Page 12 of His to Bedevil

“Go see what he has to say. I’ll meet you guys in there soon.” I have some research of my own to do right now.

“Señor,” he grumbles, then leaves the room with Diego.

Turning the volume up a little more, I sit back and listen to my songbird sing the same song in two more languages before she starts over again in English. English, Spanish, French, Italian, and Russian. I could sit here all day and listen to her, but I need to find out who she is. Marcus better have some information for me.

Standing up, I step out of the room, and the same two men are standing there to take my place. They know better than to fuck around while on duty, and they also know I don’t give many chances. Typically, zero. Then an idea pops in my head. If they all love that song so fucking much, they can listen to it over and over again. After Marcus tells me everything he has, I’ll have him set that up right away.

Entering my office again, I join Berto and Marcus at the table where I sometimes hold meetings. Sitting across from the two of them, I say, “Tell me what you have.”

Marcus shakes his head and lets out a deep breath through his mouth. He has two open laptops in front of him, and he’s typing back and forth between them. “Whoever this woman is, she’s good. Or whoever she works for is. Either way, I’m impressed.”

“So, what do you have?” I ask again through gritted teeth, and Berto eyes me, silently telling me to have patience.

“So, from what I gathered from the hard drive and what I was able to recover from her laptop, it looks like it was money she was after. She ran a program specifically designed to pull certain information off of your laptop without having to really do much herself,” he tells me.

“My accounts?” I ask.

“They’re untouched. So, she either didn’t get the chance to take anything herself yet, or she hadn’t gotten the chance to deliver this to whoever,” he continues. “I still haven’t been able to tie any of this to anyone else so far. The laptop was wiped clean already and still she has absolutely no history other than a little credit card usage.”

“What about the names from the other passports?”

“Nothing. They’re apocryphal.”

“I have men scouring Miami right now, looking for any information on Fynn Ryan or the little redhead,” Berto adds, and I nod in approval.

“Family?” I ask.

Marcus sighs as he continues rapidly moving his fingers over the keyboards, punching in codes. “Ryan is a pretty common last name, so that’ll take a while. I have my guys on that, and so far, nothing linked to a Fynn Ryan. At least not in the States.”

Standing to my feet, I decide it’s time to pay my little songbird a visit. “Let me know when you find anything else.” I turn to leave, and Berto rises to his feet with me. “Oh, I need you to do me a favor, Marcus.”

With a bowl of fresh mango and a half a cup of water in hand, I enter the dimly lit room. Her small form is lying with her back to me, still in the center of the room underneath the soft light. I’m surprised she isn’t shivering. It feels like I just walked into a walk-in refrigerator, and she’s still in her tiny shorts and half of a top.

“It’s weird,” her voice rasps out. “I know it’s you. Someone has come in here every day to give me a sip of water and maybe a cracker or some fruit, and you haven’t come to see me in who knows how long, but I know when it’s you that enters the room,” she says weakly, and pushes herself up to a sitting position but doesn’t face me. “The hairs on the back of my neck stand,” she whispers, and if it wasn’t so quiet in here, I would’ve missed it.

Stepping forward, I stand directly behind her. Her hair is oily, and her skin somehow looks even more pallid. I guess lack of nutrition and sunlight will do that. “Turn around.” She doesn’t move a muscle. “Turn around or I’m walking back out of here with this.”

That piques her interest as she slowly and lethargically spins on her bottom to look up at me. Her eyes immediately land on mine, and there’s still fire in them.My little fighter.Then she notices the bowl and cup I’m holding. “Do you like mango, my love?”

She bites her lip, still focusing on the bowl. “Who doesn’t?”Just

I offer her the bowl, but she doesn’t go for it just yet. Her gaze snaps to mine and narrows. “Mango,” she states, and I nod. She wants to ask me what I want in return, but she’s too hungry to push right now, her forbearance no longer resolute. She snatches the bowl out of my hand and begins shoveling the fresh mango into her mouth. I watch as the juices drip down her chin and onto her chest. I’m tempted to rip her tiny clothes off and rub the mango all over her milky white skin and follow the trails with my tongue.

“Agua?” I offer the cup, and her gaze snaps to mine once again. She reaches for it cautiously and takes the cup. She downs the small amount of water in one go and continues to shovel in the mango until it’s all gone.

She’s testing my self-control when she closes her eyes and sucks the juice off of each finger. I can feel my cock swelling in my pants, and all I can think about is sinking it deep inside of her tiny cunt.

Once she’s done torturing me with cleaning her fingers from the mango, her eyes slowly roam up the length of my body, stopping on the tent I am pitching in my pants. Her eyes twinkle as they meet mine, and she’s biting back a smile. “Se te marca el rabo por la pantelones.”You can see your dick through your pants.

Crouching down slowly, I can smell the mango on her breath as it picks up the closer I get. “What is your name?”

“Fynn Ryan,” she responds.

“What is your name?” I repeat calmly.

She stares at me as if she’s having an internal battle with herself. “And what would I get out of it? Giving you my name.”

I smirk. “I won’t kill you yet.”

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