Collateral

by Natasha Knight

  “You said we wouldn’t—”

  “They’re wet. That’s all.”

  But is that all? I ask myself as I drag my gaze over her, over the small round breasts, those hard nipples, down over her flat belly to the tiny triangle of neatly trimmed dark hair. To the delicate slit of her sex.

  I swallow, feeling myself harden.

  She rolls onto her side away from me, bending one knee, inadvertently giving me a glimpse of her ass.

  I should sleep on the chair. Or maybe take her to her room. But what if she gets sick at night?

  I have to laugh at myself for that load of bullshit because I know the truth.

  I want her in my bed.

  And I want her in my bed naked.

  She moves, rolling onto her stomach. I see those marks again, the seven scars beneath her shoulder blade. But that’s not all. There are more.

  I crouch down, touch another spot. This is from a knife. I know. I have a matching one. Hers is shallow though.

  And lower, along her hip, more of those circles. Burns. Almost like cigarette burns. And more cuts.

  She makes a sound, rolls onto her back again. She blinks her pretty eyes open and they slowly focus on me.

  “Sleep, Gabriela.” I pull the blanket up to cover her.

  She pushes it off, reaches out to grab my hand. “Stay with me.”

  “Not a good idea.”

  “Please.” She tugs, then her hand drops away and her eyes flutter closed again. “I’m always alone.” She rolls away again, hugging one knee up.

  I swallow, take in the sight of her like this, and something animal inside me stirs.

  It wants.

  I drop her wet things on the floor and adjust my cock, but that’s not going to go away, not with her lying here like this.

  I walk around and get into the bed, keeping my clothes on. I’ll just stay until I’m sure she’s asleep, I tell myself. I switch out the light and turn to her. I don’t pull the blanket over her yet.

  When I push the wet hair back from her face, she opens her eyes and they shine almost a silvery green in the moonlight.

  I let my hand brush her arm, then slide it to her breast, just touch her nipple with the backs of my fingers.

  She swallows, arches her back as it tightens into a hard nub.

  I draw closer, rising up on my elbow as I roll her gently onto her back and bring my mouth to that nipple, kissing it. Tasting salt from the pool on her skin as she sucks in a breath and her hand comes to my chest.

  She’s not pushing though. Not pushing me away.

  That’s because she’s drunk, asshole.

  My dick is a steel rod when I take her nipple into my mouth to taste. Just a small taste. I hear her moan as her hand slides to cup the back of my head to pull me to her.

  When I draw back, her eyes are darker, the pupils fully dilated.

  She licks her lips and I can’t drag my eyes away from her little tongue, from her wet, plump lips. And when I kiss her, it’s a world different from the last time.

  She opens her mouth and kisses me back and when I slide my tongue into her mouth, she meets it with her own and fuck, I’m going to blow. Just from a kiss. From a single kiss.

  I draw back and hold her gaze as my hand slides down over her belly, lower.

  I smell her, the soft scent of arousal sweet, inviting. Intoxicating.

  She makes a sound when I touch the soft hair between her legs, then closes her hand over my wrist.

  I meet her eyes as her grip loosens and instead of pushing my hand away, she starts to pull it between her legs.

  I swallow, feel the wet heat of her and I should stop. I should stop this right now. She’s in no condition to say what she wants. What she doesn’t want.

  She takes her lower lip between her teeth and I softly touch the hard nub of her clit.

  “Is this the first time someone’s touched you here?”

  She nods, bites her lip.

  Fuck.

  I rub. Just once. Just one stroke.

  “That feels…” she starts, then rolls onto her back. Her legs fall open and her eyes close. “Good.”

  And I remember her words from this morning.

  Remember her accusation.

  When I drag my hand away, she makes a sound, turns toward me, but her eyes never open and she stills into sleep.

  I get up, draw the covers over her.

  Because tonight, I am taking advantage.

