Page 54 of High Stakes

I lean back against the wall, admiring her passion. Her ingenuity at torturing. Watching her work makes me want to drop down on my knees and worship her.

“Did you know that there were people living in that hotel that you blew up?” She asks as she drops the grafter with a loud thunk and picks up a nail gun. “Did you?” Her voice rises to a shout as she circles him again.

I can see her face clearly now. Her eyes are wild and fierce, her lips upturned into a devious smirk that has me throbbing against the seam of my pants.

She’s feral.

She’s unhinged.

She’s perfect.

She’s mine.

I watch in awe as she shoots a single nail into his joints. First the ankles, then the knees, then the wrists, and finally the elbows. A shiver snakes down my spine as I imagine the sharp nails penetrating those areas, and it almost makes me nauseous.

Cabrera groans in pain and shakes his head weakly. “I don’t believe you!” She shouts and shoots a nail into the top of each foot.

“Por favor, por favor, por favor,” he whispers over and over with tears streaking down his face. Then he starts muttering something in Spanish, and I think it’s a prayer.

I watch Emelia’s face closely, and I can see the moment her restraint dissolves and her control crumbles. She drops the nail gun on the table, picks up a wickedly curved blade, and lashes out. It slices through the muscle in his mouth with ease. She stands in front of him, chest heaving, holding a bloody blade in one hand and a dripping tongue in the other.

My legs just about give out when she turns to look at me. She’s covered in blood splatter, her eyes have a feral glint, and she’s panting heavily. She looks every bit the Angel of Death that I know her to be, and I want nothing more than to take her home and make love to her all night long.

She’s fucking beautiful.

Fucking transcendent.

The leader of the cartel gurgles and coughs behind her, choking on his own blood. “His voice was annoying,” she says simply and drops the tongue at his feet. “So I made it stop.”

“You did so well, Angel, but let’s wrap this up. He’s going to pass out from pain or blood loss soon, and then it won’t be fun anymore.” I’m also going to pass out if I keep panting after her under this mask. Fucking thing needs bigger air holes.

“You’re right,” she agrees and skips out of the freezer. I hear clicking in the kitchen and realize that she’s turning on all the appliances. “Time to go home.” She comes back into the room and drops her torture devices back into her bag. “It was a pleasure, Mr. Cabrera.” She dips into a low curtsy. “See you in Hell.”

He coughs and chokes on his own blood as we exit the freezer and head up the stairs before the place catches fire. I drape my arm across her shoulders, pulling her close and wiping her blood soaked hair from her face. “God you are perfect,” I whisper against the back of her head, kissing her hair. “I love you, my feral Angel.” I push open the door and usher her out into the night. The chilly autumn air is a balm to my heated skin.

She hugs me around my waist, squeezing me tightly as the entire hotel erupts into a flaming fireball. Glass shatters as the flames destroy everything in their path, and the foundation cracks and gives under the heat and pressure.

“It’s over,” she whispers, her voice hollow and distant. “I really did it.”

“How did it feel?” I ask as we climb onto my bike.

“Fucking fantastic,” she says and squeezes my midsection as we leave the destruction behind us. “But I’m feeling a little empty now.” Her voice takes on a playful tone as her fingers dip down to stroke my achingly stiff cock through my pants.

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head,” I chuckle as I throb under her touch. “We’re going to stuff you so full that you’ll never feel empty again.”

26

EMELIA

5 WEEKS LATER

Iblink my eyes open and immediately regret my decision. My eyelids feel like sandpaper scraping against my corneas. I attempt to lift my hands to rub them, but find that I’m unable to do so, because my hands are bound behind me with zip ties.

Just fucking great.

My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth as I open it to speak. Why is everything so dry and crusty? I look around the dimly lit room and find the large metal door open just a crack. Orange light flickers from the gap in the door. I push myself to my feet and take a few unsteady steps forward before my knees give out.

My temper flares as I try to remember what they did to me this time, but I come up short. The last thing I remember was going to sleep in my own bed. Did they fucking drug me? I move my tongue around my dry mouth, trying to encourage some saliva to coat my gums.

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