Devil's Claim: A Dark Mafia Romance (Devil's Syndicate Book 2), page 2
She stared up at me with the most iridescent pair of light green eyes I’d ever seen.
“What… now?” she breathed. She was still shaking but pressed her hand across her lips at first. When she burst into laughter, I was taken aback by her brazenness. Did she truly believe my appearance was funny? “Um, don’t look at me that way. It’s just… Well, you have icing on your face. You know, from the kiss.”
When she reached out, I snapped my hand around her wrist by reaction.
“Ouch. You have trust issues,” she whispered, glaring at me with an unyielding look in her eyes.
Exhaling, I released my hold, surprised once again as she rubbed her fingers across my face. Her touch was far too electrifying. A slight and very wry smile curling across her voluptuous lips, she held up her hand, allowing me to see the thick smudge of icing on her fingers.
“See? I wasn’t going to hurt you. At least not like you plan on doing to me.” A slight nervous tic appeared in the corner of her mouth.
I glanced toward her phone on the counter. Whatever music was playing in a continuous loop was as annoying as the situation. “I won’t hurt you. If you behave.” What was the godawful sound?
She snorted and slapped her hand across her mouth. When I glanced at her phone again, she caught my gaze. “That’s Taylor Swift music. I take it you’re not a Swiftie.”
“Name.” Frowning, I immediately headed to her front door. At least she’d been smart enough to lock that one, including sliding the deadbolt into place. I stormed back, immediately cocking my head from the way she was staring at me. “What is your name?”
“Look, buddy. I don’t provide private information to strangers. That’s the clearest way of getting yourself… killed. You tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine.”
Was this girl kidding me? I narrowed my eyes.
“Okay. It’s Christine. We aren’t friends yet, so you don’t get my last name.”
I had no idea what the hell to do with her. At this point, I was ready to drag her over my knees and give her a hard spanking just for taunting me. I moved further into her tiny kitchen, checking for a hidden weapon.
“What are you looking for?” she asked, although her tone was much more demanding than it should be.
I opened every cabinet door and searched on top of the refrigerator. If necessary, I’d check the rest of her house later, but it was apparent she had nothing to do with the attack.
After a few seconds of me remaining quiet, she whistled. “O-kay. So, I need a drink. I have a feeling you do too.”
She’d turned around, watching everything I did with her arms folded. She’d smeared the icing she’d rubbed from my face onto her leggings. There was something so naturally attractive about her, even though she was nothing like the women I’d dated. If you could call the few one-night hookups dating. In her casually sloppy clothes and disheveled but adorable hair, she was truly an utter beauty.
Who smelled like sin.
Even her bare feet with the chipped polish ignited something deep and dark within me.
I said nothing, but nodded. The less I said to her, the better off it would be for both of us. If she was innocent, she didn’t need to become mixed up in the shit about ready to hit the fan.
And it would.
Heads would roll.
Blood would tarnish Miami’s already sordid reputation.
And I’d laugh my ass off all the way back to Barcelona.
She pulled a bottle of tequila from under the counter, yanking an already opened bottle of wine forward as well. After tapping her nails onto the counter, she frowned and inched closer to where I was standing. With her being so close, I grasped the first hint of real fear stirring within her.
Good. She should be terrified of me.
“Unless you want to drink straight from the bottle, I need to get a couple glasses from the cabinet behind you.”
The tension was thick, the sexual provocation increasing. I moved a few inches, forcing her to brush against me while opening the door and retrieving the glasses. Another jagged jolt of current flowed from one to the other. She seemed none too happy, cursing under her breath while being unable to look me in the eyes.
“What’s your poison?” she managed.
“Tequila.”
“I figured you for a tequila man. Do you have a big, bad Harley waiting for you or did you fly here with your bat wings?”
If she expected me to laugh or acknowledge her question, she was wrong.
She sighed and poured a hefty shot of tequila for me in a strange-looking glass, wine for herself. The initial rush of adrenaline was finally giving way to heavy anxiety. However, I’d give her credit for maintaining calm, rare for even the most powerful, well-trained soldiers.
Instead of handing me the glass, she smartly slid the drink in my direction.
“Is it okay if I finish icing the cake or will that put me on the naughty list?”
If I allowed her to work, maybe she’d remain silent. At this point, I needed to think about how to handle this. It was obvious having only three soldiers with me didn’t create decent odds. Still, there would likely not be another opportunity to get so close to the Moroccan without starting a war.
“Finish,” I told her.
After taking several gulps of her wine, she snatched the rounded paddle off the table, jabbing the edge into the bowl of icing. Every few seconds, she darted a glance in my direction.
I repeated her name in a dark whisper, allowing the syllables to stimulate my tongue. With my soldiers still on the street, I shouldn’t be enjoying the show, but I couldn’t help myself and it had been a long time since I’d tasted a woman.
The heated kiss had left a faint hint of strawberries lingering in my mouth, her soft lips leaving a burning desire swelling my balls. There was no reason for me to be lamenting my previous choices in women, yet bad things tended to happen when innocent women got involved with a killer like me.