  And maybe what I said about being a man of my word, maybe that was all bullshit because she’s drunk, almost passed out and I’m pretty sure if she wasn’t, she wouldn’t choose to be lying here naked beside me now.

  My dick a steel rod, I walk barefoot out of the room.

  20

  Gabriela

  My head throbs and my mouth feels like it’s stuffed with cotton.

  I squint against the bright sunshine and turn away. That’s when I realize I’m not in my bed.

  My eyelids fly open and I take in the rumpled sheets I’m tangled in. The scent on the pillow my head is resting on.

  His scent.

  I lift my head and groan against the pain. When I sit up and the sheet falls away, I see that I’m naked. I grab the sheet, pull it up to cover myself and look around the room. I know without a doubt that this is his room.

  That this is his bed.

  That I’m naked in his bed.

  My hand hurts and when I reach to scratch my head, I notice the bandage. I pull my knees up and they, too, are sore. When I drag the covers off, I see matching bandages and I have a vague flash of memory of me at the pool with his bottle of whiskey, which explains this monstrous headache.

  Then me at the pool tripping as I made my way back to the water.

  Back to the water.

  I’d gone in. I’d stood there like an idiot and dipped my head in—face first—before climbing back out, deciding I needed another drink before I’d let myself float in there. Seemed like a great idea at the time. Until I tripped and fell.

  Then light flooded the patio.

  And all those men appeared out of nowhere.

  And all those guns.

  And Stefan.

  I cover my face with my hands as I remember the rest of it. Him carrying me into the living room, then up here. Him cleaning glass out of my cuts and bandaging me up. Him being gentle.

  Then I remember more.

  I remember leaning into him as he untied my bikini top and stripped it off. I remember lying back as he took off the bottoms.

  And then, nothing.

  My memory goes dark from there. Maybe that’s a blessing.

  I’m relieved when I close my eyes and do a mental scan and don’t feel any soreness anywhere except my knees and hands.

  I force myself to move, to swing my legs over the bed. I see my bikini on the floor and bend to pick up the pieces. It takes a minute for the room to stop spinning when I straighten and when I stand, it’s another minute before I’m steady.

  I drag the blanket with me as I take painful steps toward the open balcony doors and peer out over the edge, grateful that the pool and patio are empty.

  As quickly as I can manage, which isn’t quick at all, I make my way to my own room. The balcony doors are closed but unlocked, thank goodness, and I slip inside.

  My bed is still made but I bypass it to go to the bathroom. I need to pee.

  When I’m finished, I wash my hands and groan at the sight of myself. My eyes are puffy and bloodshot, my hair looks like I literally dunked my head into the water face first then pulled it back out. Which is exactly how I did it.

  I cup a handful of cold water and splash it on my face, then brush my teeth before opening the medicine cabinet to search for aspirin but I’m out of luck.

  My legs are heavy as I make my way back to the bedroom. My knees hurt and the heels of my hands feel raw as I climb in.

  Discarding Stefan’s blanket, I roll onto my side to sleep.

  I can’t think about last night
right now. Can’t think about why I was naked in his bed. Can’t think about him undressing me.

  I just close my eyes and sleep and hope to God this monster of a headache will be gone when I open them again.

  Later that day, I have a vague memory of Miss Millie coming into my bedroom with tea, toast and aspirin. I’m pretty sure she helped me take that aspirin.

  The toast and cold tea are still beside the bed when I open my eyes later. A glance at the clock tells me it’s almost ten at night.

  My stomach growls and I sit up, grateful my head doesn’t feel quite like a bowling ball anymore. I pick up the cold tea and drink it, then eat half a piece of toast before climbing out of bed.

  I’m still naked but Stefan’s blanket which I know I’d dropped on the floor beside my bed is gone. Miss Millie probably took it. Does she know I slept in his bed last night? And where was he? Where did he sleep?

  Clara’s bed, most likely.

  The thought makes me angry and strangely sad at once.

