by Stone, Piper
He held me close, savoring the moment of passion, allowing the kiss to become a wild roar between us. When he finally eased back, he rubbed his index finger through the single bead of wine that had slipped from my mouth, forcing the tip just inside.
“Thank you for saving food,” he said as he sighed and nodded toward the food. “An unexpected surprise.”
“I like giving surprises,” I whispered, giving him a mischievous grin. A moment of awkwardness settled between us. He wasn’t accustomed to anyone doing anything without a devious reason.
“Well, you should get some rest,” he said as he placed the glass on the counter, sliding open one of the drawers. “However, you do need to remember that for every misguided act, there will be consequences.”
The wooden spoon he brought into the light gave me pause.
“While I might not have food, I do have all the basic utensils that can be used for much more than cooking,” he added.
“You already spanked me.”
“For something else entirely.”
I realized at that moment that I would always be at his mercy, required to obey some form of rules. I’d grown up with far too many. Still, I was excited at the prospect, almost laughing at the realization. Maybe I’d hungered for a strong man in my life for years. Maybe I needed a firm hand, unforgiving to my bratty tendencies. I swallowed, swaying back and forth like some impetuous child.
His brow remained lifted as he pulled me over the edge of the counter, forcing me to inhale the various delicious scents. He eased hair from my face, stroking my cheek in such a loving manner, almost making me forget that his gentleness was more of an act. He pulled the platter out of the way, using just his index finger, pushing the tip against the small of my back.
“Consequences require punishment. Always.” His voice revealed another wave of coldness. Another change. Another layer.
I gripped the edges of the island, trying to avoid whimpering. The moment he twirled the spoon in the air, sliding the handle along the same track he’d used with his hand, I couldn’t hold back. The sound was like a pitiful cry, a moment of self-doubt fusing with the ugly acceptance that I would end up breaking his rules time and time again.
He wrapped his hand around my hair, keeping me in place, his wrist cracking as he smacked first one side then the other.
“Fuck!” The word slipped from my mouth, my grip becoming nail-biting firm as the anticipation rode every synapse in my brain. When he issued four more, one coming after the other, I slumped against the counter, taking several deep breaths.
“Once you learn to obey me, the world will open up to you,” he said almost casually, as if I had every intent of behaving.
He smacked me several times until the heat buildup was intense, the pain almost blinding. Who knew that a wooden spoon could inflict so much anguish?
A nervous laugh bubbled to the surface, the fight to hold it back adding instant pressure to my already aching head. As he continued the spanking, the hard smacking sound almost as bad as the actual pain, I fell into a different state of mind, a quiet lull that I used in order to concentrate on learning my music.
I don’t know why the realization that I was doing the exact same mental exercises bothered me so much, but it did. Another round of anger and desperation filtered into my system, creating a wave of stress and anxiety. All the various premonitions I’d had since I was a little girl had dissipated, allowing me to live without their blasphemous revelations that usually came to me in my sleep.
Why now?
Why did I have such a foreboding feeling?
Why did I know that... someone was going to die?
The myriad ugly thoughts made me lash out, pushing back from the counter.
“Stay in position,” he commanded.
I yanked my head from side to side, struggling with him as various images flashed in my mind’s eyes. I couldn’t stop them. Ugly. Brutal.
Bloody.
They filtered into my mind in vivid color. I hadn’t realized that the savage and very guttural sound was coming from my throat until I managed to break free of his grasp, fighting to get away from the island.
“Valencia. What’s wrong?”
“Na-nothing.” I raced toward the coffee table, hurrying to grab my nightgown, knocking his jacket to the floor. My entire body was shaking as I bent down, my eye catching a smattering of photographs that had fallen from one of the pockets. As the pictures scattered across the beautiful hardwood, I was drawn to them, unable to stop my curiosity. I blinked several times in an attempt to focus, sucking in my breath when I was finally able to comprehend what I was seeing.
“Valencia, don’t. Leave those alone,” he commanded, quickly heading in my direction.
Even with only the light coming from the kitchen to illuminate the glossy photos, it was enough to allow me to realize the horror depicted on every one of them. I jerked one into my hand, trying to keep a rational mind. The photographs were horrible, the scenes of various murders unlike anything I’d seen before, either in real life or on television.
I was pulled into a vacuum, my mind unable to process the information completely.
But I knew several of the locations. That meant that... my father was... No. No! This couldn’t be true.
“Valencia. Don’t do that. I’m sorry you had to see these.”
“Don’t!” I snapped, yanking a handful of photos in my direction. I clamored backward, trying to keep from going completely numb. I had to know what my father truly was. I shifted from one picture to the other, barely cognizant that Miguel had once again moved into a standing position. Oh. My. God.
My mind became a blur, the vivid splashes of crimson covering walls and verandas, kitchens and bedrooms. As I flipped through them one by one, I finally fell into an abyss.
Until one picture surfaced. “No. No, it can’t... be. It just...” Tears rushed to my eyes as the once sweet then bitter memories floated to the surface. A moment lost in time.
