“Inside. Now.” I command on a hiss. I roll out my shoulders and take a tranquilizing breath. “Jackal…” The forced texture of my speech is harsher than a tornado spitting out sand and rubble when I bark my guard’s name. “Take the Escalade to the other side of the city and blow it to fucking pieces.”
The interior would never be the same now I’ve bled all over the upholstery.
Carina catches a few strands of flyaway hair dancing before her lashes and sweeps them behind her ear. Her gaze settles on the cityscape, purposely choosing not to meet my angry stare. But she doesn’t move an inch.
Her obvious resistance twists like a knife. “Should I throw you over my shoulder and carry you indoors?” I threaten.
I watch a subtle sigh escape her lungs, how it deflates her ribcage. Yet her self-assured posture doesn’t alter. She pivots without looking at me, clips my good arm on her way past, and weaves around the parked vehicles. Rather than explode, I say nothing. Wild rage hisses inside me, the threat of it winning becoming very hard to suppress.
I fist my hands to stop myself from dragging her into my chest by the hair. It would only take a single order to have her forced on her knees to the gravel before me, to punish that brazen attitude with my dick. Use this as an opportunity to destroy the blistering connection we have with perverted, depraved deeds. Give her a lesson in respect and obedience, but that would be too easy. And nothing about this predicament is easy. She’s unlike any other woman I’ve ever encountered.
When she agrees to my terms, I’ll own her heart, soul, breath, pain, and pleasure... at least for a few days. Her everything will be mine. And the second our time together is up; our paths will be separated by a cast iron partition. Four days will allow me to get my shit together, kill a few motherfuckers, bury my father, and pave the way to an arranged marriage.
She storms ahead like a cyclone chewing up a rainbow, speeding past the guy holding the door open for me. The instant her dazzling aura bursts into the airy entrance, Brutus and Sniper race across the polished tiles in our direction. My ear-piercing whistle makes her jump. I smirk, knowing my German Shepherds are well-trained, and respond only to me.
Sniper hurries to greet me like he always does. He circles my legs, sniffs the blood, and positions himself at my heel. What happens next both mystifies me and pisses me the fuck off. The dog I had rescued from the brink of death takes me by surprise. Brutus trots around me, sniffs my hand to check I'm safe, then prances to Carina in the lounge and sits byherfeet.
I’ll have to rename him Judas.
Her hand settles on his head and her tight expression falters. His serious chestnut eyes drink in her effortless beauty as she leans into his muzzle and kisses the tip of his wet nose. For some reason, a crackle of jealousy sparks through my veins. Christ, even my emotions are betraying me.
When she bends, the hem of the jacket creeps higher to reveal lean thighs and faint bruises. Bold red fingerprints show the violence she’d accepted, and the passion she craved.
I should hate myself for inflicting those oxygen-rich smudges on a woman, but I don’t feel remorseful at all. No pity. No regret. No thorny twist of anxiety. Truth be told, I fucking love seeing them on her flesh, knowing it was me who put them there and marked her.
My balls cramp with an agonizing arousal. It’s getting harder to maintain the level-headedness I require to conduct business. It doesn’t help that my throat is dry and my feet are heavy like I’m wearing concrete boots.
The men caught up in the shootout mingle around us, each of them spitting out bloodthirsty threats for what’s to come. “Shane.” I call out, knowing he’d be in close range. “You know what needs to be done after that shit show. Make it happen.”
He steps up from behind me. “Who the fuck would chance a bloodbath in the middle of the day?”
I grunt as Carina wanders further inside and my so-called lethal guard dog prances beside her. “The Mexicans are lying low.” I point out, forcing myself to walk. “Apparently, they’re on our side. Petty street wars aren’t Blanco’s style. He’d rather blow shit up. Did we lose any men?”
“Not this time.” Shane confirms. “Leave it to me. Whoever is responsible will get the message.”
“It needs to be sorted out before we head north to my father’s plantation.”
“So do you, Tommy. For fuck’s sake. How are you still standing... and not psychotic?”
I shake my head and hide a slight smile. Fucking Carina in the back of an SUV has changed the dynamics of my usual lethal outbursts. I’m learning to channel the deviant side of my personality into something pure.
Her.
He follows my gaze to the woman now perched on the edge of the couch. I can’t let my men see how much she’s getting to me. They'll think I’m too preoccupied to rule—or worse, they’ll use her against me. On that fleeting thought, my stomach roils and I stifle the sudden rush of nausea with a cough.
“Christ,” he mutters. “Tommy.”
“I need to wash this shit off.” I interrupt him. “Do your job, Shane, and give me space. I need fucking space to think.”
I leave Shane to take charge of the men calling for enemy blood while I take a breather from it all and make my way out to the terrace through the sliding doors. With every labored step, I feel her eyes all over me.
She’s probably wondering if I’d die from blood loss so she could sprint back to her shitty shoebox apartment. Except if I dropped dead, my men wouldn’t value her like I do. They’d shoot her in the face and roll her off a cliff. My ribs tighten as if they’re protecting my heart from caring too much about her safety.
The infinity pool glitters under the Colombian sun. Orchid scented air grounds me to the ascending heights of my mountain home and the soft breeze prickles my scalp. I kick off my shoes, tug at the saturated compress until it drops, and then gingerly strip.
I toe the soiled garments into a bundle, ready for incineration. In a hurry for cleanliness, I stagger over the flagstones, crossing onto the slate base of an open air shower at the far end of the pool and flick on the icy water jets.
Needles of water spear my salty flesh. They pummel my forehead when I raise it toward the cerulean cloudless sky. Bamboo leaves rustle in the breeze and the stench of acrid copper flips my stomach.