Inevitable (Colombian Cartel Book 3)

by Suzanne Steele

  He pounced like a feral animal consumed by primal rage. Before she could respond to the threat, his tie was tight around her wrists. Antonio Wayne looped it over a hook that he had installed on the headboard for intimate moments such as this.

  “The reason the interrogations are always so much more gratifying with you is because there is always off-the-charts fucking when I finish. You should have thought about the consequences before you snuck down to the basement and set that girl free. What the fuck were you thinking?” he roared as he tossed his shirt to the floor and began unfastening his pants, starting with his belt. When he was finished, he stood by the bed, gloriously naked and still as muscled and virile as a much younger man could only hope to be. He gripped the buckle end of the belt in one hand, his stiff cock in the other.

  Chest heaving, he stroked the leather with the pad of his thumb as he harshly palmed his erection. “Let’s see if you feel so rebellious after I get done fucking you into submission. It’s the only thing that seems to work with you—hurting you with this cock.”

  Her eyes darted frantically around the room as he reached down into the pocket of his pants where they lay crumpled on the floor. She squeezed her eyes closed so she didn’t notice when he removed something from his pocket and concealed it in his hand.

  He climbed onto the bed and straddled her, carefully settling his weight on top of her. There would be no escaping his watchful eye, not until he decided she could be trusted.

  He leaned in as if to share an intimate secret with her. “I have a surprise for you. I bought it specifically with you in mind.”

  Her body jerked, as much as his weight on top of her would allow, when he flicked his wrist and the glimmer of a knife blade caught her eye.

  “I see I have your undivided attention now. Good. But don’t worry. I won’t cut you -- well, not too deeply anyway. This,” he held up the knife, causing the sharp edge to glimmer a tint of blue in the trickle of moonlight coming through the window, “is a Spyderco Sage 2. The blade is titanium, which means it will hold its edge. This little notch is where you place your thumb – a small but important detail. Now, they made it that way because it’s slippery when wet. Did you know that often during a vicious knife attack the attacker gets cut for that reason?” He leaned down, rasping in her ear, “Because the blood is so very slippery.”

  He straightened and considered her solemnly. “I love the look on your face right now—a mixture of terror and regret. Hindsight is a bitch—karma’s way of making us pay for our bad decisions. When are you going to realize that I’m always two steps ahead of you? I always have been, always will be.”

  The rise and fall of her chest drew his attention to the thin layer of fabric covering her torso. Humming softly to himself, he gripped the knife and sliced through her shirt, slowly peeling back the sides as he licked his lips in anticipation.

  He truly loved fucking his wife, there was no deeper gratification in the world and, yeah, he was secretly glad she’d gotten herself into trouble again. Nothing was more pleasurable to him than disciplining his nosey wife. Her inquisitive nature was always a sure thing. If he just waited long enough, there would always be another opportunity to spank that ass.

  “You are so fucking beautiful,” he murmured as he admired her still-spectacular breasts peeking out through her lacey bra. She took care of herself and it showed. His cock surged, lengthening as if in agreement. He slipped the knife under the front of her bra and roughly sliced through it, causing her tits to pop out. “Mm, much better,” he purred as he stroked around a nipple with the tip of the knife. Her body shook, betraying her struggle to stay still for fear of being cut.

  He chuckled, “Maybe if you had tried that hard to be a good girl instead of interfering with cartel business – again – you wouldn’t be in such a precarious position now. Now, you’re going to do everything I tell you to, to win my trust back. Aren’t you.”

  It was more of a command than a question, but she answered anyway. “Yes, Sir.”

  “But we both know I’ll never trust you. You’re too damn nosey to trust. Now, you may explain yourself.”

  “I just wanted to help, Sir. We only just got Tony back; I don’t want him to hate you.”

  “How kind of you to worry about my welfare. I think it’s your welfare you should be concerned with, though.”

