Chapter Three
Mia sent up a silent prayer of thanks for all the practice she’d had pretending to sleep. Living under her grandfather’s roof meant enduring an endless string of nannies and security personnel who only let their guard down when they thought she’d fallen asleep. Faking it turned out to be an invaluable skill when she’d gotten old enough to plot breakouts from what she not-so-affectionately referred to as kiddie-prison. If those charged with watching over her thought she was sleeping, they left her alone, and all the secondary escape routes her grandfather had in place for her ‘safety’ worked equally well for her convenience.
Listening to the two men in the front seat discuss their mutual attraction to her made Mia’s body heat from the inside and sent a rush of moisture to slicken the throbbing folds of her sex. Barely resisting the urge to press her hand against her aching clit, Mia bit the inside of her cheek to stifle her moan of frustration. Her reaction was made even more unsettling by the fact these two men were obviously into menagé… something she’d only read about in the books on her e-reader. Her immediate response to them had annoyed her, but hearing she’d had the same effect on them lessened the sting. Well, at least she’d felt marginally better until she realized how much it had also unsettled the man named Tucker. And why is that so humiliating?
Listening as Brock spoke on the phone, she wanted to laugh at his effort to speak softly when whoever he was talking to was practically rattling the windows of the truck. It always surprised her when people failed to realize how clearly their conversations could be overheard… both sides of their conversations.
She’d often wondered what men were thinking, berating their wives and girlfriends over the phone when everyone near the woman could plainly hear what was being said. Most people kept the volume on their electronics loud enough to be heard in the next room, and they forgot that meant the voice of their caller was also amplified.
Mia wondered who Micah was and what exactly he meant when he’d said she needed to keep an open mind. Mia wasn’t surprised they’d already connected her to Borgia Banking. Her grandfather was a self-made billionaire several times over and practically a legend in not only his own country but most of the Western Hemisphere as well. Mia loved her grandpapa more than she could possibly tell him. But after her grandmother’s death, his love had felt conditional… every touch, every gift, every word of praise had come with strings.
Mia had never been interested in giving up everything she loved about her life to become the perfect princess she’d need to be for him to love her with the same soul-bearing depth she’d always shown him.
No matter how many times Mia’s mother tried, she’d never been able to please her father, and Mia often wondered if she hadn’t died of a broken heart from the constant rejection? Maria Mendez had left Mia in the care of her parents and traveled the world. When Mia had gotten older, she’d wondered if her mother had been searching for the love that always seemed just out of reach. The married man Maria had slept with resulting in Mia’s birth had quickly retreated to the United States when he’d learned she was pregnant.
During Mia’s last telephone conversation with her mother, Maria had whispered, “You can only try so hard, amor. Eventually, the desire for acceptance withers and dies, no matter how much you wish it wasn’t so.” Less than a week later, Maria died in Italy, and since Mia had never known her father, she was left adrift far too young.
The voices around her pulled Mia back to the present, and when the call Brock had made disconnected, she couldn’t hold back her whispered apology. She saw Tucker’s frown in the mirror and flinched. Brock turned in his seat and narrowed his eyes.
“What are you apologizing for, sweetheart? For finding a man all of us had given up for dead? For being brave enough to send the evidence to the one person guaranteed to call in a team to rescue him? Or perhaps you’re sorry you didn’t contact the U.S. government who would have no doubt swept the entire thing under the rug and dispatched agents to silence you. Hell, maybe you’re sorry you’ve painted a target on yourself so big, it can probably be seen from the fucking International Space Station.”
“Enough,” Tucker’s single hissed word made Brock’s head swivel to him before he raised a brow in question. “Don’t be a dick. She thinks this is the first clusterfuck we’ve ever been involved in, and you’re being a first-class ass by pointing out points we both know she isn’t sorry for.”
Glancing at her over his shoulder, Tucker gave her a small smile, and even though it was a minimal effort, she was startled at how it completely transformed his appearance. Tucker returned his attention to the road, but Mia couldn’t stop staring at his profile. If a man could be classified as fallen-angel beautiful, Tucker was the poster child.
“Asshole. One smile and she can’t stop looking at you. I just don’t fucking get it,” Brock’s words were harsh, but she could hear the underlying affection in them and let out a small sigh of relief. He turned around in his seat and helped her up into a sitting position.
“I’m sorry, Mia. I really wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings. I was just looking forward to being able to kick back on the flight back to Texas and spend some time with you.” He ran his hand through his hair and shook his head.
“Here’s a tip, pointing out another person’s flawed thinking isn’t the best way to make friends and influence people.” She’d barely finished speaking when Brock’s head fell back and he roared with laughter. When she let her gaze slip to Tucker, she was surprised to see him chuckling as well.
“Damn, I think that’s a first for me, sweetheart. I don’t think I’ve ever been slapped with a Dale Carnegie book title before.”
Dandy, she had to get rescued by a man who could actually read.
“We’re going to have to stop for fuel before long. We’ll eat at the same time, and that’ll give you a chance to bring us up to speed on who all may be following you.” She nodded at Brock, but he shook his head. “Not good enough, sweetheart. We’ll always require you to speak your answers, that way there are no misunderstandings. We begin as we intend to go.”
Reading was one of Mia’s passions, and she’d read hundreds of erotic romance novels over the past few years, so Brock’s words were hauntingly familiar. She felt a flash of heat that made her pussy wet and the muscles in her vagina tighten in response. Hopefully, the dim light in the vehicle would conceal the flush she could feel washing over her cheeks.
“Yes, Sir.” The words tumbled out without passing through the filter in her brain. Damn, so much for hiding that blush.
