Hiding

by N. M. Catalano

  I feel her tense beneath me. I keep circling, keep teasing, awakening all those nerves waiting to introduce her to pleasure she’s never felt before.

  I know the instant they come alive.

  Her back arches.

  That’s it, kitten.

  I lick a long line up the column of her neck. “Feel me…”

  I press against the puckered hole while lightly gliding back and forth over her clit.

  She opens for me slowly, taking me in inch by inch, until I’m all the way inside her.

  She lowers her face to the bed, giving into this new ecstasy I’m introducing her to.

  I lift from her back and watch as I fuck her gently with my finger, working her clit at the same time, and thrust her into an orgasm that makes her scream.

  The head of my cock is wet with precum and throbbing with need.

  Sliding my finger from her, I grip my shaft and rub it over her sex.

  “I’m going to fuck you now,” the words are tight and husky.

  My entire body is thrumming with need, vibrating to feel her wrapped around me.

  I can’t wait anymore.

  “Yes,” it’s plea.

  The sight of my cock at her entrance ready to take her is infuckingcredible. I sink my fingers into her hips and force myself to push into her slowly. I want to experience every inch, remember it all. When I’ve penetrated her fully, I pull her into me, and lose myself completely.

  “Fuck, Maria. So good, so fucking good.”

  At first it’s slow, in and out over and over again, I want it to last.

  The fires get hotter, the flames higher, pushing me, igniting the inferno inside me.

  We move in sync, apart, then come together. We get faster and more demanding, groaning, skin smacking, my balls slapping her. I feel the quickening as my orgasm builds and everything tightens.

  I fucking pound into her, God, I can’t deep enough.

  I lower my body over hers and slide my hand to her sex. I know she’s close, I can feel her muscles beginning to clamp my shaft. I take her clit between my fingers and pinch.

  Hard.

  Her head jerks up and I feel her spasming around my cock as she starts to come.

  And come.

  And come.

  That sets me off.

  I slam into her and bury myself so far inside her, I can feel her heart beat.

  She screams.

  I growl.

  Primitive sounds.

  My shaft twitches with each long shot of cum I blow inside her.

  It doesn’t want to stop.

  I fall to the bed and take her with me and pull her close.

  We lay like that, spooning, breathing heavy, holding each other, still rocked from the intensity of what just happened.

  What the hell was that?

  My mind is whirling, my heart is pounding, and not from exertion.

  It’s her, it’s all her.

  I was destroyed these past few days.

  “I missed you, Maria,” I whisper into her hair, holding her tighter.

  She slips one arm around my back and holds my hand with her other.

  “I missed you too, Rico, a lot.”

  I run my nose up the side of her neck, filling my lungs with her, trying to fill up all my dark places with her.

  I’m going to fix this.

  I have to.

  RICO

  CHAPTER 17

  I was instantly wide awake when the phone rang. The rush of adrenaline that flooded me, like it does every time the phone rings in the middle of the night, was nudged aside by the soft warm body pressed against me.

  Maria.

  Work’s calling, it has to be bad, it always is in the middle of the night.

  That doesn’t matter because the most important thing to me is in my bed, by my side, and in my arms.

  She’s safe.

  That’s all that matters.

  “Rico…,” she murmurs sleepily.

  I lean over and place a kiss on the corner of her lips. “Sleep, kitten,” I whisper.

  It rings again. Normally, by this time I would have answered it. I will, when I leave the room and Maria can’t hear me talk about the shit I deal with. With the phone in one hand, I grab a pair of jeans and slip out of the bedroom, closing the door softly behind me.

  “Santiago,” I answer gruffly as I shove my legs awkwardly into the pants.

  As I make my way into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee, the day’s already begun even though it’s still dark outside, with the first words of bad news.

  “Santiago,” it’s the captain. His usually calm demeanor is nowhere to be found. I’m immediately tense. “There’s been another OD. But this one’s different,” the words come out strained, angry, and disgusted.