  I walk into the bathroom and switch on the shower. I take my toothbrush in with me and stand under the water for a long time even though the cuts on my hands and knees sting in the hot water. I shampoo and condition, then scrub myself with soap. I’m not sure what I’m trying to scrub off, his touch or my embarrassment.

  My stomach growls. I’m starving.

  I switch off the water and wrap a towel around myself as I walk to the closet. I look for my jeans, but they’re gone, and my duffel bag has been emptied. Did he confiscate my jeans?

  I pick a sundress off a hanger, not caring which one, grab a light sweater and slip my feet into flip flops. If he tells me to put on heels for dinner, I’m going to stab him with one, I decide.

  Although I’m not sure why I’m so angry with him. I remember that he took care of me. If I’m honest with myself, it’s that I’m embarrassed.

  Memory flashes a piece of our conversation. Something about getting blood on his sheets.

  I cover my face again. Did I try to tell him in some roundabout way that I was a virgin? Did he pick up on that?

  I look up at the ceiling. “Please God, let it not be true and I swear I will never drink another drop of alcohol ever again.”

  Taking a deep breath in, I open the door and walk out into the hallway. I have to face him sometime.

  I’m just grateful it’s quiet as I make my way downstairs. All I hear is the soft sound of a soprano somewhere in the house. I’m tempted to investigate where it’s coming from, but the kitchen door opens and Miss Millie comes walking out.

  “Well, there you are.”

  I smile. “Good morning.”

  “It’s night, dear.”

  “Yes. Sorry.”

  “Are you feeling better? Stefan said you had a headache.”

  “He did?”

  She nods and I know she’s not stupid. I know she knows I was hungover. And I’m so grateful to her that she leaves it at that.

  “I’m feeling better. Hungry, actually.”

  She smiles “I’m glad to hear it. He thought you might like just some plain pasta.”

  I nod, forcing myself not to overthink this. “Yes. I’d love that.”

  “Go sit down. I’ll bring it out.”

  “Miss Millie?” I ask.

  “Yes, dear?”

  “Is he here?”

  “He’s on a call. I’m sure he’ll be finished soon. He’s been on it for over an hour already.” She shakes her head in disapproval.

  My heartbeat picks up. “Thanks.”

  She disappears into the kitchen and I walk out to the patio. I breathe in the warm night air. It’s so quiet I can hear the sound of the sea, of waves on the little beach below. I close my eyes and listen and it’s so still and peaceful here. I don’t think I’ve ever felt peace like this before.

  “It’s the water,” comes his deep voice from behind me, startling me, wreaking havoc on me as I spin to face him.

  How is he so quiet? He’s a big guy. And it’s not like he’s walking around barefoot.

  “It’s what relaxes you,” he says, walking toward me, looking me over. “How do you feel?”

  “Why was I naked in your bed?”

  He smiles, his cheek dimpling when he does, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

  “We’re going to get right into it, are we?”

  Miss Millie chooses that moment to walk outside carrying a tray of food. A bowl of plain spaghetti sprinkled with what I’d guess to be parsley, a decanter of olive oil, a bowl of grated parmesan cheese and a huge bottle of water.

  “Here we are,” she says. If she notices the awkwardness between Stefan and I, she doesn’t let on. Instead she sets my place and leaves.

  Stefan gestures to the plate. “Eat before it gets cold.”

  “Aren’t you eating?”

  “I already ate.”

  I make my way to the table and sit. He follows me, taking his seat across mine. He pours me a glass of water as I pick up my fork and start to twirl pasta.

  “Use your spoon too.”

  I glance up at him and make a point of shoving a heaping forkful of pasta into my mouth with just my fork, the noodles slapping against my chin as I loudly suck them in.

  My father would probably smack me if I did this at home.

  Stefan just grins, his eyes steady on me, making me remember all those things I remembered earlier. I look away when I feel my face heat up.

  I continue to eat using just my fork even though I’d normally use my spoon too. We’re quiet until I finish the entire dish and push the plate away.

  “That was good,” I say, feeling a little more human as I swallow the contents of my water glass.

