, reassuring her with just a touch. He stepped back—smart not to take his eyes off their enemy—and leaned over, his lips at her ear.

  “You okay, Kitten?”

  No. She was falling apart on so many levels. That goddamn second, she couldn’t breathe.

  “Kitten?” He stepped closer, and she blinked back the burn of painful tears.

  Cat swallowed. Swallowed again. Her nose wrinkled, and she inhaled as deeply as she could manage in a blouse and bra that had turned into a vise.

  “Fine.” She cleared her throat. God must think her a badass because he’d handed her this moment, and he didn’t dole out shit she couldn’t handle. That was a fact taught long ago by that miserable bitch called life. She nodded. Stronger. Her family deserved better than a pathetic public breakdown.

  Balancing on one heel, she pivoted and looked up. Rocco, Roman, and El Mateperros. El Mateperros? Her lips parted. Fury fell. Shock. This had to be… shock. El Mateperros? The Dog Killer looked… smart, even debonair. She choked back bile because some might even call him…gorgeous. Strength came back to her in droves, reminding her of all she’d been through. She wanted to tear his face off, shred his tailored suit, and rip out his perfect black hair by the fistful.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  El Mateperros extended his hand toward Caterina. It hung, looking pampered and soft. His eyes were the color of brown sugar, crinkling at the corners, dancing like he knew he was the man. It made her sick.

  “Mrs. Locke, the pleasure is all mine.” The hand continued to await her.

  A storm raged in her chest. A thick blanket of suffocation wrapped itself around her.

  Rocco’s grip on her tightened, and his throat cleared. “Kitten?” He was a little louder that time, evidence to her mini-public breakdown. This was so bad. “Okay?”

  Okay? No. She wasn’t okay. She expected a mass murderer with pocks and scars and gouges. A monster. With horns and a snarling snout snorting toxic breath. This was her meeting with the devil. He was supposed to be evil incarnate. But, dapper and distinguished? No. Just… No.

  Money and power reeked from him. Confidence o
ozed. He winked at Rocco and Roman, and focused back on her. His smile screamed that he could have any woman he wanted. Any woman but her. The only thing she wanted was his head on a wall and the rest of him six feet under.

  “Is your wife okay?” El Mateperros asked, pompous and self-assured, pulling Rocco and Roman’s gazes back to him. The Dog Killer clearly misread her silence. Instead of shocked surprise, he saw silent interest. Her molars pressed together until her temples hurt.

  Rocco’s eyes narrowed, his shoulders straightened, but he reached for her hand. “I’m sure she’s fine.”

  Caterina didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge that they spoke to her. Her life’s mission was going down the crapper all because she was choking.

  “Caterina?” Rocco tugged her to his waist. “Kitten. Come back to me, girl.”

  His breath was on her neck. His grip steadied her. She blinked, rolled through the disgust and surprise, ignored that this was the most embarrassing moment of her life and that she was falling apart in front of Rocco, then painted on her best smile. “I am so sorry. I just…got dizzy. Please—” She stepped from Rocco toward El Mateperros. “Accept my deepest apologies.”

  El Mateperros took her hand in his. “No need, Mrs. Locke.”

  Repulsed shudders rocketed from her lungs into her limbs. He brought her knuckles to his lips, lingering over her skin, and nausea taunted her. Vomit was fast approaching. Her mouth was too wet and her stomach too weak. But she gave a curt nod and snatched her hand back, swallowing the noticeable taste of bile. “Gracias.”

  “Sit, please.” El Mateperros gestured with the same hand that held her knuckles to his mouth. He needed to experience pain. A hurt that stole his life’s happiness.

  Caterina dropped into the chair with no grace, just pure, undiluted hatred driving her every move. Rocco touched her shoulder and then slid into his chair, keeping her within reach. Roman stood behind them. She tried to smile, tried to keep her cover, but things weren’t looking bright and shiny. The guys were going to question her after this and deservedly so.