There’s a sickening crunch, a splash of red that decorates the floor, and then a body falls limply, making the most disturbing gurgling sound. Each breath becomes more shallow than the last. Each second his body struggles, you see the life drain from his eyes until there’s nothing left but a broken man and the victor standing over his frame with his eyes set on me.
Around us, Malcolm’s men quickly move as they begin the process of decontamination…
Water is turned on, and the floor near Javier is flushed out.
The body is removed in a large black bag.
My cousin leaves without a word.
And while the world carries on, we watch each other. Take in the rise and fall of our chests and the mirroring want that’s left me breathless, a bit nervous and unsure.
“We need to talk, Muñeca.” Why do I like it so much when he calls me that? I’m already shaking my head before he finishes, ignoring the clench in my core, and take a few steps back. There’s mirth in his eyes, but he doesn’t follow, choosing instead to tilt his head while licking his lips. I’m inspected from head to toe. His stare feels like a soft caress. “But not today.”
That catches me off guard and I pause mid-step, my face scrunching up in confusion. “What?”
My sputter amuses him, and the jerk lets out a low, throaty chuckle. “I said, not today.”
“Then why are you wasting my time,” I grit out through clenched teeth, hands balled at my sides while fighting to ignore the pictures adorning his upper body, more so the black and white angel of death design that looks like the counterpart to my fallen angel. They’re both Gothically haunting yet beautiful. A mated pair. This is ridiculous, chica. Snap out of it. “Better yet, I’ll see you around. I have better things to do than—”
“I’ll be picking you up tomorrow night for dinner, Mariah.”
“I’m not going out with you.” What kind of game is he playing?
Javier rubs a hand across his chest, spreading the fresh blood across the dark angel. “You will.”
“What makes you so sure? I’m not a woman who lowers her standards.”
At my words, he takes the steps between us and grips my chin. His hold isn’t hard or meant to hurt, but to prove how much he affects me, and he does. I’m jittery and sensitive between my thighs, and goose bumps rise across my flesh. But more damaging to my psyche is the hungry way he watches me. Memorizes my face while cataloging each reaction with that devilish smirk across his lips.
I’m screwed. More than.
“Be a good girl, Muñeca. Don’t fight me.”
“You haven’t earned the right to make demands on my time.”
“I own your time, Mariah. Learn to accept that.” Then the bastard lowers his head and kisses my reddening cheek, rendering me speechless. Unsettled. Angry at his cockiness.
Then on the next breath, I’m turned on by the heat in his eyes and command in his tone.
This sudden urge to test his patience and conviction is a dangerous game, and I find myself meeting his stare without an ounce of fear. Without a care for the consequences.
Because I’m not a wilting flower, and I’m ready to play if he is.
“To own me, you have to catch me first, Mr. Lucas. Are you worthy?”
“I’d kill every man in this city if you so much as asked.”
Christ, those words stir something deep within me, but I walk away before impulses become problems down the road. Each step away from him is harder than the last, but I make my way back to my floor without looking back.
He doesn’t follow me inside the elevator. He doesn’t demand I respond, but I am aware of his heated stare and then the near suffocating presence he exudes the moment he steps onto the CEO’s floor an hour later. Javier doesn’t talk to me as he strides past my desk fully clothed and without a single hair out of place.
No blood. No slick remarks. Not so much as a look in my direction before slipping inside of Malcolm’s office. It bothers me, this ignoring my narrowing eyes and the small huff that escapes, but more so when a few minutes later my phone rings with my cousin’s extension blinking.
“Yes, boss?”
“Two coffees, please, and bring in the Bernard file.”
“Right away.” I’m already grabbing the folder he needs, anticipating it earlier in the day, and closing the bottom drawer before locking it. There’s certain client information that can’t be lost or tampered with—stolen—and I only keep on hand the bare necessities at all times.
No one knows where we store physical documents except Malcolm and me. They have no access to the hidden room with restricted access a floor below. Most never realize that this building has an entire floor blocked off and that the elevator shaft skips it.
It was designed that way. Made to appear as though the vault room downstairs was its separate floor when in fact, it connects with one small step changing the elevations.
With the file in my hand of a notorious French art smuggler worth a billion from trading in the black market, I head to the small kitchen on the other side of the wall behind me. It’s not large, but it gets the job done for what we need; coffee being the main focus.
That, and pastries from a small Hungarian bakery my family loves to visit. There isn’t a single house that bears the last name Asher who doesn’t have a never-ending stock, and I plate a few while pressing the start button on the Keurig.
While it percolates, I make a conscious decision to let Javier use my mug. A shiny and pink and full of glitter unicorn cup that my aunt gave me after our Black Friday hunt last year.
“Good-looking jerk,” I mutter under my breath, filling both cups before adding creamer, sugar, and the pastries to the tray. “Should’ve just…Jesus!” I scream, almost dropping their refreshments. “How long have you been standing there?”
My tone is accusatory, my posture defensive, but Javier only grins at me while pulling the tray from my hands and placing it on a small dinette table to his left. “Long enough.”
“For what?” I’m shaking, but not from fear. His scent envelops me in a web of want.
“To hear the need in your voice.”
“You mean repulsion?”
“You and I both know that’s a lie.” Closer, he takes the three steps separating us and grips my hips with both hands. “And the feeling is very mutual, sweetheart.”
“Let go,” I hiss out and then bite back my disappointment when he does. His warmth is gone. He’s now by the door, holding it open with the back of his foot with the full tray in his hands. “What game are you playing at?”
“Hurry up with that file, Muñeca. Asher wants to go over it with me and I don’t have all day to wait.”
“You motherfu—”
“Watch the words that leave that pretty little mouth.”
“Or what?”
“Or you’ll find yourself praying to a different God.” Then he winks before walking away, leaving me an angry, frustrated, and intrigued ball of nerves that follows a few minutes later while plotting his demise.
I’m not going to let him get one over on me.
He should be afraid. Very afraid.
4