11

 

MATEO

 

They find someone to wear down the edges with them, instead of doing it all alone …

Who is this soft, caring individual standing in front of me? The woman who just hours earlier yearned for a fight to the death. In so little time, she’s completely changed, and that confuses me even more. Makes me visualize things I should not be picturing in my mind.

“Why are you being nice? The last time we were alone you wanted to fight,” I say, because I just have to know. I know the reason I’m vulnerable right now. I’ve just lost one of the only people who’s ever meant anything to me. But what’s her motive? What’s her reason for changing tunes so fast?

“You are under my protection.”

Her protection? So, what … we were mortal enemies before?

Nothing that comes out of her mouth makes a damn bit of sense. Instead, it’s twisted with rhymes and mystery.

“Your protection? Carina, you wanted to kill me earlier. That doesn’t just go away in a few hours, and if I can be quite frank, it gives me fucking whiplash.”

Sighing, she steps away from me, and I already miss the heat from her body. Silently, I watch her slowly walk around my room, keeping her back to me as she drops a bomb I never saw coming.

“I don’t mean to be this way, Mateo. I’m just … uh, I’m trying to delve through so many emotions that have been cut off to me for a long time. When dealing with me, for a time, you’ll feel like this. I’m sorry, but it’s the best I can do.”

“If I’m to do that, then you need to work with me, too. If I don’t understand something you’re trying to portray, you can’t turn into mega-bitch and want to slit my throat.”

“I make no promises,” she replies with a half-laugh.

“Okay, then, now back to the protection thing. What did you mean by that?”

She sighs, and I can practically see her mind double time to think of what she needs to say and how she should explain herself. It almost has me stopping her to tell her to start from the beginning so she can process it better, but before I can, she replies, “My one mission given by my father before you all took … ended—”

“Before I ordered his death,” I insert, turning toward her hunched figure.

“Yes, before you ordered his death,” she says, and if I’m not hearing things—which I don’t think I am—there’s a lightness to her voice that wasn’t there before. As if she’s relieved of the fact we killed her father and mother in cold blood. What the hell did those sick, twisted sons of bitches do to her? “My mission was to kill.”

Of course, her mission was to kill. That’s all she’s been trained to do since she was ten. Why is she treating this revelation as if it’s news to me?

“Yes, I know. You are Reap; that’s what you were trained to do.”

“No,” she scolds, turning toward me with watery eyes. “You don’t get it. My mission was to kill, yes. But my target—the main reason I started training—was you. I. Was. Ordered. To. End. You.”

“What?” I exhale harshly, feeling around for something to hold me up. Grasping the back of my chair, I squeeze it until my knuckles blanch white. “Who would put a contract out for my head?”

“Now that, I don’t know. Father never gave me specifics over a contract, just who my target was and an estimated date of finality.”

Profiles of everyone I’ve ever met started unraveling in my mind. Countless amounts of blank faces, organizations, and level of authority zip through on hyper speed. Yet, no person stands out as having an issue with the way we’ve done business. Everyone was pleased with their services—and I checked to make sure after every transaction. I had never met a person who didn’t get what they wanted when it came to our family.

So, that just bares the question of who. Who would do this; who would set this in motion? If I’ve never wronged a person I’ve done business with, then why is there a price on my goddamn head?

Now that I think about it, no one within our business arrangements would do this; especially the ones I’ve made. There’s no one that would even go through me to get through to my father. And no one would sure as hell go through me to get to my grandfather, because he’s been pushing up daisies for the majority of my life. So …

If what she’s saying is true, someone’s been after my head since I was fifteen. This isn’t a vendetta from the business at all. This is a personal one, and the only one I can think of is the man that started snooping before we picked Carina up. The man that’s nothing more than a ghost.

Marco.

“Do you think Marco had anything to do with this?”

“Who’s Marco?” she asks, sitting down.

Mirroring her, I take a seat just across the small coffee table. Settling in, I tell her everything we know about him and what he’s been up to. I even tell her how we found out who she was before she could remember. It isn’t until the last part that she stops me, asking a question that seems completely off topic and unrelated to the subject.

“I’d like to see that picture Vinny was talking about. The one before he—” She leaves the last part of her sentence unsaid, and we both know why. Just talking about it makes it more real, and I’d rather stay far away from that line of thinking right now. We’re better focusing on this because at least with this, I don’t feel like I’m in over my head.

“We’d have to crack Vinny’s computer to get it. Knowing him, he deleted every single trace of that information his contact sent him so he could protect them. That’s just how Vinny is. The only way we will be able to get that picture is if we find someone to crack into Vinny’s laptop, which is a feat of its own. He was the tech in the family. It’s going to be damn near impossible to do that.”

“But it can be done?” she volleys, sitting on the edge of her seat.

