And he’s still there. Still watching. Still terrifying. Still … branding me with those eyes. Memorizing every detail from head to toe, as if he’s already decided we’re not done here.
Not even close.
2
GHOST
Her scent still lingers in the room, flooding my nose, lungs, and brain with sick yearning. My fists clench at my sides while I storm toward the window from which she leaped. Not out of anger for letting her go, nor the incompetence of Don Bernal’s men for having someone slip under our radar.
It's the raw, ravenous hunger she draws out of me. Knowing I must stay here and see my work through, when all I want to do is jump into the dirt and chase her into the night.
And that fucking whimper.
The broken sound of defeat for a fight that hadn’t even started. But even though it left her weak, I can’t stop hearing it. Over and over, while my mind races in panic.
God, never let it stop. Keep it on repeat. Now, while I watch her like some voyeuristic monster obscured from view, and again when she’s dripping over my cock and being ruined for every other man alive.
My entire world came undone the second I saw her cowering behind those boxes. Wide-eyed and trembling like a doe inheadlights while she looked up at me. Christ, she was staring like her body had made a decision her mind hadn’t caught up with. Begging to be taken, right here, right now. Claimed. Owned.
Mine.
I wonder what it says about me, seeing her scared while my cock throbbed so violently against my thigh. How could it not when her perfection was within reach? So close I could grab her, feel her soft skin against my fingertips, bend her over and…
We haven’t spoken a word to each other, and my fate is sealed.
I shut the spotless window and watch her through it far longer than I should. Entranced by her beauty, I can’t look away. Especially now, as she slinks through the backyard with messy golden curls bouncing down her back from every step she takes. Better still, the view of her round ass squeezed into those tight black pants. Suffocatingly tight and stretched to the seams, leaving me no need to imagine what’s underneath. Begging for my mouth to mark her where no one else ever will.
I only regain control of myself when she disappears out of view. And even now, I realize, it’s a very loose definition of control.
“Everybody out,” I bark, just loud enough for Rico and Tony to hear me from the other room. I work better alone. Always have. Fewer distractions mean fewer fuck ups.
And I need all the help I can get when she’s floating through my mind and clouding my judgment.
“So, you’re the guy?” a voice asks from behind.
I spin around to find Rico Alverez standing in the doorway, cross-armed and a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. I ignore him. My order was clear, concise—two simple words even he should understand.
He moves when I try to pass, but I’m sure it comes with a funny face from my disrespect.
Stepping into the master bedroom, Eduardo and Loraine lie peacefully on the ground. Clean shots, quick work, they wouldn’t have suffered. That’s a small victory I’d never share with the others. I pull out my phone and start the recorder, going over the scene and what needs to be replaced.
I did a sweep a few nights back, going over the layout, how the picture frames were placed, and their contents. With all the right friends in all the wrong places, finding suitable replacements for the furniture was easy enough.
“Mounted TV, stained. Needs replacing. Landline on Eduardo’s side stopped the bullet. Loraine’s dog-eared romance novel, splattered. Mattress soaked through with blood. Full replacement—” I continue going over the entire room until everything is covered.
Because these details matter in my line of work. Doing my job right erases our visit. No sign or trace that anyone other than the Vasquez family was here.
And her, of course.
Whoever she may be.
After my inspection, I get to work. Hours of packing, scrubbing, and moving furniture until the room is spotless. By the time it’s done, with the bloodstained bed and Loraine’s body loaded in my van, being ghosts in the wind is almost exactly how things play out.
Almost.
Just need to wait for someone in my crew to bring replacement furniture, and we’ll be?—
“What the fuck do you want?” My good mood from a job well done is ruined by the sight of Rico leaning against my van while I try to make my final delivery of Eduardo Vasquez.
