PLAN D IS in full effect. I hide my smirk as I slide off the desk the moment a young man rolls in a cart of food. He wants to have sex with me in exchange for killing Esteban and Oscar. It’s almost too easy. Sex with a man like him would be kind of like a bonus, certainly not a chore. So I’ll bang Diego and then bolt. Win, win. At one point, I thought I wanted him dead too, but things change. He’ll make a better partner alive.
“Where are you going?” he questions, his voice low yet amused.
“I thought we were going to eat.” My tone is pouty, and I instantly hate how transparent I am when it comes to food.
“We are,” he growls. “But sit here.”
He pats his thigh beside the hard length that is every bit visible through his slacks. Whatever he’s packing in there looks dangerous. A big fat snake ready to strike. The cock he’s hiding is what male porn stars only wish they had.
Knowing I need Diego to carry out my plan, I obey. I kick off my heels and pad back over to him. The guy who brought our food is busy setting out the dishes on the desk without saying a word. I sit on Diego’s powerful thigh and can’t help but shiver. Do these Colombian men live on the regiment of sleep, fuck, and work out twenty-four hours a day?
I’m distracted by the man setting out the food. He places many different styles of dishes all over the surface that smell heavenly. I remember many of them from when I used to come visit. Dishes that are native to the country. My mouth waters for a taste.
“I’m not sleeping with you until you carry out your end of the bargain,” I tell him as I snag a hot seasoned piece of meat from a bowl. Flavor explodes on my tongue when I pop the sliver of steak into my mouth. A groan of pleasure rumbles from me. “Oh, God, that’s so good.”
Diego chuckles and his fingers run circles along my back through the fabric of the dress. “Carne Guisada con zanahoria,” he tells me, his voice friendly. “My mother’s recipe. It tastes better with the carrot sauce.”
He leans past me and spoons some of the orange-colored sauce onto the meat that’s been cut thinly. With a fork, he scoops up a mound of it and brings it to my face. My eyes dart over to his, searching for malice, but I only find eagerness in his expression. He wants me to like this dish.
I part my lips and accept the bite he feeds me. Esteban fed me sandwiches and soup. At one time, I’d thought it was borderline romantic.
Then I woke up.
Then I realized he was fucking with my head.
“Oh,” I murmur between chews. “That’s really good. Did your mother make it?”
His black eyebrows crash together and he scowls. “No. She’s dead.”
I swallow the morsels before regarding him sadly. “Mine’s dead too. Esteban drugged her with heroin like he drugged my friend Brie. When Esteban finally came back for us in the shipping container, it was too late. I was half starved to death and my mother had died from withdrawals.”
His eyes dart all over me. He clenches his teeth and scoops up another bite. I expect him to feed himself, but he once again gives me the bite. It should annoy me or remind me of Esteban. But it actually doesn’t bother me at all. The food is good and he’s not as evil as I originally thought.
At least I hope not.
I tend to see the best in the bad guys. They dazzle me with their evil grins and their bad boy muscles, and I fall hopelessly at their feet where they tend to kick me while I’m down.
“My mother died of pancreatic cancer. One day she was fine and strong. The next day, she was weak and dying.” His jaw clenches as he looks past me toward the wall. I follow his gaze to a painting. The woman in the picture is young and beautiful. Her dark hair is curled and pulled to one side. She smiles but her features are sad. I don’t have to be told it’s his mother, because I know. They look just alike.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, my eyebrows pinching together in pain. My mother was difficult and bitchy and unkind. It’s my father who I loved unconditionally, despite his flaws and mistakes. I understand how it feels.
He grunts and stabs at more meat. Once again, he feeds me rather than himself. I can tell the talk about deceased mothers has soured his mood. A bad mood doesn’t fare well with my need to keep him on my side. In order to keep the conversation light again, I pick up a different fork and poke at what looks like some shredded beef over rice. When I turn to look at him, he’s still staring at the portrait.
“Open up.” I flash him a smile before bringing the fork to his lips. “Partner.”
He smirks but obeys. “Carne Desmechada o Ropa Vieja,” he tells me after he swallows.
The rest of the meal carries on like this. I try many new dishes that I decide I very much love. After months and months of hardly any food at all with shit selection, dining with Diego feels like a royal feast.
“So you’re the king of Colombia now?” I question.
He chuckles, the sound boyish in quality. My stupid heart stutters at the sound of it. “I suppose so,” he agrees. “But if we’re partners and I’m the king…” His light brown eyes flicker up to mine and he grins wide. A shiver races down my spine. “Then you’re my queen.”
I hold his stare despite my desire to look away. I think he’s trying to intimidate me.
“I’m going to fuck you until those assholes are dead. That’s my deal, mi diablita.”
