Page 9 of His to Bedevil

Her caustic tone makes me smirk. “Beautiful, cunning, and brave.” I grip her jaw with one hand, forcing her to look up at me. “It’s a shame I’ll have to kill you.”

With that, I give Berto a subtle nod. He walks up and sticks a needle in the side of her neck. She gasps and her eyes widen, and for a single moment, I feel guilt. Seeing her in any kind of pain or discomfort enrages me. But she’s a little con artist, and I need to know what the hell she was up to and who the hell she is. She wouldn’t sneak into my office then jump off the boat if she wasn’t up to something.

It doesn’t take long for the sedative to take effect, making her somnolent as her eyelids flutter right before she slumps in Diego’s arms. It’s a special fast-working sedative I had one of my guys cook up for me a while back. Definitely comes in handy.

A tinted SUV pulls up at the other end of the alley, and Diego cradles her in his arms easily, and I find myself mad with jealousy. The emotion is ridiculous. She’s being brought in for questioning. I’m not wanting to court her.

I have Diego lay her down in the third row instead of the trunk like I should’ve done. It’s what I would do with anyone else. I’m sitting in the middle row with Berto on one side and Diego on the other.

As soon as we drive away, Berto is rummaging through her purse that she had on her. I have men cleaning up the scene we left and making sure there wasn’t any kind of surveillance recording any of us.

“Fynn Benita Ryan,” he says from beside me, and my eyes snap down to the license he’s holding out.

I take the small card in my hand and inspect it. Five feet. One hundred and five pounds. Eye color: green. Ethnicity: Caucasian. Age: twenty-three. But what I can’t stop looking at is her name. Her first name and her surname are both Irish, but her middle name is most definitely not. It’s a very odd coincidence. Handing Berto back the license, I ask, “Anything else in there?”

“Some cash and looks like a burner phone.” Meaning there’s nothing on the phone at all. Interesting.Who is this woman?

I fight the urge to glance back atFynn. The name doesn’t seem right. She may have the right Irish features, but the Irish name does not suit her. “Call Marcus. Have him get to work on casing her out.”

Turning my head to Diego, I see him sitting there scowling like a petulant child. “What’s the matter, Diego? Got your ego bruised?” I tease the young man who’s been with me for a few years now. He’s always been loyal and takes my orders easily, earning my trust.

His face softens some, and he snorts. “We all underestimated the tiny woman. Unfortunately, it was too late for Julio. She did not hesitate to stab him when she had the chance.” He shakes his head as if somewhat impressed by her tenacity.

I’m more impressed by her bravery when she didn’t so much as blanch when I slit his throat right in front of her. I smile to myself, thinking back to when she called me ajamonero. The word rolled off her tongue so fluently that if I had to guess, I would say she is from here or she’s familiar with Cubans.

I can’t wait to crack her wide open and find out who this woman is. Something tells me she is much more intriguing than meets the eye.

Irma

Groaning, I try lifting my head, but it feels heavier than usual. And it’s throbbing. “Fuck,” I mumble as I continue to slowly try and lift it. My neck is killing me, and my mouth feels like a desert. Blinking my eyes open, I go to rub my neck, but I can’t lift either one of my hands. Blinking more rapidly, I look down and realize I’m tethered to a chair. “What the fuck?” I mutter, and try to yank on the restraints as my heart rate picks up.

“Good morning, my love.” A low voice comes out from a darkened corner. The voice sounds familiar, but my head is a mess right now and my memory is foggy.

“Who are you?” My voice comes out scratchy, so I try to swallow, but I don’t have enough saliva in my mouth to do so.

The dark figure steps out of the corner and into the dim light, causing my body to freeze over. His cold and alluring smile is in place, and somehow he looks even bigger than I remember. “Alejandro Martinez,” I rasp his name.

“And you areFynn Ryan. Or at least it’s the name you go by now.” He managed to slither his way to stand right in front of me when I hardly even saw him move his legs. “Drink.” My neck is craned back so I’m staring right up at him. I frown at him in confusion. Then, when I glance down, I see he has a cup with a straw pointing toward me.

I hesitate for just a second, thinking it might be poisoned, but Alejandro isn’t a coward to use poison to kill. Even for a tiny woman like me. He’s the kind to slit a throat or snap a neck with his bare hands. Keeping my eyes up on him, I wrap my dry lips around the straw and suck down the water eagerly until I’m only sucking air. Pulling back, I lick my lips, and his eyes follow the movement, then they snap back up to meet mine.

“Why haven’t you killed me?” I blurt, just wanting to get straight to it.

“Should I?” He cocks his head to the side, and even though his face is totally sinister, it’s still so beautiful. He looks like a beautiful monster, and from what I’ve learned, those are the most dangerous kinds. “Tell me,Fynn. What were you doing in my office?” He tosses the empty cup to the side.

I silently glare up at him. I’m not telling him shit. He’ll try to torture it out of me, but I am no rat, and he’ll kill me either way.

“What is your real name?” he calmly asks, and I give him nothing.

He reaches out, and I fight the urge to flinch when he pinches a lock of my hair between his fingers and stares at it, admiring it. I told myself I was going to stay silent, but curiosity beats pride. “How did you find me? How did you know it was me?”

He drops the lock of hair, and his eyes meet mine. His fingertip brushes under my eye gently. “Your eyes. I could never forget them.” His tone is husky and soft, and I begin to forget where we are and who he is. He brushes gently underneath my other eye, leaving a hot trail, then he drops his hand. Something flickers in his gaze but dissolves just as quickly. Clenching his teeth, his jaw ticks. “Why were you in my office?” he repeats.

I take a deep breath in then release it slowly. Peeling my eyes away from his golden ones, I concentrate on his chest, which is a mistake. I can see it rising and falling, the muscles corded underneath his dress shirt. His body is beautiful. I’ve seen his naked torso in a photo from his file. It’s well-defined and strong, tan and smooth. Suddenly there’s a warm sensation between my legs, and I try shifting in the chair some to make it go away, but I’m too tightly bound to it.

He crouches down in front of me with an evil-looking smirk on his face. “Why were you in my office,mi amor?” He once again sounds calm and cool. No agitation in his tone. We just sit there staring at one another, and I feel like my heart might beat out of my chest. I can hear the blood rushing through my veins, and I’m doing my damnedest to hold my breath so that I don’t have to smell him.

Lifting his hand up, he brushes my cheek with the back of his fingers, and the corner of his mouth twitches. There’s heat in his gaze that takes me by surprise. “Okay,” he whispers, and stands to his feet. “I’ll give you twenty-four hours to come to your senses.” With confident fingers, he quickly undoes my restraints, and my instincts tell me to knee him in the face and make a run for it, but my brain tells me I’m dead if I even try. So, I let him remove the restraints, and when he stands to his feet, I don’t move a muscle. I don’t know where I am or how many people are just outside of this empty room. “Twenty-four hours,” he repeats, and I don’t move or even breathe until he disappears into the dark and I hear a door click shut. It’s only then that I gasp for air and bury my face into my hands, trembling.

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