Sin, page 16
Her reply is instant, and it’s hard to keep myself from smiling.
I’ve always been an angel. ~Twirl
Promises. Promises ~Twirl
My mind immediately goes back to just before we left for the airfield and I had her bent over the bathroom sink, legs spread, with my face buried between her thighs. To the way she whimpers every time I rake my teeth over her clit. The way she trembles when I dig my fingers into her hips, holding her in place.
I can still taste her decadence on my tongue.
See the fire in her eyes when she begs for more.
An attachment comes through, and it’s a picture with some sort of filter that adds wings and a halo to her. She’s glowing in it. Beautiful. Wearing the sweetest grin, with a small hint of the blotchiness from the few tears that fell when I kissed her at the security gate.
It’s perfect. She’s perfect.
Another text comes in just as I’m going to respond.
Is it weird that I miss you already? You just left and I feel off without you here. ~Twirl
Not at all when I feel the same. Call you when I land. ~Malcolm
“Happiness looks good on you,” Dad says, pulling my attention away from her messages. “And your mother adores her, by the way.”
“Why?”
His smile drops, and he gives me a grimace. “Shit didn’t look good, Malcolm. That’s the God’s honest truth.” Dad rubs a tired hand down his face. “Look at it from my point of view; a pretty girl, her last name is Foster, and she’s wearing bruises on her neck and deep scratches down her arm...wouldn’t you be concerned?”
Nodding, I pick up my glass and drain the rest of its contents. “I agree that it looked bad, but you made her feel unwelcomed in my home, and that’s unacceptable. Pull me aside. Question me where she can’t hear, but never in her presence again. Understood?”
Ellen appears then with a new drink for me; a gin and tonic with a cucumber and lemon slice, setting it on the table beside a cheese plate.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, sir.” Once more she disappears inside a small area up front for the staff.
“You’re right. How I handled it was wrong, and I apologize.”
“Accepted.”
“I know you’d never hurt someone who’s an innocent, son. More so, someone we both know isn’t involved in her family’s schemes, but I couldn’t in good conscience not ask—”
“Wait a minute.” Holding a hand up, I stop him. We both know... “What do you mean by that? You know her?”
“No.” Dad picks up his drink and takes a sip, then another before putting it down again. He’s not looking at me; his stare is on the round ice cube inside the glass. “I don’t know London, son, but your mother knew Amelia.”
“Through Earl?” Because that’s the first thing that comes to mind. A few muffled curses come from a few of my men. They’re yelling at the TV, and when I hold a hand up, they quiet down at once. “Is that how you knew London’s mom?”
“That, and Julian Conte, her spouse, did business with us.” Dad reaches into the messenger bag he brought onboard and pulls out a picture. He places it face down and pushes it toward me. “We ran in the same circles and did a few social functions together. They were a very nice couple who had shit luck with the company they kept.”
I don’t miss his emphasis on the word “company.” Picking up the photo, I bring it up to my face and study the people in it. Mom and Dad are to the left, with Amelia, and the man I know to be Julian, in the middle. They’re laughing at something, having a wonderful time at what looks to be a Christmas function of some sort.
However, my eyes focus on the last person in the group. His face is familiar, just younger in appearance. An angry asshole putting up the front of a good friend and enjoying himself while his date looks to be bored.
Marcus Foster looks the same.
Same miserable expression.
The devil in me recognizes the malice in him. His thirst for money and power. His willingness to kill everyone in his way to obtain it.
He’s pulled the tail of the wrong demon this time.
“He knew her father.” It’s a statement, not a question.
“Yes.”
“There’s more to this story, isn’t there?”
“That’s what Earl believes, and so do I.”
Placing the photo down, I look at my old man. “He came to you for help?”
“About seven months ago. He’s worried about London’s safety.”
“Is that why...?”
“I reacted?” Dad nods. “In part, yes.”
“You knew who she was?”
“Your mother wasn’t sure—a lot of time has passed since we saw Amelia—but I knew immediately. Aside from the pictures Earl has shown me, she’s her mother’s spitting image.” Leaning forward in his seat, he lowers his voice. “Malcolm, you have to know that my surprise wasn’t at her being there, or not approving, but the shape she was in. Those women have been through enough, and I wasn’t about to stand back and let her pay for a crime that isn’t hers.”
“Why didn’t you come to me the moment Earl spoke to you?” I can’t disguise the bite in my tone. The anger at knowing I could’ve saved her sooner.
“Because you made a deal with the Riveras.”
Understanding dawns on me. “And they should’ve been dead by now.”
“Exactly,” he says with a heavy sigh, shoulders drooping a bit. “The last thing we wanted was for them to run, or worse. They’ll kill her out of desperation, and then Marcus will gain total access to her inheritance. We couldn’t run the risk of word getting back—”
“There’s a rat,” I deadpan low enough so only he can hear.
“You know?”
“I have my suspicions, and I’m letting the scum trap himself.”
He rubs his jaw, eyes shifting to my men behind us. “You’ve always been ten steps ahead of everyone.”
“Paying attention to details is my job.”
“And yet something is bothering you.”