Mentally, I had hoped our deal just meant the one time. But deep down in my heart, I knew it would never be just once. “Whatever…” I trail off and reach forward to grab the knot of his tie. “Now?”
Surprise washes over his features, but then he hardens his expression. “When I want it, you will know. And when I come for it, you will give it to me.”
I unknot his tie despite his words. “Are you going to force me?”
He grips my wrist in a painful way. “I’ve never had to force a woman.” His eyes darken a shade. “They all beg for Daddy Diego’s cock.”
The moment of seriousness is swiped away when I snort with laughter. And as soon as one giggle escapes, an eruption of them soon follow. I laugh until tears stream out. When I sneak a glance at Daddy Diego, he’s glaring at me, which only serves to make me giggle harder.
Striking with the quickness of a snake, he jolts to his feet and twists me toward the desk. I cry out when he shoves me down on the hard surface. My hand smashes into a half eaten dish while my cheek gets pressed against what feels like dinner rolls. I cry out when he rubs against me through our clothes. His erection is giant and rock hard as it slides along the crack of my ass.
“You will beg for it,” he snarls, his fingers tangling up in my hair.
He’s furious, but I can’t help but start to giggle again. My villain sensor is broken and I can’t seem to turn off the part of me that provokes them. His grip on my hair becomes almost painful, and yet I continue to snort with laughter. I’m completely flattened against the food when he covers my body with his.
“Oh, Daddy Diego,” I choke out through amused tears, “please give me your cock.”
The man freezes behind me and then his chest starts to rumble. “What is wrong with you?” he grumbles against my hair near my ear. “I have you bent over my desk, with food staining your dress, with my angry anaconda pressed against your ass, and you’re still laughing. Have you no fear, woman?”
“Angry anaconda?” I snort again but then I relax despite the precarious position I’m in. “I haven’t laughed in so long. I forgot what it truly felt like.”
“I’m glad you’re so amused,” he bites out as he stands up, relieving me of his weight.
Carefully, I pull myself away from the desk. Plates clatter as I peel myself from them. When I look down, food is smeared all across the front of me.
“You’re fucking filthy.”
I stick my tongue out at him. “You made me this way.”
His jaw clenches as he points toward the door. “Go get cleaned up and then meet me upstairs.”
“What’s upstairs?” I scrunch my nose up as I try to recall what’s on the third floor. Last I remember, it was full of junk.
“You’ll find out when you get there.” His gaze falls to my breasts. “Dress comfortably.”
Forty-five minutes later, my hair is clean and dried. The heavy makeup I had on before has been wiped away. He said to dress comfortably, so I’m standing in the bathroom staring at the white camisole and short silk shorts in the mirror, wondering if this is too comfortable.
The plan is to make him want me.
The plan is to make him kill them for me.
And per our agreement, I’m going to have to have sex with him. Lots of times, I’m sure. I meet my own green-eyed stare in the mirror. Dressed like this with no makeup, I look younger than my almost nineteen years of age. But the coy smile on my lips and the way my pink nipples show through my white shirt are far from innocent.
Esteban taught me that sex is animalistic and raw. Your mind shuts down as the nerves in your body take over. Pleasure exists where sanity cannot. It’ll be just like it was with Esteban. I will turn off my mind and take pleasure in the deed.
Before I chicken out, I creep out of the bathroom and start for my bedroom door. The house is quiet. I know there are staff members and his men in different areas of the house, but right now they’re being silent. I make my way down the dark hallways until I find the stairwell in the back. Hastily, I pound up the steps and push through the doorway at the top.
When I make my way through the door, I freeze.
Diego is no longer wearing a suit, looking dapper and distinguished as he usually does. No, right now he’s looking kind of thuggish, dressed in a loose pair of holey jeans and a tight white wife beater. He’s lean but muscular, like a fighter. Where Esteban is all bulk and strength, Diego seems more lithe and possesses a powerful grace.
I stare at him for longer than I should while his attention is on a gigantic television as he mashes buttons on the remote. Tattoos color his arms, and I can see more on his back through his shirt. Who knew all this was hiding under those suits.
“What are we doing?” I murmur, my gaze stalling at his beautifully curved shoulders. “I thought we were having sex.”
He looks over his shoulder and his messy, now wet hair hangs in his eyes. I don’t miss the smug grin on his face, though. “Patience, mi diablita. I’ll sex you up when I am good and ready. It’s all about the build up.” When he turns back to the television, I let out a growl of annoyance.
“Patience isn’t a quality I possess, mi motherfucker.” I huff and storm over to him. “I’m not doing whatever this is.” I motion around the media room. “Dates aren’t part of the deal.”