Seconds later, she hissed and lifted her head. “Look. Either kill me or put the gun away. I meant what I said about this goddamn cake. I need to finish it. I know what I said earlier about my friends, but I do care about the bride, who happens to be my bestie. I’m only doing this for her. I really don’t have the money to be doing it again. So please, make your decision which. The buttercream frosting won’t maintain this balance for long. Not that you care about balance. Right? I can only imagine what you care about.”
Her chest rose and fell, which pushed her taut little nipples poking through her thin shirt. My eyes were drawn to them and she glared at me. Even her beautiful nose wrinkled.
“Rude,” she muttered as she jerked the shirt out with one hand.
She was feisty, but no match for me.
I shoved the gun behind my waist under my belt and threw back the tequila. The burn was decent enough. I’d come to enjoy the liquor since arriving to the city. Three fucking days had passed until an opportunity had presented itself to have a long chat with Fassi’s mistress. Some small part of me had hoped the worthless fuck had remained in town, eager to rekindle what I’d been told was an ongoing romance.
The Moroccan Cartel leader had learned even more caution since a billion in precious jewels had been ripped from his coffers. A brutal dictator, he’d almost destroyed the fortune and taken the life of the man I worked for, Jago Torres.
The bad blood hadn’t stopped there. He was out for our territory and that simply wouldn’t be allowed. The search for the mistress would continue.
While Christine worked, I studied aspects of her precious life. You could tell almost everything you needed to know by how a person lived. Shabby chic wasn’t the term I’d use for her apartment. While her furniture matched, the upholstered sofa and chair certainly not threadbare, they’d seen their better years a long time before. There was no appreciation for style including with what little she had for entertainment. Her television was small, with no surround sound or even a set of cheap speakers.
I had a sense she’d been forced to occupy the space quickly.
She’d been through some shit in her life.
What did it matter? I shouldn’t care one way or the other.
But I couldn’t help myself.
For that one precious moment when our lips had been sealed, I’d felt something that hadn’t occurred in a very long time.
I’d felt alive.
So much so, I’d risk much of what I owned to do it again. Christine caught my attention when she tugged strands of hair behind her ears, hunkering over as she stuffed a pastry bag full of the frosting. Everything about her was delicate, including her long fingers.
I chuckled and glanced at the side of the refrigerator. There were magnets everywhere holding various scraps of paper and flyers from various restaurants. Every one of them had been haphazardly placed as if in a hurry except for a single item. The crisp white note card had four perfectly centered small magnets holding it in the center of the panel.
Curious as to what had garnered special attention, I walked closer.
An invitation.
But not just any invitation.
One hosted by Tonya Cordello, Fassi’s mistress.
The date of the party?
Tomorrow night.
The coincidence wasn’t acceptable. I took two long strides and grabbed Christine by the arm, forcing her to drop the pastry bag. As it skittered across the floor, she gasped in true fear and shock.
“What… What? What?”
“Tonya Cordello,” I growled between clenched teeth.
“Yes. She’s a bridesmaid. Like me. She’s throwing the party I need to go to whether I want to or not. Why? Do you know her?”
I towered over the girl by almost a foot. Just drinking in her perfume was fucking with my anger. I jerked her even closer. “You’re working with her. You lured me here.”
“Um, lured? I don’t know what you think, but you broke into my apartment. Remember? I wasn’t standing outside shouting one eight hundred come fuck me.”
My God, the woman was fearless half the time, irresistible the other, and constantly annoying.
But she wasn’t lying to me.
The chirp of my phone startled her. She jumped, wincing as if the slight sound was gunfire.
Or something even worse. The faint look in her eyes faded, but I caught it, the clear sign that a single phone call had or could alter her life in a worse way than had already been done.
Why should I care?
“Stay right here,” I told her as I quickly moved from the kitchen.
“Yes, sir,” she said sarcastically as soon as I’d moved away.
I found myself grinning while I pulled my cellphone into my hand. “Benito. What is the situation?”
“We got away. Not without taking on some gunfire. Andres sustained an injury, but he’ll live. You locked down?”
“I am.” I turned to face her, watching her watch me. “The assholes who followed us?”
“We got two, but there are at least four others, maybe five. When we roared away, they were still casing the buildings.”
“Fuck,” I hissed. The last thing I needed was to be caught like a rat in a trap.
“Yeah. Sorry, boss. They hit us hard.”
“Go back to the jet. Keep it secure. If there’s any issue, head back to Barcelona.”
“Then what about you?”
“I’ll find a way.”
Benito snorted. “What about Fassi’s bitch?”
Christine was acting as if she wasn’t listening, returning to her decorating duties, but she was attempting to pay attention to the conversation. As small a place as it was, she’d likely captured every word. Could I have held the discussion in Spanish? Absolutely, but what fun would that be? Besides, it was entirely possible she was bilingual. Spanish was widely spoken in Florida.
“I may have a new and even better way of getting her attention. Find out if there’s any word on the Moroccan’s whereabouts and keep me informed. If all goes well, we’ll simply change plans for tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir.”
