I’ve never felt the rush of excitement or the lick of heat settle low in my abdomen with such ferocity from his mere presence.
At the moment, I feel like the virgin I’m not and haven’t been in years. And while I’ve only slept with one man, a worthless jerk no longer walking this earth, I feel unsure of myself.
Nervous. Jittery. Unable to comprehend how one devilish smirk could get under my skin with such ease. How with one look from a pair of soulful brown eyes I lost more than my composure.
His height made me feel dainty.
His muscles made me breathless.
But what’s more dangerous than his looks is the slickness of his mouth and the challenge he presents. Because this man with his white, open-at-the-collar dress shirt and black slacks wasn’t intimidated by me or who my family is. His cockiness was playful while his stare was a silent promise to devour his prey…
Me. I’m his prey.
The private elevator that leads to the lowest level of the Asher building opens then, and I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. Each step inside is a bit shaky, and more so when the lingering scent of his cologne infiltrates my senses.
Fuck. It’s earth and rain mixed with a hint of spice that causes my thighs to clench and another stuttered breath to escape. “He can’t work here.” Malcolm will have to find someone else. But as those words run through my mind, a pang of remorse follows. I can’t help my attraction to him, even if he equally pisses me off.
If anything, it’s the danger—the demand in his tone that excites me.
He’s not going to yes, ma’am me because of my last name.
He isn’t what I expected to arrive today, and I feel off my game.
The large metal door opens, and the men within greet me with a nod of their head. They’re standing against the back wall, watching a man tied to a chair in a three-piece suit whose facial expression gives way to his fear and a bloody encounter with his captors.
We know why he’s here, but he doesn’t. We’ve given him the accommodation he deserves while he’s returned our kindness with whining and unnecessary tears.
“Has he been given anything to eat or drink since last night?” I ask Carmelo, a trusted guard. He’s standing closest to Acevedo and without the customary all-white coveralls that Malcolm demands his cleanup crew wear.
“Not—”
“Please, Miss,” he interrupts Carmelo, looking at me from the one eye that isn’t swollen shut. “This is a mistake. Help me out of here, and you’ll be rewarded by the Colombian president.”
Carmelo raises his hand to strike the idiot, but I give him a minute shake of the head and he stands down. Instead, he retakes his position of silence while biting back a chuckle.
“Will he, now?”
“Yes.” Relief colors his features as he thinks I’m intrigued by the offer. He has no idea who I am. “You’ll never work another day in your life.”
“Never?” I keep my voice low, almost sweet and innocent. He’s buying it too. “I’d be rich?”
“Beyond your comprehension, linda.” Because calling me beautiful is supposed to win me over. Idiot.
“But what if my taste runs a little more—”
“Whatever you want.”
“Morbid,” I finish off with a glare, and his lips snap shut. His shoulders slump and eyes close, a few stray tears falling down his bruised cheek. “Why the tears, Acevedo? Why the sudden plea for mercy when you were willing to murder women and children to hurt the Lucas men?”
“What is he to you?”
“You’ve always been a curious one, Castro,” Javier answers for me, his voice reverberating throughout every square inch of the room as he steps through the threshold, and the horror-filled expression on our guest is comical. His body shakes and a pitiful cry escapes a set of chapped lips while a breath gets caught in my throat.
My pulse races. My nipples tighten. My core clenches.
Lord help me.
“How? Why?” Acevedo looks to me for answers, but I merely shrug and take my place beside a silent Malcolm. My cousin’s standing a bit to the left, leaving Javier to run this show, but remains within everyone’s line of sight.
“Because you sold your soul to the devil and he delivered you to me.” Javier steps forward while slowly undoing the buttons of his shirt and slips the garment off his shoulders. He’s precise in his movements, adorable while placing the neatly folded dress shirt atop a small table close to Acevedo.
There are no weapons in sight. No way for him to exact revenge, but the prospect of what those muscles—the bulging cords of tattooed flesh—can do leave me breathless.
“Javier, I was just following commands.” It leaves Acevedo in a low whisper, but the silence of the room makes it so we all hear clearly. “Quintero—”
“Fucked you without lubrication,” he spits out, face contorted in rage before softening when he looks in my direction. The action is fast, and the softness that flickers in those warm orbs pulls a smile from my lips. It’s brief, this moment we share, before he looks away and the killer I’ve heard so much about makes an entrance.
He’s magnificent. Overwhelming.
Perfect.
“Please.” Tears and snot and the faint scent of urine are unmistakable in the room. “Please don’t kill me.”
“You accepted the offer Quintero made.”
“But I never carried it out!” Javier just smiles, walking around his form once before stopping at his right wrist. Without pause, he undoes the rope keeping Acevedo in place and then the other. Both feet are next. “Please, Javier. I didn’t touch anyone; that has to mean something!”
“Stand up.”
“Just listen…fuck!” The first strike is straight to his mouth and two teeth fly out, landing near Malcolm’s feet. The next is to his neck and he chokes out a cry, bending at the waist with both hands up in an attempt to defend himself while his legs give out.
Javier doesn’t let up, though. Blow after vicious blow is landed on Acevedo’s upper body and the back of his head. Javier’s knuckles are white and bruised. His chest is heaving, his mouth curled into a sinister grin.
He’s brutally beautiful and my walls clench when he drives a knee in to the bent man’s face.
“You knew exactly what you were accepting, Castro.” Fisting Acevedo’s hair, Javier forces the bleeding man to meet his stare from his position on his knees. There’s a gash across the bridge of his nose and the swelling has already begun, but it’s not enough for the assassin now working for the head of the Asher family. Bloodthirst is real, and he’s given in to the need for vengeance. “I warned you once in the past, and there won’t be a second chance.”
With that, he lifts a leg and brings Acevedo’s face down to his knee repeatedly. Over and over without pause, he breaks the man’s face down to the point it’s nothing but a bloody mass of cuts and broken bones.
And even then, he continues until our guest’s nose caves in and all his front teeth fall out. Both men are a mess, but it’s the beast standing that holds me captive—spellbound—and unable to look away as he smiles and then lands another direct strike to Acevedo’s jaw.