“I failed her.”
“No, you—”
“I did.” Sitting back, I close my eyes and picture her face. That sweet smile and the soft expression she gets when I call her Twirl. “I should’ve never accepted the deal with Thiago and shut them down the moment they stepped foot in my city. I should’ve just paid the debt they owe and put them down like the vermin they are. There’s a lot of I should haves, but I didn’t, and now that’s a wrong I’m going to rectify. London will never know pain again. Never feel fear. They will die so my girl can reclaim her peace.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to paint a beautiful picture with their blood.”
“Welcome back, Mr. Asher,” Maria and Juan greet me in the driveway of my vacation home in Costa Rica, their accents heavy. They’ve been with me for a few years now; a trustworthy, older couple that lives here and takes care of the property year round while I’m away.
They’re here to cater to my guests and never ask questions.
They’ve never been reluctant to clean up a mess if things turn south.
But more importantly, they’ve never said a word about the business that’s transpired.
“Happy to be back,” I say, extending a hand out to Juan and then Maria. They each shake it, and then get right back to work on unloading the back of the rental. The men traveling with me are already taking their luggage down and heading toward a separate home, a smaller structure to the right of the main house, where they’ll stay while we’re here.
Except for Carmelo and my father. They will be with me.
“Has anyone else arrived?” Dad asks, exiting the SUV with his phone in hand. He’s reading something on it, chuckling to himself, before typing a reply. “Or do we have time to relax for a bit?”
Maria pauses on the second step and looks back. “You’re the first to arrive, señor.”
“Perfect.” Dad follows her up to the house while I survey the area. I’m sure he wants to call Mom and then rest for a bit, while I’m feeling restless. A bit edgy.
You miss her.
I do. Not going to deny it.
Being with her these last few days—having her close and drowning myself in her scent—was heaven, but I couldn’t bring her with me this time. Not when she isn’t ready to deal with assholes that walk around thinking women are here to only serve one purpose.
To be on their knees.
In time, she won’t cower from those men. She won’t so much as blink when they make a comment. London will know how to protect herself. She’ll shoot first and let me worry about the consequences for her later.
That the only man she will ever kneel for is me, and that’s because she wants to. Craves it.
Carmelo’s voice meets my ears then and I tilt my head, catching the end of his instructions. He’s walking my way with four others; two of them will man the security kiosk and the others will handle perimeter checks around the clock during our stay.
No one gets on this estate without my knowing. No one leaves without my permission.
This property is nestled on a private stretch of land between a waterfall and the dense Costa Rican jungle. Its lush vegetation surrounds the back, while the ocean is visible from the front because of the high vantage point of this cliff. The warm waters below and white sandy beach, with miles upon miles of solitary beauty, is only accessible by foot or short motorbike ride down a hidden trail that a select few know about.
It’s beautiful, peaceful, and I have no neighbors for a few miles. The perfect place to host a man with just as much blood on his hands as I do.
He’s one of the world’s richest; a modern-day narco. A man that resides at the very top of every most wanted list in the world. Someone who values his privacy and ability to fly under the radar above all else.
Roberto Castillo is rich, smart, and someone who moves a lot of money through my bank. A loyal customer from a secluded mountaintop in South America who owes me a favor.
One I plan to cash today.
23
“SO, YOU FORESEE NO future delays after the Jameson issue?” Roberto asks, sitting back in his seat out on my lanai, an ice-cold beer in his hand. His right-hand man nods beside him, yet the move is a bit sloppy. A bit drunk. He’s sipping on his fourth serving of rum while Carmelo and my father don’t move an inch.
Don’t show any emotion.
Blank faces greet Roberto’s question, and I bring my own drink to my lips, savoring the orangey hop flavor. “This business has no guarantees, yet I’ve never failed you. My record speaks for itself.”
The smell of an open flame and meat permeates the air. Juan is at the grill while Maria prepares a few typical dishes for our guest; a few salads, rice and beans, fried green plantains and empanadas. It’s been hours since my last meal and I’m starving, feeling a bit agitated by his lack of faith.
“It’s not you I’m worried about per se…” he trails off and I tilt my head to the side, raising a brow. “There’s been a few rumors. You know people talk—”
“About what?” No one misses the bite in my tone and his men tense, two reaching back to grab the guns tucked at their waistbands. Idiots. What they fail to realize in their cockiness, the bravado that anyone with power suffocates in, is that no one is invincible.
It’s the most obvious that gets you killed.
Danger is always in front of your face, not hidden.
Like now, I scratch my chin and two of my men get into position, the scopes at the end of their semi-automatics barely visible from the roof’s edge. A dangerous scenario for anyone that pisses me off.
Those snipers are on my payroll. Are loyal to me.
Roberto shifts his eyes to Carlos, who’s busy laughing, not a single care in the world while I break down their actions. Mannerisms.
“Who’s talking?” my father asks, his own hand clenching once before he grabs his own beer. “Please share.”
“They’re saying you’re distracted by a woman.”
“Is that all?” I laugh, a harsh, sardonic sound that fills the now-quiet space. And just as soon as it starts, it stops when I turn my hard eyes on a still-chuckling Carlos. The man is oblivious to my mounting ire.