  “What is it?” I ask, but I don’t really want to know.

  “I think it’s best if you came down and saw for yourself.”

  I close my eyes. This doesn’t sound like the usual overdoses we’ve been seeing.

  Don’t worry. Maria’s in your bed.

  I breathe a silent sigh of relief.

  “Where’s the crime scene?”

  “Greenfield Lake Park, upper Northeast corner. You can’t miss it, it’s the place with the fucking three ring circus,” he grits outs.

  I take a quick shower and scrawl a note for Maria. I leave it next to the coffee maker with some fresh brewed waiting for her when she eventually gets that goddess body I worshipped last night out of bed.

  At five in the morning, there isn’t a car on the road as I head to the other side of town. In the distance as I drive down Front Street, I can hear the low resonating horn of a ship out on the Cape Fear River, probably preparing to dock at the nearby commercial port. This area fell into the ranks of one of the seedier parts of Wilmington decades ago. Some of the projects are well known to the locals as Stay The Fuck Away because of shootings and drugs. A few blocks over is Greenfield Park. It’s a shame too, because it’s really beautiful.

  Just as the captain promised, the place is lit up with every damn emergency and official vehicle probably within a thirty-mile radius. The tenseness that had settled in from the phone call has now escalated to a level of I’m ready to rip somebody’s head off. I park my car and flash my badge as I step through the yellow police tape to make my way through the EMT workers and uniformed cops until I find the captain.

  Under bright spot lights, there’s obviously a body under the white tarp in front of him. The first thing that strikes me as strange is it’s not very big, not child size, but not tall, unlike all the other previous victims. The second thing I immediately notice is the crime scene investigator has a sexual assault kit (SAK).

  My gut twists.

  “Now do you want to tell me what the fuck is going on?”

  I don’t take my eyes from the lumpy white tarp in front of me. Right now, that’s all it is. Until I lift up the corner and see what’s underneath, it’s not a human being, only a lump on the ground covered in white.

  And this is just another crime scene.

  Business.

  My job.

  “It’s the girl from the bus,” I can hear his controlled fury.

  NO!

  I know immediately who the captain is talking about. The sweet kid Ivan had called puta, a whore. The one he’d pushed to the ground the first time I’d seen him get off the bus. The one I’m sure sucked him off right in the middle of a busload of people. Humiliated her, degraded her, made her a whore. I’d called him a coward for abusing a kid.

  He killed her.

  I made him do it.

  “Godfuckingdammit!” I growl.

  I kneel and gently lift the corner of the tarp to look at her. She’s dead, I know it, but that doesn’t change the fact she deserves respect, a little kindness, a tiny bit of compassion, she suffered enough when she was alive.

  Her lip is swollen and one of her eyes is as well, but she’s still recognizable. They’d hit her, gave her a pretty goo
d beating, but it’s definitely her. Rage engulfs me until I’m almost shaking with the intensity of it.

  “They beat her, raped her, and my guess is she was sober for all of it. When we get all the reports back, we’ll know whether or not she died from the physical abuse or the drugs,” the captain is saying.

  “How do you know she’s got drugs in her?” I ask, still holding the tarp up as my gaze scans what I can see of her bruised naked body beneath it.

  “She’s got a couple of injection marks.”

  I’m sick with the thought if I hadn’t antagonized him about being a coward, the girl would still be alive.

  I clench my jaw and try to remain in control, although that’s the farthest of what I’m feeling. The demon is raging, shredding me apart, I can taste his fury on my tongue, smell his hate burning in my nostrils, and can practically feel the warm, sticky blood on my hands. The need to free him is almost intoxicating, the best goddam high, and exactly what I need right now.

  “No track lines?”

  From the corner of my eye I see the captain shake his head. “No evidence so far of physical habitual drug use, just the fresh injection marks.”

  I lower the tarp and stand, my fists balled at my sides. “How’d we find her?”

