Page 15 of The Last Call
God damn fucking naked in that motherfucker’s bed. Drenched in his blood. Better fucking not be his come on her or in her either.
I’ll deal with her defiance next. First, I need to get her clean. I step over and around the bodies littering the beach house. Stupid fuckers for sacrificing themselves for this bastard. At least they were easy to ambush and overcome. Posers just like him.
I shove open one of the doors with my shoulder. My guess was correct—another bedroom. I stride to the adjoining bathroom and deposit her on the wicker bench in front of the vanity.
“You killed him…”
I cup her pale face as she studies me with a frantic gaze. Trying to figure out what the hell just happened. The answer is simple. “He deserved to die.”
For many more reasons than just thinking he could have what’s mine.
“He’s dead…”
Anxious sage eyes roll upward as she sways, and I catch her sweet body before she tumbles to the marble. Damn it. I guess we’re both getting a shower. I haul her against me with one arm while I twist the knob for hot water with my free hand. Not showing her any mercy despite her weak state. “Did you fuck him?”
Her head lolls on my shoulder, and I lift her up off her feet, giving her a hard shake. “Did you fuck him Sydney?”
“No.”
Thank fuck for that. I treat her with a little more gentleness from her admission and tuck her under the waterfall. Her eyes droop shut when I slick down her hair and rinse off her gorgeous frame. So fucking beautiful. Smooth and pink from the steamy spray. After a few seconds, she blinks several times. Bringing me into focus. Huge droplets coat her long lashes that I’m guessing mingle with tears. Probably relieved to be rid of him and happy to be with me.
“I was going to suck his dick.”
Son of a bitch! Fury detonates like dynamite through me. So damn defiant. She really wants to push me. Test me to see what I’ll do. Then I’m god damn fucking thrilled to show her. Fuck me if she’s not my tough angel. Unlucky for her, I’m tougher. And unbelievably pissed.
I jerk her head back and shove her under the water again as her lips fall open to wash away his name and her filthy words. Revealing a double set of diamonds on her tongue that for damn sure wasn’t there before. She put in the piercing for him. To pleasure him. To satisfy him. Fucker.
She wrestles against my grip spewing words at me I can’t make out through her gurgling. Although I know full well what she’s calling me. “You better be fucking glad his cock wasn’t in your mouth or your pussy.”
She quiets down when the implication from that threat hits her. No further argument while I clean his fucking touch from her swollen cheek and bruised throat. Fully aware what I’m capable of.
Good. I think we finally understand each other.
I slam down the handle, leaving us standing in the cool air. And at a damn stand-off. She’s almost too fucking magnificent to be pissed at with her heaving chest and smooth pussy and pebbled nipples. Making my hands ache to ravish her. However, patience is an attribute I pride myself on. I don’t mind fucking her in anger but I want her mad too, rather than frightened. She may think her indignation conceals her terror. But, her fear’s evident regardless of how much she tries to hide her panic.
I’m not good at making nice or making up since I usually just eliminate the men I argue with. If I hate you, I murder you. Pretty straight forward. But with her, I need to move us past fighting to fucking. Or at least do them simultaneously. I hate that she flinches when I lift my hand. Stumbling backward and bumping her luscious ass into one of the plastic shelves. So I move slowly, brushing the strand dangling over her left eye and clinging to her wet skin, behind her ear. “Don’t defy me, and we won’t have this problem again.”
She bristles from my palm on her cheek and jerks her chin up in disobedience.
“Don’t tell me what to do, and we won’t have this problem again.”
Fucking incredible. I’m instantly hard for her again. But I don’t want to fuck her here or like this. So I hustle her out of the stall, rub over her damp body a few times with the white towel from the nearby rack, and yank the bedspread off the bed, wrapping the peach comforter around her trembling damp body. Smart enough not to resist me taking care of her. Or taking her out of here. Sullen yet obedient as I march her through the house to the waiting helicopter.
She scans my rows of men. Almost as if she thinks one of them might help her. Like any of them would even consider speaking to her without my permission. They keep their gazes averted and their hands on their guns. Protecting us just like they’re paid to do and to prevent themselves from being killed. No one dare crosses me.
I grasp her dainty hand and help her maneuver the step and climb inside. Slightly indelicate, and definitely awkward trying to keep the quilt tucked tight around her, as livid as she is at me. She doesn’t have to worry. With twenty minutes on the chopper to reach my jet and then seven more hours to her new accommodations, we’ve got plenty of time to settle the argument between us.
He thinks he’s mad, but he’s nowhere near as enraged as I am. He slaughtered a house full of men in cold blood. He almost fucking drowned me. He blew up an entire island. And now he just sits there relaxed and nonchalant. Sipping on an expensive scotch. Conversing with one of his goons without any fear or worry.
He should have both. Tons of it. Just like I do. But I’ll never let him know that. I only care about one thing right now—getting the hell away from him. Then I can figure out everything else. “You’d better be taking me home, or I’m going to call the police.”
Finally, he looks over at me. Both him and the guy I think he called Phillip chuckle. Him louder and way more obnoxious and annoying than the bodyguard. Who shakes his head and clears the humor from his throat. Pretending to be engrossed in his phone while Julius stares at me.
“You’re not that stupid Sydney.”
I guess his insult is the bodyguard’s signal to leave because the man suddenly hops up and strides to the rows of seats closest to the cockpit. Sitting with the seven other gigantic men filling the two lines of black chairs. Now that we’re on his plane I guess we have to have an entourage accompany us wherever we go. “That I won’t call them?”
“That you actually think they’ll do anything.”