  The snip, snip of the knife cutting through first one side of her panties and then the other reminded her of the peril of her present situation. His moves were controlled and disciplined. As always, he had a plan and he was precise in his execution of it.

  He lived for moments like this with his fiery, redheaded wife. She gave him everything his sadistic nature craved. She was his only drug of choice and he was her only addiction. But she needed to learn a lesson.

  Intent on adding just the right touch of degradation, he placed the knife to her throat, silently daring her to defy him.

  “I want to watch you finger fuck yourself. Do it now. Don’t deny me.”

  She could tell he was spoiling for a fight, that he wanted a challenge. It was a fine line she would walk tonight, between the submissive he dominated so freely and the temptress he craved. Now it was her turn to make him crazy. So, she taunted him, licking her finger and pressing it between her legs, spreading her legs so wide he could surely smell her wanton need for him.

  “Is this what you want to see, Sir?” she asked oh-so-innocently as she pumped two fingers in and out, in and out. “My fingers deep inside my pussy, before you fill me up with that big Colombian cock?”

  “Ah, fuck,” he growled, gritting his teeth so as not to cum all over her before they even got started. “Are you wet for me? Show me.” So she did, using her fingertips to pull her inner lips apart so he could see her glistening entrance and watch the soft flesh clenching in need for him.

  “Would you look at that? Look at that wet, sweet, needy pussy,” he rasped, transfixed by the sight. He pressed the knife against her throat. She rolled her hips, tempting him with the scent of her arousal. His nostrils flared with need and the growl that poured from his throat emboldened her. She stroked her clit as he palmed his cock, priming his hard length as he watched her every move.

  “Take what’s yours, Sir. Make me pay, punish me for every sin I’ve ever committed against you.”

  He smacked her hand away from her clit impatiently. He controlled her pleasure and her pain. He decided when to allow her to cum, when to trigger her orgasm, and when to keep her hovering on the edge of ecstasy. This woman still intrigued him, still inflamed his baser instincts. He had accepted many years ago that he would never, ever get enough of her.

  He tossed the knife to the side where it landed with a thud on the end table. He folded her legs back, pressing her thighs into the mattress, and drove his cock home in a single, merciless thrust that had her crying out in agonized pleasure. The sound only inflamed his need to sink into her depths, to grind his cock into her as deep as her flesh would allow.

  She wondered if she had pushed him too far this time. “Sir, please don’t hurt me. I’ll be good, so good for you.”

  “Too fucking late. You’ll take everything I give you. You asked for it; you pushed me over the edge, now you’ll take it.”

  As he pounded into her again and again, she moaned her submission and sobbed incoherently, begging him to forgive her and to fuck her harder, always harder.

  “Mine. I own you.” He emphasized the words with every thrust of his aching cock. Each time she got close, he’d slow down, smacking her ass to make it clear that he owned her pleasure. She would never be the one in control.

  He needed to make her pay for her interference and she needed to give him the satisfaction of accepting his discipline—until the next time. He braced his weight on an elbow, slid his other hand beneath her collar, and clasped her throat tightly.

  “Come.” It was a command he snarled in her ear, not a request, and her body did what it always did—it submitted to Antonio Wayne’s
will. With his hand tightening around her neck, her pussy clenched around his cock like a fist. The delicious pressure sent him hurtling over the edge in one of the hardest orgasms of his life. He pulled his hand away and smacked the headboard with the force of his climax. His hips surged forward, releasing all his anger, all his pent-up frustration deep within her, marking her as his once again.

  Later, she got up to go to the bathroom. He propped his arm behind his head and enjoyed the sight of her spectacular ass as she walked away, his handprint still visible on her flawless skin. When she returned, he patted the space next to him and lifted his hand for her to come to him. She took his hand and slid under the covers, curling up against his side.

  He had one more point to make. “You want to be involved, so I’m giving you what you want – but on my terms. You are going to help Tony find out what this woman is up to.”

  She leaned up on an elbow with a frown. “I don’t think she’s up to anything. She’s just a woman who got into a bad situation and Tony got her out of it.”