  He grunts a sarcastic laugh. “We got a tip. An anonymous caller from a burn phone.”

  I can’t tear my eyes from the girl. Guilt, fury, sadness, revenge all swarm within me and are building to a fevered pitch. For the first time since I arrived at the crime scene, a glance at my captain. He looks like shit. His eyes are surrounded by tired dark circles and his face looks gaunt.

  It hit him pretty hard too.

  “This,” I gesture to the girl, “this was personal.”

  The captain studies me, but I don’t fucking flinch.

  “There’s something going on with you and this Ivan person, Santiago, and I want to know what it is. This shit can’t happen again,” he points to the girl, “I won’t have this in my goddamn city.”

  His completely accurate assumption hits me in the damn face like a right hook, and makes me flinch. What do I tell him? Ivan is here because of some personal vendetta from twenty years ago because I killed his brother? By the way captain, I have to kill him too because he put my brother in a coma, and if I don’t, this shit as you call it, is never going to stop. Not until he gets Maria. And me.

  But I have to tell him something.

  “You’re right, there is.” I don’t back down. “Apparently we had associates that knew each other in the past. Things didn’t go according to plan. I guess he’s not too happy about it.”

  Neither one of us is going to pussy foot around the fact that Ivan is responsible for this.

  And I’m a major part of it somehow or another.

  “He did this because of you?” his question is like a knife in my stomach.

  Pain and fury lances through me.

  “Yes,” I state flatly.

  His eyes narrow to angry slits.

  “Why, Santiago?”

  I want to get in his face. He doesn’t understand evil creatures like Ivan, he’s never had to see the carnage left in the wake of their livelihood. Ivan is a special kind of sick, he’s demented and the only thing inside a devil like him is horror of the worst kind.

  “He wanted to send a message,” I answer, forcing the words out. “This is nothing, I told you what his favorite toy was, remember? A machete. He likes to leave an impression, a statement. This, as horrible as it is, is nothing. This was meant for me,” saying it out loud makes me sick, “because I called him a coward for abusing her.” I look back at the poor dead girl. “He wanted to show me he could do whatever the fuck he wants.”

  The captain doesn’t say anything for a few moments. He and I stand like statues next to the body as we’re each lost in our own thoughts.

  The CSI team finishes gathering all the evidence they can from the crime scene, then the body bag is brought over to carry her away. She’s now only evidence, and a critical part to our investigation.

  The fact is the most important thing this innocent girl might have done her whole short life is helping in a police investigation after she’s dead because of something she had nothing to do with. She’s been a victim from the minute she decided to come to the states, used as a slave in a human trafficking circle, turned into a whore, now raped, drugged, beaten, and dead.

  The sadness is heart wrenching.

  “How are we going to get this son-of-a-bitch?” I hear the captain’s question.

  “We’ve got to find him.”

  “Do you have any ideas on how we can find a ghost? The only time he’s ever seen is when he lets us. The guy doesn’t even exist as far as we’re concerned,” his frustration is palpable, just like mine is.

  I smile. It’s not a pleased grin, there’s no trace of humor or happiness. It’s sick and twisted, just like the filth we’re looking for.

  “If you want shit, you’ve got to jump in the sewers.”

  The captain doesn’t reply, he doesn’t have to, he knows exactly what I mean.

  Birds are starting to sing to each other from all around us. The world is waking up as the sun’s just breaking over the horizon, pushing back the darkness and monsters, chasing away the demons of the night and all the terrors they bring, and shoving the bogey man back under the bed. The only problem is the bogey man isn’t afraid of the light.

  “Then I guess you’d better get yourself one hell of a pair of goulashes, son,” he mumbles.

  I turn to walk away.

  “No need, Cap, I’m already knee deep in it. Too late.”

  I head back to my car and close myself in, lean back against the headrest, and shut my eyes. The images of Maria’s lust drunk face and the dead girl’s stone expression swirl around my mind like specters, both of them haunting me.