“No disrespect meant, my friend.” Roberto is a smart man. It’s why he’s still alive when so many have fallen before him. He thinks. Plots. Makes the right investments.
I recognize in him what he sees in me: no remorse.
In this business he needs someone to trust with his assets, and I make a fortune from each transaction. It works, until it doesn’t.
At this moment, it’s becoming a failure.
“I fail to see how my private life holds weight over my business.”
“This came from someone close to you. A Jimmy Cross?”
His noose just grew tighter. “I know the name, yet it still doesn’t answer why it should matter to anyone.”
“To me, it doesn’t. I just wanted to address—”
“See, boss.” Carlos slaps a hand down on the table. The impact causes his drink to spill, and the asshole has the audacity to snap a finger at Maria to clean it. She makes a move to do so, but the shake of my head stops her in her tracks. Something he doesn’t notice. Nor does he realize that three hands on this table have moved beneath the wood. “I told you Malcolm doesn’t let a meaningless fuck control him.”
“Enough, Carlos,” Roberto hisses from between clenching teeth, a hand up but no call to action. To remove the asshole.
Shaking his head, Carlos grabs Roberto’s bottle and drains what’s left in two deep pulls. Once it’s empty, he slams it down with a sneer on his face. “Pussy is a dime a dozen and most come attached to a whore—”
His head flies back from the impact of my bullet, blood splattering his boss and Carmelo. Neither so much as flinch. No other guns go off.
Instead, we watch as Carlos’s body slumps with his head hanging at an awkward angle, red dripping from the exit point at the back of his head. It pools on the floor below and then spreads along the grout lines of my terra-cotta tiles.
There are small bits of flesh and bone fragmented by the force, sticking to the pillars and walls near his body. The scene is gory and a bit gruesome, and yet, I feel a sense of relief settle deep into my bones.
My agitation is somewhat sated. At once, I’m a little calmer.
“Thank you for that.” That comes from Roberto; he’s wearing a tiny grin on his face. “Motherfucker was driving me insane.”
“Why didn’t you just put him down?” I place my gun atop the table, and then pick up my drink to take a hearty sip. “The man was obnoxious.”
“Idiot was my wife’s cousin.” Roberto shrugs, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the few splatters on his face. “You know…” he waves a hand in the air “…family and all that shit.”
“And this won’t cause an issue?” Snapping my fingers gets everyone moving. Roberto’s men take the body into a large storage I have in the woods, while mine will assist in preparing the corpse for transportation back to whatever family he has. Maria’s already cleaning, abandoning her cooking for the moment, while her husband goes around the table refilling drinks and then replacing the ruined chair.
“Not at all, since he died at some bar with his hand between the legs of another man’s wife.”
“Poor guy.” Carmelo lifts his bottle in the man’s memory.
“He was a nuisance who took liberties which weren’t his to take. I put up with him for my wife who took pity because he has no wife or kids. No one who really cared.” Roberto sits back, nodding to himself. Thinking. You can tell the exact moment his attention shifts back to what’s important; business. Why he needs me. “However, I have more important things to worry about than what story to tell my lady. We need to move the equivalent of half a billion dollars in six months, Malcolm, all in Mexican pesos this time. Five transactions coming from different states within Mexico starting in two weeks. It’s going to an offshore account in Barbados, and then from there to Switzerland.”
“Consider it done, but...” I pull out my phone and cross-check his last choice with an email from my informant. “Not to Switzerland. We’re going to split the final destination between Uruguay and somewhere East.”
“Uruguay works, but where east?”
“China. Shanghai, to be exact.”
I’m on my plane back to the US the next day around midday. Roberto left early this morning after a late dinner and then a few friendly games of pool, needing to reach the Panama Canal and ensure that a shipment of drugs passes through without incident.
He has men in that port, but one can never be too careful when money is involved.
Money moves the world, and it’s the reason why so many illegal businesses exists. One hand washes the other, especially when a few bills are thrown at any complication that can arise, but people get greedy. Want more.
And the problems lie with that more. With the opportunity, those idiots make mistakes, and in his business, that’s more common than one thinks. Even those at the top have to watch their backs of thieves.
Because everyone has a price. That golden number which makes them willing to take a life.
“We’ll be landing shortly, Mr. Asher,” my pilot announces, and I buckle myself in. This is a short pit stop that’s unavoidable before I head home. To be honest, I should’ve made the trip the moment I found out he was released.
My eyes stray away from the TV in front of me and over to the window. The sun is high, and the waters off the Florida coast glisten in its light. The city of Miami is beautiful, loud, but hides a danger beneath its golden surface that many fail to see.
I see it, though. The allure. The mist of sin and carnal desires that turns people into criminals.
The wheels touch down on the tarmac, and I turn my phone on. Immediately it pings with three text messages; two from Twirl and one from Gina.
The woman has been with me for a little over six months, working as a daytime guard inside the Asher building. She’s diligent, an ex-military medic who came home to nothing. Her family died, and the law failed to find their killer.