  “Every woman is up to something,” he said imperiously. “It is in a woman’s nature.”

  She rolled her eyes. “That may be the most sexist thing you’ve ever said, honestly…”

  He scowled, seeing nothing wrong with what he’d said. They had had this conversation many times before, so she knew his views on the matter. “Why? It’s true. You continue to prove my point every day. It may not be true of every woman, but it sure as hell applies to you. It’s what makes you so intriguing.”

  “Yeah, well, keep your intrigue reserved for me. I don’t think you want to see the cage fighting beast come out to play.”

  “Still jealous after all these years? I’m flattered.”

  “Well, if keeping an eye on Tony’s girl will put your mind at ease, I’ll do it for you. Anything for you.”

  “No, you’ll do it for the cartel. Don’t ever forget, cartel and family always come first. This bitch isn’t cartel or family.”

  Chapter Eight

  “You bitch! I hate you!” Santiago sliced the knife across her throat, causing her eyes to bulge in shock and terror.

  She shouldn’t have gotten in his car but he had sounded so sincere. He said he knew her boss. The man who was leering at her with hatred wasn’t the same Good Samaritan who had picked her up from the storm-ridden bus stop. How could she have been so stupid? She didn’t hate him for being so ruthless, she hated herself for being so foolish. He’d said all the right things, made all the right moves, and now she would be just another statistic.

  He deliberately executed this kill quickly. This time it wasn’t about enjoying the blood dripping through his fingers. It wasn’t even about the delicious gurgling sounds she made as she choked on her own blood. It was about sending a message.

  Every other time he had gone out of his way to hide the bodies—throwing them in an old well until they all blended together in a decomposing stew. But this time he was expressing his rage about Tony Ramirez having unfettered access to the one woman who had ever been able to touch a human place in his soul.

  He hadn’t expected to feel the unfamiliar emotion of regret when he let Caden go, but then again, he had no idea another man would take her. It changed things in his mind when Tony took her and forced her to stay with him. It wasn’t Caden who had betrayed him. It was Diego Dias and Tony Ramirez who had tricked him, and that changed the rules of the game. It took the control away from Santiago and he didn’t like it one damn bit.

  He kicked the body as the blood stopped flowing, the universal sign that she was dead. When the heart was still beating, blood gushed with every beat; when she died, the blood stopped flowing and leftover droplets fell. It wasn’t as satisfying as the gushing or, better yet, arterial spray. Sometimes it looked like someone had taken a water bottle and squeezed blood on the walls like abstract art, as if leaving visible proof of their final annihilation before crossing over or whatever it was they did when death came. Every canvas was as different as the victim that shed their blood to make it. One thing remained the same: Santiago was a master artist.

  He kicked the body once again, rolling it onto a tarp. He neatly rolled it up, careful to leave the head and neck exposed. He picked the body up with ease, tossing it in the bed of his truck. Normally he wouldn’t take the chance of having a dead body right out in the open but this time it would serve two purposes: he could hose the bitch’s blood out of the bed of his truck and he could also dispose of the body easily by just rolling it out onto the highway. There’d be no hiding this one. He wanted them to find it quickly.

  Santiago started the engine and paused, a slow, smug smile spreading across his face. He knew the perfect place to dump the body.

  Chapter Nine

  Tony opened his eyes as soon as he heard it. He had learned to rely on his animals as a more effective alarm than even the most high-tech security system. He knew every sound of the woods he lived in and when he slept, he always did so with one eye open.

  “What is it, Tony?”

  She sleeps with one eye open too. Good to know. “The horses. Something has them spooked.”

  “Or someone.” She jumped up, pulling on her jeans. “I’m going with you.” When he turned and frowned at her, she quickly spoke before he could change his mind. “If this is going to work”—she motioned her finger back and forth—“between you and me, you’ve got to trust me.”

  “You’re right. I’ve got no problem with it, as long as you listen and do as I say,” he practically growled.