  The clock is ticking. I know I don’t have much time, he’s waited almost twenty years, he’s done waiting. This isn’t New York, the streets aren’t the same. That’s not important, it’s not what surrounds the streets, it’s what in them that I’m concerned with. These types of criminals are all the same no matter where they are, they might have different covers, but what lurks behind is always the same. I’ve made some contacts since I arrived, made a few friends who operate in the grey area.

  I don’t know how much time passes as I formulate my plan, and wait for it not to be the crack of dawn, when my cell phone rings. I snatch it when I see it’s Carlos.

  “What’s going on?” I answer quickly.

  There’s only one reason he’s calling at this time of the morning.

  “They’re rushing Jesús to emergency surgery,” Carlos’ words are hurried. I hear the early morning New York city traffic in the background and he sounds winded.

  “What happened?” the vice grip is back around my throat.

  “The swelling got worse in his brain overnight, bro,” his words are emotional and choked.

  FUCKFUCKFUCK.

  “Carlos, I’m so sorry,” I’m torn. I know I should be there for my family, but Maria needs me here more.

  “I know, Rico,” I hear a car door slam, quietness, then the revving of an engine. “You’ve got Ivan to deal with,” the name is nothing but hate. “That’s another reason why I’m calling. We found out who his brother was. His name was Armando, the leader of that whole little crew, the one who started it all.”

  I can see his face as clear as if the whole thing happened yesterday.

  “Any updates up there?” I ask as I start up my car.

  “Now that we’ve got the connection, we’re setting up a meet. But me and Negro seem to think that because there’s no direct affiliation with Ivan and Los Muertos, they’re not going to get involved. He’s an island, and like I said, nobody wants to rock the business boat.”

  “What about who he’s working for now? Who’s behind the operations down here?” I ask as I pull back on to Front Street.

  “Nothing on that yet eithe
r. It could be anybody.”

  I let out a frustrated sigh. “Call me and let me know when Jesús gets out of surgery.” I’ve got a lump in my throat the size of a fist.

  “Will do,” Carlos hangs up.

  The golden ball of sun has crawled across the sky. I think about going home and getting another shower and crawling into bed with Maria for a few glorious minutes before I start the manhunt and getting filthy with the scum I have to connect with.

  There isn’t a damn thing I want more than that.

  My soul needs it. I need to feel her body, see her, touch her, smell her, taste her, that alone is the only thing that will confirm she’s safe and give me some peace.

  Instead, I make my way toward the airport and the warehouse district.

  I’ll call her when it’s a decent hour, it’s still too early. Her voice alone will soothe me.

  I have to keep her safe. The only way to do that is to find Ivan, get some leads on him and his whereabouts, find out what he’s up to, who he’s affiliated with. The girl’s death, the fact he was seen with her and on the bus, and her corpse more than likely shot up with heroin, links him to the drug case, and the human trafficking ring. If there is any evidence on her body that belongs to Ivan, he’s going to prison. Until he dies there.

  I breathe a sigh of relief. Is it wrong for me to be grateful that wasn’t Maria under that tarp? Should I feel guilty? I can’t, no matter what’s right or wrong, human or inhuman, I’m so fucking happy it wasn’t Maria’s lifeless, battered, beaten body lying cold and dead in that park.

  I need information. The element of surprise is the best defense. I’m going to surprise the hell out of some guys who’ve got their fingers into every illegal activity that goes on. Their ring is so large I really have no idea how far their connections reach. They are the stinkiest pieces of shit around. I don’t know how they manage it, but they’ve made a killing in shipping stolen merchandise in and out of the area but have never been brought in. Who knows, insurance fraud is a major racket all in itself, therefore, there’s no telling who their backers are. As far as I’m concerned, they’re not hurting anyone, on the contrary, using them to get information has helped stop bigger crimes before anyone could really get hurt.