How in the hell didCerezaturn out to be Lachey’s sister? How’d I manage to bring the one woman who caught my eye into the middle of a cartel war?
My arrogance would get me killed one day.
I closed my eyes and paced the stark white bedroom. Blindly bumping into things posed no danger. Safe houses were anything but homey. A metal bed with sheets as soft as the needles on a porcupine was all that stood between my fist and the wall.
And God, she made me want to plow through plaster.
Pacing the room, I stopped occasionally to shove my hands through my hair, tearing at the strands until they fell around my temples. I ripped at the collar of my new shirt, buttons flying, and not giving a shit.
She made me crazy. No, she made me more than crazy. I wanted to grab that smart fucking mouth and squeeze until she shut it, and no words came out. I craved to have those pouty lips under my command, kneeling before me with her hands bound until she stopped her incessant talking.
I needed to see a moment of fear in her eyes…just a passing of uncertainty glaze her pale blue eyes, fearing my power over her. Then the fire would return. The cold power that lined her veins and steeled her jaw would demand her retaliation. She’d pull away, glaring at me with a mix of hatred and unwanted desire.
All that raw hate and vengeance inside one woman set something alive inside me that lay dormant for years. I could satiate carnal desires with any woman, but Eden Lachey was a sparked live wire for the taking. The choice was mine to touch her and burn from the inside out or step away and die from nothingness.
Opening my eyes, I found myself at a dead-stop, leaned against the plain metal dresser. Hard as a rock, my slacks barely contained my erection.
Damn this woman.
Cursing, I pushed my palms away and stalked to the attached bathroom, stripping what was left of my suit off as I went. A trail of clothing followed my path until the tiny, stark white bathroom met my scowl. A single basin sink with cheap chrome faucets lined a dirty countertop, and I took care not to touch anything as I turned the shower on.
I’d kill Mateo for choosing this place.
Stepping into the stream of hot water, I let the abusing pelts bruise my skin. I wanted the pain. I deserved it. Placing both palms against the tile, I leaned into the force of the stream and closed my eyes.
I’d indirectly gotten the girl’s brother murdered. I’d ordered the beating on her father, and the fucking Muñoz cartel killed Emilio’s crew, delivering the wrong Lachey. Even if my men didn’t pull the trigger, her brother had shed blood because of my orders. I was also responsible for every Muñoz dick that wanted to violate her. I couldn’t think of what would’ve happened if we hadn’t gotten to her first.
She called me one of them. She called me a murderer. She was right. I was all those things. Yet, I’d never force myself on her. Unless she wanted me to. And God, did I want her to.
A soapy hand slid from the tile as I imagined her crawling on her knees to me, hands bound behind her. I’d make her wait. I’d make her ask for it…cry for it, even. When we both couldn’t stand anymore, I’d grab a fistful of that bright red hair, jerk it back, and shove my cock down her throat. She’d take it all, because of her insatiable need for me. More than anything, I craved to see my dick disappear past that smartass mouth. Then, I could remind her every time she told me to ‘go fuck myself,’ exactly how easily she swallowed it with a smile.
As the fantasy played out in my head, I worked myself into a frenzy. Images of her face flashed through my head as my breathing escalated. My eyes squeezed shut, and my grip tightened while thoughts of her tongue had me pumping at a furious pace.
I braced one hand against the shower wall as a groan tore from deep within my chest. “Cereza,fuck!”
Coming back down to earth, the visions in my mind cleared, and all that remained were stained walls and an unsatisfied cock. Sighing, I washed off and wrapped a towel around my waist.
I couldn’t allow thoughts of her to consume me. I may be a murderer, but I wasn’t a fucking rapist. Something had to give, or I’d spend the entire time in the safe house, jerking off to images of Eden Lachey’s acid tongue.
* * *
By the timeI got out of bed the next morning, I was ready to crawl back in. Sleep never came when my mind replayed the sight of Eden alone and bleeding in a concrete room. I’d tossed and turned, until I finally gave up and went in search of anything resembling a coffee pot. What I found looked like it’d time traveled from 1983. The pot was stained, the filters were fuzzy, and I didn’t even want to know what the hell still clung to the sides of the grounds bucket.
But caffeine was caffeine, and I needed a boost. Something told me our prisoner wouldn’t be as pleasant as yesterday and may need some liquid energy of her own. Taking a sip, I grimaced and hoped she took her coffee with no frills. She was getting it tar black, just like my mood.
On the way to take it to the basement, I paused, hearing Mateo unlock the front door. It had to be him. Anyone else would’ve broken the windows or shot their way in. Still, I dropped the second coffee mug and molded my hand around the gun wedged in the waistband of my sweatpants.
I was sure, but I wasn’t stupid.
My tensed muscles relaxed as Mateo’s long hair popped in the kitchen door attached to a shit-eating grin. “Hola, boss. You’re up early.” He raised a tray and the smell of brewed Columbian coffee filled the room. “I brought brain food.”
“Thank God,” I exhaled, grabbing one out of the carrier. Taking a sip, I held in a groan of satisfaction and threw the remaining mug in the sink. I caught Mateo’s eye as he watched the move, counting the cups before they shattered against each other.
“Dos?” He held two fingers up and shook his head with a smirk. “Taking the prisoner coffee doesn’t exactly play up the fear factor, does it?”
I didn’t appreciate what he insinuated, but I couldn’t deny it either. “She has to drink, Mateo. We’re not savages.”
Mateo took a slow drink from his cup before answering. “She’s hostile, boss. I tried to give her food last night, and she walked away from it. The less you interact with her the better. She’s throwing around accusations about the cartel and using our names.” He glanced toward the closed door where she lay cuffed. “You’ve shown yourself once. Don’t give her more ammunition.”