I want to ask her why this is so important when we need to focus on finding Marco, but I refrain. Something tells me that this has a direct relation, and if we’re lucky, she could recognize him from a person her father has dealt with in the past. But that’s only if we’re lucky, which doesn’t seem to be what this family is right now.

Weariness overtakes me as a yawn morphs my features, causing both eyes to water shamelessly. The half a bottle of scotch I ingested earlier is playing catch-up, and at the worst possible time. There’s still much more we need to talk about; so much that has to be decided.

“You really need to get some sleep,” she utters, and I can already feel my eyes sluggishly trying to stay open. My body is relaxing and within moments, I know I’ll be asleep.

Jesus, this has never fucking happened before. I’ve been drinking for a long damn time, and it takes a hell of a lot more than this to knock me on my ass. But there’s no denying the inevitable, I’m about to pass the fuck out.

“I’m all good.” I sigh, relaxing further into the chair.

I didn’t know how wound up I was until the drink started catching up with me. My muscles were coiled so tight, hardened from all the stress from the past few weeks. No wonder I kept having headaches that bordered on migraines. Thankfully, I may actually be able to rest tonight. If the thoughts of my brother don’t worm their way into my dreams.

“Mateo …” Her voice sounds like it’s traveling through a tunnel and she’s all the way on the other side. It’s distant, hazy—almost to the point I can barely make out her words. “Mateo, are you okay?”

“So, good … so, beautiful,” I murmured, snuggling into the chair more.

Small, delicate hands lift my heavy arm, then wrap it around a willowy, smooth neck. Blinking sluggishly, I grunt when I’m forced forward on the chair, grumbling at being moved when I was so comfortable but too tired to do anything about it.

“Ugh, I can’t lug your ass to your bed by myself. You’re going to have to help me.”

Groaning, I hoist myself up, swaying into her body. Nausea wracks my stomach in waves of disgust, but not enough that I’m at risk of emptying the contents. It’s just different; not how I’ve felt before when getting drunk with my brothers. I can tell something is wrong, but from the effects of the scotch, my mind isn’t allowing me to look further into the issue. Instead, a slow, cathartic sensation is enveloping me.

“Something’s wrong,” my words come out slow, slurred.

“Gee, do you think the bottle of liquor you drank could have anything to do with that?”

Something about her tone causes a burst of laughter to fall from my lips. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her spout sarcasm before, and I do have to admit, it looks good on her. Hell, that’s not the only thing that looks good on her. Those leather pants are just begging to be shredded by my teeth.

Why the hell is my mind going in a million different directions all at the same time? Why can’t I focus and fight this shit? Also, why the hell am I sweating like I’ve run a hundred-yard dash?

“What are you feeling?”

Surveying myself, I reply, “Hot. Cold. Sweaty …” That’s when I feel the first stirring down below as my cock gives a heavy jerk against the seat of my pants. “Horny.”

“Goddammit,” she murmurs, bending down to pick my tumbler up. Running her nose along the rim, a sexy as fuck growl reverberates in her chest. “Someone fucking roofied you.”

“No one’s allowed in here. I keep my scotch in here. Who could do that? Why would they?” I ask rapidly.

“Jesus,” her voice is barely above a whisper, but I hear it just the same. “How well do you know Camille?”

“Camille wouldn’t do this.”

“Are you sure?”

Hesitating, I know even in my state I can’t answer that honestly. The last time we spoke, Camille was pissed beyond all measure that we weren’t going to get married. Hell, I haven’t seen her since the morning she went toe-to-toe with Carina in the kitchen.

“That’s what I thought. I’ll have the guys check her out. It seems their fearless leader didn’t do a good job of that before he started fucking her.” As if as an afterthought, she tacks on, “Where’s she been anyway? I know I haven’t been out of my room in a while, but I haven’t heard the men talk about her even once since I’ve been moving around. You’d think with the wedding that’s being planned she would not leave your side.”

I swear, I think I hear a hint of jealousy in her voice when she finishes speaking. But that can’t be, Carina isn’t the jealous type. Is she?

Making our way over to the bed, I stand silently next to her as she bends down and starts stripping back the covers. My eyes roam over her slender back, round, plump ass, and legs that can choke a man to euphoria.

“I don’t know. I think she got pissed that I said I was marrying you and not her, and she beat feet out of here,” I say without thinking. “Good riddance is what I say.”

Leaning forward, I lay my hand at the small of her back, smiling a cheesy smile when her gasp reaches my ears. Running my hand over the curve of her ass, I tighten it as a fierce need inside of me practically demands to get her naked so I can see just how much that ass wiggles as I fuck her sweet hole to ruin.

“Marrying me?” she scoffs. “No fucking way. We don’t have to since you know who I am now. My cover is blown. You can marry whoever you want to, but it’s not going to be me.”

“Why the fuck not?” I ask as a haze of warmth flows through me, relaxing me even more. “Goddamn, I wanna fuck that ass hard,” I slur, swaying toward her.