*
Brock worried his oxygen-deprived brain was going to shut down at her whispered answer. Jesus, Joseph, and Mary, every drop of his blood rushed directly to his aching cock. The damned thing was going to burst at this rate. Tucker hadn’t missed her sweet answer either, judging from the way his fingers flexed around the steering wheel. Both Deitz brothers had known they were sexual Dominants from the time they first became interested in the opposite sex. They didn’t judge others for their sexual preferences, but other men had never set their blood racing like a naturally submissive woman did.
In the short time they’d spent hustling Mia out of her building before running two miles to where they’d hidden the truck, neither he nor Tucker had done much more than bark instructions at her. She’d done a good job of keeping up even though Brock knew she’d been exhausted. The one time he inquired if she needed to slow down, she muttered an apology, saying she hadn’t been sleeping well, but she’d shaken her head when they offered to slow their pace. He wasn’t surprised she wasn’t resting, she must have known it was only a matter of time before she was found.
According to their intel, she didn’t advertise her association with Cecilio Borgia, but she didn’t try to hide it either. Brock figured she knew any attempt to conceal the connection would only draw more interest to it. The financial data Micah sent had been eye-opening. The woman sitting in the backseat, wearing what looked like well-worn, military tactical clothing was one of the world’s wealthiest heiresses.
The frayed jacket made her look like a little girl playing dress up in her big brother’s uniform. What on earth did she put in all those pockets, anyway? Maybe he should have frisked her for weapons before they left her cracker-box apartment. Just because she appeared to be a natural submissive, didn’t mean they were safe. Shuddering, he remembered hearing Tobi West warn her husbands she’d shoot them with their own guns on more than one occasion.
“Good girl. Now, try to get a few more minutes of sleep. You’re safe, and since we don’t know what our team leaders are going to have set up for us when we hit the coast, you might not get another chance to rest for a while.”
This time she didn’t respond, simply settled back on to the seat and shifted her backpack over to use as a pillow. Not ideal, but probably better than the filthy leather seat, not to mention the fact the roads in Columbia were no match for those in the states—rough didn’t even begin to cover it.
Following his own advice, Brock leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. They always planned for contingencies when they went on any mission, but this one had been so time sensitive, they hadn’t been able to pull as much intel together as was their usual protocol. Finding out they were dealing with threats from multiple sides came as something of a surprise. Personally, he’d rank the grandfather’s team above the cartel, but not all families are as close as his, and hell, face it, there had to be a reason she hadn’t gone back to the safety her grandfather could have provided.
Brock heard the phone beep beside him, but before he could push the cobwebs from his sleep-fogged mind, he heard Tucker speaking quietly into the small mic on his headset. Ordinarily, they’d bluetooth to the truck’s speakers so they could both hear, but since they didn’t know Mia well enough yet to fully trust her, they needed to play this with their cards a little closer to their chests.
Tucker sucked in a breath, and Brock straightened in his seat when he sensed his brother’s agitation. “Jesus, is that all you’ve got?” Tuck listened for several long seconds and Brock wished like hell he knew what was being said. “Shit. There’s so much wrong with this plan, I don’t even know where to start. We’re just pulling into Cartagena now, and I think we have enough fuel to make it to our destination, but we’re all starving.” After another few minutes of silence Tuck’s “Roger that” indicated the end of the call.
Before Brock could ask, the phone dinged with an incoming message, and he saw Tucker pull up GPS coordinates. Handing the phone to Brock, Tucker sighed.
“You aren’t going to fucking believe this. Grayson wasn’t kidding when he said Mia is going to have to keep an open mind. Plug these in the system, will you?”
Brock quickly entered the data and raised a brow when he saw they were headed to the very western end of the docks. “Where are we going to eat?” Brock asked, giving his brother a questioning look. “We promised to feed her.”
“On the ship. They’re expecting us, and Kent has a cleanup crew coming for the vehicle.” Brock must have looked skeptical because Tucker shook his head. “We’re going home in style, I’ll say that.” Brock sensed a very large but looming, so he didn’t respond—he would just wait it out.
Tucker ran his hand through his hair in annoyance. The gesture was one of his younger brother’s few ‘tells,’ and it always meant he was dancing on the edge of his limited patience. “The entire ship has been chartered by Cameron Barnes.” This time it was Brock’s turn to suck in a sharp breath.
“Are you fucking kidding me? The same Cameron Barnes who owns Dark Desire?” The owner of Houston’s infamous kink club had become something of a recluse since moving to the Caribbean and helping his wife set up a much needed medical facility. From what Brock remembered, Dr. Cecelia Barnes was already famous in her own right when she married the club owner. Her innovations in pediatric surgery drew patients from all over the world to the clinic she’d established in Houston.
Tucker’s voice broke through Brock’s mental rehash of what he knew about Cameron Barnes. “Barnes chartered the entire ship as an anniversary gift for CeCe. Evidently, they are planning to add to their family again soon, and he wanted her to have a chance to fully indulge in her submission before she’s pregnant.”
“She does enjoy impact play,” Brock chuckled, “and I know Cam is insanely protective even when she isn’t pregnant. I don’t even want to think about what he’s like when she’s carrying his child.”
Brock and Tucker had both been members of the club for years, and they’d worked with Cam on a number of black op missions while they were SEALs despite the fact the man was supposed to be retired. Brock suspected Uncle Sam would never let Cam fully retire, he was simply too good at his job and knew too much to let him go.
Brock and Tuck had been heavily recruited by the CIA but turned down multiple offers because they’d heard too many stories like Cam’s. As near as Brock could tell, the damned organization was too much like a blood-in, blood-out gang. Once you were a part of the group, death was your only way out.