He slams the remote onto the entertainment table and snaps his gaze to me. It’s in this moment, as his eyes flicker with fury, I remember I’m in the lion’s den. I’ve negotiated with a monster to do monstrous deeds all in exchange for my monstrous goddamned pussy. A vein in his neck pulsates and his jaw ticks as he regards me. And then, much like the snake he can be, he strikes.
His palm curls around my throat and he pushes me until my back hits the wall. He doesn’t squeeze my neck, but his eyes convey to me that he could choke me dead in a matter of seconds if he wanted to. I need to make sure he doesn’t want to.
I press a palm to his solid chest over his heart and clutch his wrist with the other. He loosens his grip, letting me peel him away from me. But he doesn’t back off. His body crowds mine until I’m sandwiched uncomfortably between him and the wall.
“This is why I don’t have wives anymore,” he grumbles, his hot breath inches from my face.
I stiffen, no longer concerned about being trapped by a cartel bad boy. “Wives? As in plural?”
“Yes, wives,” he says simply. “Plural. Past tense.”
Tilting my head up at him, I frown. “Pig.”
His lips curl into a grin. “So you think I’m disgusting and gross. I’m still waiting to show you how nasty I can be, mi diablita.”
My nostrils flare and I open my mouth to tell him where he can stick that statement when he leans forward. His scent envelops me just a moment before his lips press against mine. The kiss is so sudden. So surprising. So…sweet. I’m stunned frozen. That is, until his palm curls around the side of my neck and he coaxes my mouth open with his tongue.
We both taste of toothpaste. I’m consumed by the way his tongue expertly dances with mine. Unrushed but deliberate. Soft but experienced. His thumb caresses my jaw and a whimper escapes me. I hate the vulnerable whine it carries. A sound that says I need his gentle touch more than I need air.
My fingers begin tugging at the bottom of his shirt, but he stops me with a growl. His hands find my wrists and he presses them against the wall above my head. This action makes my tits squeeze together.
“Sex,” I whisper. “You…naked…”
He nips at my lip. “Not yet.”
I want to argue, but his tongue is back in my mouth, owning me. He dizzies me with his kiss to the point that my knees buckle. My hands are released, and the next thing I know, I’m scooped into his arms. His lips are on mine again as he walks across the room. I’m tossed onto a comfy sectional sofa, but he doesn’t join me.
“Want something to drink?” he questions as he saunters back over to the television.
“Are you kidding me right now?” I grumble. My body is trembling with desire over here, and I’m practically dripping with need. And he’s playing hospitable host?
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says with a chuckle.
I cross my arms over my chest and watch with irritation as he starts a movie and then begins digging around in a mini fridge. He grabs a couple of beers and pops the tabs. I accept one and down half of it as he flips off all the lights. Once it’s dark, besides the glow from the television, he sits down beside me.
“What are you doing?” I question, annoyance in my tone.
He stretches his arm across the back of the sofa behind me and takes a pull from his beer. “I’m chilling the fuck out. What are you doing?”
I blink at him several times. “I don’t know what to make of you.”
He chuckles, and his gaze darkens. “Likewise. You’re a pretty little puzzle I don’t quite understand.”
“But you’re a big, badass cartel king who likes to fuck and kill,” I snap.
He seems to consider this. “And you’re a little girl with a big mouth who needs protection,” he growls back.
I glare at him and grit my teeth. “So we’re just going to pretend we aren’t those people and have a sleepover?”
Amusement glitters in his eyes. “When was the last time you weren’t stressed out about shit? When was the last time you just sat down, enjoyed a beer, and watched a movie?”
Forever. It’s been forever. I think the last movie I watched was with Ren and Oscar at my apartment. That seems like ages ago. Back when life was simple and fun and hopeful.
Now life is dark and ugly.
“I’m not old enough to drink,” I pout as I drain the rest of my bottle.
He regards me with a devilish grin. “And you’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy. Here, under my roof, you can do whatever the fuck you want. Here, we live like kings.” He winks. “Mi reina.”
I set the bottle down and let his words simmer. I’m so wound up, violence and vengeance running through my veins, that I don’t know if I can fully relax. But soon, we’re both chuckling at the stupid movie with Channing Tatum and Jonah Hill who are cops and go undercover at a high school.
When the air conditioner kicks on, I shiver and burrow against Diego’s warm body. He smells good. Clean and manly. Maybe for a night, I can pretend I’m just me. Vee.
His fingertips stroke the outside of my arm, and I am comforted by his soothing touches. It makes no sense. According to Esteban and Oscar, he’s a violent man who killed Camilo.
Maybe he’s a hero.
Camilo was certainly the bigger villain of the two.
I’m sure Mr. Rojas deserved it.
Soon, I fully relax and fall asleep in the arms of a supposed monster. I’ve slept in the arms of a real life monster. This supposed one doesn’t feel so scary at all.