Ending the call, I shoved the phone into my pocket and moved cautiously toward her. As soon as I was within a couple of feet, she sucked in her breath just as she’d done before. Her lower lip trembled and the beast inside grew hungry.
“I’m sorry for interrupting your night, Christine.”
“Does that mean you’re leaving?”
Hopeful. Yet disappointed. Interesting.
“I’m afraid there’s been another change of plans.”
“What does that mean?”
I moved even closer, swiping my finger through the bowl of icing. “That means you have a guest. For the night.”
CHAPTER 3
Christine
Oh, hell, no.
Absolutely not.
There was no way I would spend another minute with the man, let alone an entire night. He’d need to wrestle me to the floor, tie me up and gag me for the night. Come to think of it, that wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe the most excitement I’d had in months.
Except…
No, I wasn’t going down that ridiculous road. Unless I had a pitchfork in my hand and was planning on driving it into the man-who-would-not-be-named’s heart. Although at this point, that would suit me just fine. I needed to release my aggression, especially right now.
“Um, I don’t think so,” I told him as politely as possible. He did have a weapon after all.
“I’m afraid,” he said while twisting the finger covered in icing, my icing, “that you don’t have a choice.”
For a man of few words and with danger exuding from every pore, he had a very sensual way of sucking the frosting from his finger. So much so, I couldn’t take my eyes off him. That made me some kind of sinner myself. I took pride in that I didn’t do something stupid like smash the wineglass and attempt to drive the broken stem into the sexy man’s eyeball.
The true working word was attempt. His reflexes were abnormally quick. That meant he was highly skilled. An assassin? Maybe. I reached for my wine, determined to finish it and every drop of liquor in my house. To hell with offering him another drink.
He decided to do it for himself, moving around me to grab the bottle. In doing so, he was forced to brush past me just like I’d done before.
I couldn’t stand to watch him any longer. I still needed to finish icing the goddamn cake. Fuck. Why was I even bothering? The three-tiered cake was leaning at this point, probably because of the heated testosterone forming gas rings from Mr. Dangerous. I slapped on more icing, trying to fill in a few gaps.
What if I made a funny face instead of continuing the dainty fucking flowers surrounding the base? Maybe my abductor’s face. Yeah, why not immortalize him? That is what I should call him. Right? Granted, I was still in my own house, but I could be abducted by remaining right where I was.
Apparently, my last months of hell hadn’t taken a complete toll on me. I still had a firm hold on my self-deprecating and very twisted sense of humor.
“Who is Tonya to you?” I asked. The silence was as suffocating as his huge, muscular body filling the tiny space. Soon, I’d be out of air, gagging for every last breath. What assassin looked like him, all buff and perfect? His hair created a desire to run my fingers through it, much like I longed to trace the incredibly artistic tattoos he had sweeping down both arms.
I had so many questions to ask.
“It’s best you don’t ask too many questions, mi pequeño pastel.”
His voice was little more than a husky growl, so masculine. So…
“What did you call me?”
“My little cake.”
I shoved the paddle toward him before I realized what I was doing. “Hey, be kind. You’re in my house. I’ve offered you tequila. I’ve haven’t called the cops, although I’m certain you’d tackle me to the ground if I tried. What I’m managing a shitty job of saying is that you need to be nice to me.”
Suddenly, his eyes became entirely too hooded and bad, bad things rolled through my mind. What would it be like to fuck a dangerous man? My bestie, Chloe, the bride with the perfect hero for a groom, had told me my problem was that I didn’t take risks. I’d taken one. One in my entire life of being the good girl and where had it gotten me?
But still, Mr. Dangerous was tempting.
“I don’t know Tonya that well. All I can tell you is she’s a true socialite. Her parents come from old money from another country. I don’t know where and I don’t care.” I returned to the pastry bag, trying my best to concentrate on the flowers while being stared at by his perfectly luminous eyes. They matched his carved features, including a high forehead and an oh-so strong jaw covered in dark stubble. Much like his thick, dark hair, I longed to run my fingers from one side of his jaw to the other.
“If she’s such a terrible person, why are you friends?”
I wasn’t expecting the question and I laughed almost maniacally. My nerves were finally starting to get to me. That was obvious. I stood back, making faces at my masterpiece. “You know what? I’ve been asking myself that very question now for almost four months. Four grueling months of dealing with her making fun of my clothes, my rust-bucket of a car, my apartment that I’ve been lucky to get since otherwise I’d be living in my car, and reminding me in those subtle yet pointed jabs every time she’s graced my company that I don’t come from fine stock like she does.”
If only the woman knew the ugly truth.
I was breathless after jumbling the words, but that’s what being a nervous wreck did to you.
“Can you make yourself useful and open the refrigerator door for me so I can safely put the cake away? Chloe doesn’t need my mess of a life to interfere with hers.”
Mr. Dangerous continued being his brooding self, but at least did what I asked.
“Thank you.” I eased the cake into my almost empty refrigerator. Another bright side. At least I’d been able to remove the shelf with no trouble or loss of food. Whatever my abductor did to me, at least I wouldn’t get blood on the precious cake.
Drama queen.
Maybe. Maybe not. The jury was still out.