A boy who thought he loved me.
A series of vicious lies.
Then a disappearance.
Everything my father had told me had been a huge lie. I hadn’t been abandoned. I hadn’t been unloved. Oh. Oh!
Miguel tipped his head, his eyes glassy, his expression cold.
This was more than just a warning, this was my reality and one I needed to embrace. I knew three things for certain.
One; the photographs were very real, woman and children murdered in their beds.
And two; I knew without a doubt that I could never spend another moment with my father.
Ever.
Again.
I gazed into Miguel’s eyes, my hands shaking.
Finally, three...
That Miguel, his family, and his tactics were entirely the same as what I’d experienced growing up.
Both monsters.
Both murderers.
But it wasn’t my life that was in danger. It was his.
Miguel was going to die.
Chapter Eleven
Miguel
Death.
I’d been around death my entire life, privy to lost innocence. My father had made certain that I understood that death was our friend, a necessity in keeping the peace. I’d learned all about required brutality, understood the various killing methods. All used.
All perfected.
An old English saying had been instilled in me since I’d been a little boy. Death has no calendar. Perhaps I’d never fully understood the meaning until now. Then again, I’d always been the impetuous boy, the fast and furious teenager, and the reckless young man.
And now?
Maybe I was simply too cautious, my inability to seek wrath at any cost a determining factor in the attempt at taking over the Garcia operations. My father would certainly agree. Maybe my sweet mother, a righteous and kind soul, had instilled a sense of fairness. I took another sip of coffee, the taste much more bitter than normal.
I’d never considered
myself a cruel man, including the use of excessive force with regard to my enemies. Since seeing the heinous acts performed by the Rivera cartel, I realized I’d been right.
Maybe it was time to alter my methods. I half tossed the mug onto my desk, shoving my hands into my pockets, disgusted with my cavalier attitude.
I’d been a fool to leave the wretched pictures in a position where Valencia could possibly find them. She’d recognized several of the locations within seconds, her initial subdued reaction more out of shock than anything else.
Then she’d locked onto a single picture more than any of the others, finally breaking down into sobs. No amount of questioning had been able to break through. While she’d tossed the group of photographs in my face only seconds before locking herself in her room, I’d been able to figure out the single picture that had taken the utmost toll.
I stood at the window in my office, glaring out at the quiet seas, wondering how Aleksei had managed to get his hands on the information. From what I could tell, the photographs weren’t from law enforcement records, but handled more like art. If I was right in my assumptions, Santiago Rivera was a very sick man, his penchant for death unlike anything I’d experienced before. The pictures were merely trophies for his particular proclivities.
Slaughter.
My connections with the Coast Guard had confirmed the boat was a total loss, a million dollars’ worth of product washed out at sea. Cordero’s early phone call had indicated the rumor mill was saturated with utter bullshit on the streets. Sadly, that would only increase if I didn’t make a direct hit sooner versus later.
And still no sign of Santiago or indication that he’d left the country. When I found the little prick, he was going to learn what it meant to cross a member of the Garcia family.
Hearing my phone made me snarl. I needed time to process and plan, the interruption fueling my impatience. I knew exactly who to expect on the other end. “I anticipated your call.” I could hear my father’s raspy breathing and sighed.
“I just bet you did. Another shipment ruined?” my father snarled, cursing under his breath. “What the fuck is going on? Is this Rivera’s doing?”
“I’m still uncertain.”
“Then what the hell do you know? We can’t have this crap going on, Miguel. You know that better... than... I...” He was forced to stop, wheezing and coughing violently.
Goddamn it. The last thing my father needed was for his blood pressure to rise. My suspicions regarding his health were on the uptick. He was a proud man, refusing to let anyone else see his weakness. While he was also a fighter, I realized his years of heavy smoking had taken a significant toll.
I shifted away from the window, peering down at the photograph. The quality was outstanding, capturing every detail and nuance of the kill. Whoever the young man had been, it appeared he knew his assailant. Either that or he’d been with someone else prior to his murder. The items placed on the table in the background indicated either a meeting or something more intimate for two.
“What I know is that caution is in order and that Rivera is a sick fuck. We need to use prudence in order to determine the best course of action.” My words sounded far too practiced and similar to what I’d said at his house only days before.
“Goddamn it, Miguel. This shit is getting out of hand.” When my father hesitated, I was prepared for whatever bad news he’d avoided. “However, I have something that might prove useful.”
“Which is?” From what I could tell, the young man in the photograph couldn’t be more than in his early twenties. While several of the victims depicted had their faces blown off, the brutality used on the poor sucker’s murder had been particularly gruesome.
But his face had remained unscarred.
A message being sent.
“I suggest you come by the house this morning.”
There was no sense in arguing. “Fine. I’ll be there in an hour.” My agenda was full, quieting the rumors in an effort to keep my ranks free of defection. I was no fool. Whoever was attempting to muscle in on my regime knew the best way to do that was unravel from the bottom up. Killing top members of my organization, or anyone in my family for that matter, would only prove to drive loyalty in my direction. If my laborers believed I was incompetent, they would be easily swayed to work for another organization.