  Stefan pours me another.

  “Do I have to lock the liquor cabinet?” he asks.

  “I just had a bad night.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  I shrug a shoulder, remembering my call with Gabe. “Why was I naked in your bed?” I ask instead of answering him.

  “Because your bikini was wet.”

  “You undressed me.”

  “You remember?”

  “Of course, I remember. I remember everything,” I lie.

  “Hmm,” he says as if he sees right through me. “I don’t mind if you have a drink or two, but I don’t want you drunk and definitely not by the pool.”

  “I don’t make a habit of getting drunk and hanging out by pools.”

  “You hurt yourself, Gabriela.”

  “It was an accident. I just tripped.”

  “Because you were drunk. What if you’d fallen into the pool?”

  “Then I’d have gotten wet.”

  “I don’t know that you were in any condition to swim out.”

  “I wasn’t there to swim.”

  “You told me you were.”

  I did?

  “Did you… Was there… Did anything happen?” I cringe to ask it, feeling my face burn in embarrassment when another memory returns. Me telling him how good he smelled.

  He raises his eyebrows and one side of his mouth curves upward.

  My embarrassment deepens but the fact that he’s laughing at me helps. It makes me angry.

  “Between us, you mean?” he asks.

  “No, between me and Rafa,” I deadpan, unsure why.

  But the moment the words are out, the amusement vanishes from Stefan’s face.

  I hadn’t really meant to say that, to use Rafa’s name. But I’ve just found a chink in Stefan’s armor.

  “Be careful, Gabriela.”

  “Are you jealous of him, Stefan?” I push.

  “Jealous of my cousin?”

  I nod.

  “No, I’m not jealous of Rafa. He knows better than to touch what’s mine. Maybe it’s time I show you what that means.” He cocks his head to the side. “Should we discuss the things you told me last night?”

  I hate this. Hate not remembering. It gives him such an advantage over me.

  I push the chair back and st
and. “My head hurts, actually. I’m going back to bed.” I turn to walk away.

  “Gabriela.”

  I stop.

  “I haven’t dismissed you. Sit your pretty little ass back down.”

  I bet he got an eyeful of my ass last night. “I said I have a headache,” I say, unable to mask the defensive tone of my voice.

  “I have questions, Gabriela.”

  I turn back to him, narrow my gaze to study him. What the hell happened last night? What could I have said that he has questions?

  I fold my arms across my chest and try to look bored.

  “Who put the marks on you?” he asks.

  The instant the words are out, I feel my entire body flush. But it’s not heat I feel, it’s cold. Ice cold.

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Who did it?”

  I’m at a loss. I just stare back at him at a total loss.

  Then instinct kicks in.

  Distract.

  “What did you do, strip me naked so you could have a good look? What else did you do? Huh? Did you touch me, Stefan?”

  His eyes harden. His jaw tightens.

  I should stop. I should stop now. But I know myself. I won’t. I can’t.

  “Or more?” I ask.

  At that, he stands, his chair scraping loudly as he pushes it back.

  “That’s too far, sweetheart.”

  He takes a step and I don’t wait for him to take another. I turn, and I run. I run back to the stairs knowing there’s nowhere I can go. Nowhere I can hide from him.

  By the time I reach the staircase, he’s right behind me. I trip more than once in my haste and have no doubt he can catch me, but he doesn’t. Instead he chases me to my room, and I get the feeling he’s just herded me.

  When I go to slam the door shut behind me, it bounces off his shoe and shudders as it opens.

  I scurry around the bed.

  He closes the door behind him and stands there. He’s pissed but he’s not out of breath. Not after that sprint up the stairs.

  I am, though.

  “Get out, Stefan! I mean it!”

  Without a word, he stalks toward me

  “Are they cigarette burns?”

  “Get out!”

  He doesn’t though, he just keeps coming.

  And I do the only thing I can. I take the only thing I can protect myself with. The knife I’d swiped from breakfast.