  “That’s funny, Tony, real funny. None of the women in this cartel thing your family has going on listens and obeys every whim of their men.”

  “That’s what keeps us on our toes.”

  “Finally, a sign of acceptance. Thank you.”

  “I accepted you a long time ago. It’s my father who doesn’t trust you. If you’re smart, you’ll seize this opportunity to win him over.”

  “If you’re nice, you’ll show me how.” She gave him her most endearing smile. She reached up and gathered her hair into a messy bun to keep it out of her face.

  “I see you’re ready to go to work,” he smirked, pulling his jeans up over his hips.

  “Yes, I am.” She followed him out to the truck, ignoring the gnawing in her gut that told her this was something much more dangerous than just horses being spooked.

  They rode in silence the short distance to the barn. When they arrived, he left the headlights on for added lighting. “Be careful. The horses can get aggressive when they’re agitated like this.”

  Then they heard the horses kicking at their stall doors. She fell in step behind him, knowing that right now the only thing that would calm the large animals down was seeing their owner disperse whatever enemy had spooked them.

  As soon as Tony flipped light on, they both saw it: a woman’s body laid out in the opening of the barn. The tarp she was wrapped in did nothing to hide the cause of her death. She had curly, blonde hair that had fallen to the side, making it easy to see that her neck had been savagely cut. The wound was so deep that her head hung at an odd angle to the side. In death, her vibrant blue eyes were frozen in terror, but their usual crystal clear color was now glazed over and dull.

  “Oh, no…” Caden said sadly, covering her mouth with her fingertips, tears welling in her eyes.

  “You know her?”

  “Yeah. That’s Alicia. She just started working at The Club maybe a month ago. God, she was sweet. The customers loved her because she gave off this innocent, untouched vibe but was full-on sexy as hell onstage. She never took guys into the back room, so all of her customers tipped big because they wanted to be the first one.”

  “This is Santiago’s work, Tony. He’s gotten word I’m here with you and it’s his way of getting even or expressing his displeasure. He’s going to look at it like you stole me from him. His thinking is fucked up like that.”

  “I don’t know, I can see how a man could become obsessed with you.” H
e cocked his head, looking at her like he was seeing her for the first time. He could understand how Santiago saw her as a savior because Tony felt the same way. Already, she was a positive force in his life that kept him grounded. She was the one thing that kept his mind off all the horrors he’d witnessed overseas.

  But Santiago couldn’t have her; he wouldn’t allow it. He wouldn’t share her in any way with anyone, not even in an emotional way or as a source of stability. Jealousy in its purest form gnawed at his insides at the thought of another man seeing her as their salvation. Mine. The thought went through his mind against his will.

  “Well, this is not the way to win me over.” Disgust crept along Caden’s skin like a living, breathing thing. This little gesture by Santiago tonight had backfired; he just didn’t know it yet. It was one thing to know he was a killer, but seeing it up close and personal like this made it all too real. She wondered how she ever could have felt sorry for him. He was sick alright, sick in the fucking head. He didn’t deserve her mercy because he hadn’t shown any.

  A look of relief washed over his face. As much as he hated it, this had forced her to see Santiago for the animal he was. He hoped she’d hate him by the time it was over. She needed to see the truth of his barbaric behavior. He didn’t deserve to be called cartel. He was nothing more than a man who hunted women for the thrill of the kill. It was a disgrace to the organization—he was a disgrace.

  “Oh, Tony, this is going to crush Diego,” Caden continued, her face in her hands as she shook her head. “You know how he prides himself on protecting his Club girls.” She looked up at Tony with misty eyes, “The girls there call him papi, and they really mean it; he’s like their sexy daddy who takes care of everything. They have no worries because they work for him. At least, they didn’t until now.”

  Tony was on one knee next to Alicia’s body. “Who knows, maybe that’s Santiago’s ultimate goal, to hit Diego where it would hurt the most: his male ego.”