Only, I don’t catch myself this time. Instead, I keep falling forward, and it’s by a miracle of luck that she’s able to get out of the way before I come tumbling down on top of her. With my face snuggled into the duvet, it takes everything in me to turn over onto my back as I work myself out of my clothing.

I’ve never been the type to sleep with any constricting clothing on, and I’m thankful that at least my muddled mind remembers that as well. Unbuttoning just enough of my shirt to successfully get it off, I shrug out of it, allowing my arms to fall on the bed above my head. The coolness from the bed feels terrific against my heated skin, causing a groan to slip free from my lips as I shuffle even more on top of it.

Lifting my arms, they feel like lead weights when I go to unbutton my pants. I don’t know why, but my eyes flick up to meet Carina’s, seeing hers connected with my hands, watching with rapt attention. There’s no blanket of emotion on her face, just heat swirling in her eyes. Heat that mirrors my own when I gaze at her.

“If I wasn’t drunk, I’d keep my promise from earlier, you know,” I huskily whisper, undoing my pants and pushing them down my legs.

My eyes train on hers as she bends down, removing first one shoe and sock, then the other, before pulling my pants the rest of the way off.

“I know you’re not yourself, Mateo. Everything you’re saying right now, you will forget tomorrow. You want to know why? I’ll tell you why. Because this whole marriage thing is absurd. You and me marrying? That’s laughable. We’ll kill each other before the end.”

Worrying her lip, she continues, “Now that I think about it, I thought you were drunk before, but this is all too familiar with your actions during that goddamn marriage bomb. I think that scheming little bitch has been roofying you this entire time and you didn’t think to question it because you were already actively fucking her. That bitch is going to die for this. This is the last thing you needed today.”

Words leave me when I catch on to what she’s implying. She’s talking about that shit that went down with Vinny, and how neither one of us could save him. Vivid mental pictures start popping up in my muddled mind, and I cringe when all of them are from the scene of his death. The blood. The lifelessness in his eyes. The death. It’s all too much, and I can’t fucking stand it.

“Why are you being nice to me? We both would like nothing more than to kill each other, and I know I’ve asked this before, but your explanation doesn’t line up. Why are you being nice to me? And don’t say it’s because I’m under your godforsaken protection.”

“Because …” She seems to think about it long and hard before replying, “it just seems like the right thing to do, I guess.”

Swallowing hard, I slide up the bed as much as I can, pulling the covers back over me. Carina stands to go, and I don’t know why, but the thought of her walking away leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I know people will think me a little prissy bitch, but I couldn’t care less. It’s not like they’ll know the logistics of this any way. They will just think I banged her and nothing else.

I grab her wrist, and Carina hesitates as I run my finger over her skin. “Yes?”

“Will you stay? I know it’s terribly fucking cliché, and what a woman would say, but … I don’t want to think right now. I just want to feel. Stay. If anything, Camille knows what’s happened, and she knows how I deal with shit that gets to me. She’ll come in here, knowing I won’t be able to fight her off me once I’m passed out.”

Never thought I would say that in the same sentence. Nor that I would be saying that shit about someone doing it to me.

I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until she replies, “Sure. Get some sleep, I’ll be right over there watching over you.”

“No, I want you in bed. With me.”

“Mateo, I don’t think—”

“Just to sleep,” I coax, softening my voice. I’m definitely losing man cards right now. Why the fuck does being roofied turn you into a pussy? Jesus Christ.

Sighing, I watch from my perch on the bed as she makes up her mind. I can’t even begin to describe the relief that flows through me when she starts taking off her boots and socks. But, my heart stops inside my chest when she starts taking her clothes off, too. What the hell is she doing? I’m not going to balk at being pressed against a naked woman, but damn, I didn’t think she slept in the nude, too.

“What are you doing?”

Smiling sheepishly, she licks her lips, then takes the bottom one into her mouth before replying. “Um, this is how I sleep. I can’t stand anything constricting me. I can sleep with clothes on, but I prefer not to in case I need to fight.”

“You fight naked?” I think my heart just skipped a beat.

“I sleep naked. If I have to fight, no nightgown is going to get in my way.”

I don’t know why, but that causes a smile to pull at my lips. It seems we have some things in common. I wonder what else there is that we don’t know yet.

“Not complaining,” I sigh, feeling my cock jerk when she pulls her pants down her legs, her flimsy excuse for a thong coming into view. They’re fire engine red and completely see through as it hides the treasure of her perfect little cunt behind it. “But don’t cut my dick off if he salutes you for the rest of the night.”

Smiling softly, she slides between the covers, and I waste no time to pull her into my body, her back to my front. My hips rock forward of their own accord, my hardened shaft resting between the cheeks of her ass. She doesn’t say anything about it, just releases a breathtaking laugh that rocks me to the core, causing my member to jerk once more.

“Duly noted.”