Another wave of rage shot through my system like a jolt of electricity. I slammed my fist against my desk, savoring the slice of pain.
“Such an angry man.”
The sound of Valencia’s voice was far more soothing than I could have imagined, even if her tone was filled with disdain. I eased the photograph into my pocket as I studied her face, her swollen eyes keeping my anger full blown.
She watched my actions, biting her lower lip and maintaining her distance. I could tell she blamed me for forcing a devastating realization about her father. At least she was up and dressed, the attire obviously provided by Sylvie.
“I’ve come to tell you that I’m leaving now with one of your armed guards. Just as commanded. Sir.” Valencia’s words were succinct, laced with acid.
“Sylvie,” I said matter-of-factly.
“Yes. Is she your girlfriend? I must say, rougher around the edges than I would have imagined you being with. Should be an interesting day.”
“I suggest you lay off the insults. Not only is Sylvie highly trained and skilled in areas of marksmanship and martial arts, but she takes no shit from anyone. Especially from a mouthy brat.” I moved around the desk, chastising myself for sparring with her. “And as I told you before, I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“A brat. Interesting choice given your actions as of late. By the way, I suggest you lay off the insults. I obviously have every reason to be mouthy. It’s not every day you’re forced to accept just how disgusting your entire life is.” She walked a few inches closer, her body language completely shut down. “Just so I know, were you planning on springing those pictures on me over a bottle of champagne?”
I knew her method of dealing with pain and frustration well. I’d perfected the model over the years. I walked closer, fighting my natural dominating urges when she took a giant step backward, and lowered my voice. “I meant what I said last night. I never wanted you to see those photographs.”
After a few seconds, her expression softened.
“Where did you get them?”
“From a... friend.”
“With friends like that,” she said, laughing bitterly. “You are well aware pictures can be doctored.”
There wasn’t the time or place to get into an argument. I pulled out my wallet, selecting a credit card. “Take this for your purchases. You can buy anything that you want, but please make certain that you select some evening attire including shoes.”
“Does that mean we’ll be going out?” She eyed the card before moving closer and snatching it from my hand.
“I will enjoy sharing my beautiful city with you. You’re not a prisoner, Valencia.”
“As you said.” She fisted the plastic, stepping several feet away from me. “No wedding dress yet?”
The rhetorical question didn’t deserve an answer. Not at this point. “We will be going out to dinner tonight. However, I will make sure groceries are purchased.”
“Pizza and beer?”
“Is that what you’d prefer?”
She opened her mouth as if to mutter yet another nasty retort then exhaled, looking away from me. Her mouth twisted, her chest rising and falling. When she finally spoke, her words were full of sadness. “There’s a little place in Cuba that used to serve the best pizza I’d ever had, the crust chewy with a melt in your mouth flavor. You could smell the garlic from a mile away, the sauce they used just incredible, fragrant and delicious. The mushrooms were succulent, the pepperoni and sausage spicy. They also had a tiny little brewery. It’s funny but I never enjoyed beer until going there. Everything was perfect from the atmosphere to the location. Just a cheap little joint, you know? The own
er and his son worked there, trying to make ends meet. They had a single waitress, a young girl who was just as feisty as I was. Just amazing.”
I was able to envision the off the beaten path restaurant, allowing my imagination to capture a moment spent with Valencia. No bodyguards. No danger. Two people enjoying spending time together. I clenched my fist, realizing that my life was far too complex.
“You make that sound like the restaurant doesn’t exist any longer.”
“It doesn’t,” she said in a faraway voice. “Destroyed. I’d heard some terrible things and finally went to see for myself. Everything was gone, the place boarded up. I asked the villagers what happened, and no one seemed to know. I was... devastated.” She rubbed two fingers across her lips before shooting me another harsh glare. “However, that was ages ago. The past. Who cares now?”
“Sounds very special,” I managed, noticing the mist in her eyes, “and I can understand why that would bother you.”
“I can’t see you at a place like that. You’re far too... sophisticated. Suave.” She gave me a slight smile.
I chuckled given the way she said the words, exaggerating her Spanish accent. “I’ll have you know that I thoroughly enjoy finding a tiny little hole in the wall gem where you can relax and not have to pretend to be somebody you’re not.”
“Is that what you do, pretend?”
I had to think about her question. “Don’t we all?”
Valencia nodded several times. “Sadly, I’ve learned the hard way not to get attached to anything or anyone so pretending is a way of life. Not worth it fighting for what you want.”
I closed the distance, allowing my fingers to trace down the line of her arms, my breath skipping from the sensations rocketing through me. Seeing the goosebumps forced my cock to full attention.
She leaned forward, her delicate fingers crumpling around my shirt. The slight moan escaping her lips was far too enticing, the way her luscious lips pursed a clear invitation to ravage her.