I talked to Mr. Ortiz again. He is on my team now. I should be careful with a man like him. Considering his background, he can outplay the smartest men.
But his daughter is in my hands. Despite his undercover ways, I know she is the most precious thing in his life. So, hopefully, soon, my island will be the most important agenda on his list.
Kat is on my mind again. She is like sand under my feet on a perfectly clean marble floor.
Her smile at the surveillance guy who came over to talk to her earlier was beyond friendly. Only several days at the Center, and she’s charmed half of the employees and is on a first-name basis with them. FuckingAmirasked about her—the guy who is never interested in anything but work.
My cock is restless from the thoughts about her. I know she’s not a date kinda girl. And I’m not interested in dating. What I need is a quick relief, and I’m sure she would be up for it if I played correctly.
Marlow dropped off her file the other day. I grab it from the desk in my office and walk out into the living room, sit down on the couch and flip through it.
There is nothing really new in it.
Ukrainian mother, deceased. Puerto Rican father, former Navy SEAL, undercover and special ops.
Kat is a tumbleweed. Six years in California, seven in Arizona, three in Thailand, and three in Pennsylvania. Homeschooled in the US. Private tutor in Bangkok. Muay Thai Camp. First aid responder after the Change. Volunteer for FEMA—impressive. Survivalist training. Fluent Russian, some basic Ukrainian and Spanish. Drug charges in Bangkok—dismissed. Assault charges in PA, two. Withdrawn.
Five-foot-four.
Hazel eyes.
Age—nineteen.
I throw the file on the coffee table and lean back, taking a lazy sip of cognac.
“Ka-tu-ra Or-tiz,” I roll the syllables on my tongue. They are abrasive.Sheis abrasive. Untamed. Way over her head. With too much baggage for her age.
I think of jerking off. My phone is in my hand. I smile to myself as I open the folder with screenshots—particularly one—a cam view of Kat standing on the cliffs on the Eastside two weeks ago and studying the coast.
She looks hot in the bikini. Her hair partially falls over one shoulder and is tossed by the wind.
Lara Croft comes to mind.
I rub my hardening dick through my jeans.
The wild thing is beautiful and sporty, though my tastes always veered toward the more feminine type. She definitely lacks sophistication, and maybe that’s what makes me hard—I never needed to tame a girl or try even remotely hard enough to woo one.
I know I can get what I want from her, but it will be like capturing a leopard, petting it, then feeling the sharp pain of its claws that pounce as it gets away and runs off into the jungle.
I adjust my cock in my jeans—I really need to get my dick sucked. Preferably by this wild thing.
Our encounter is still fresh in my mind and angers me.
How hard I was when I caught her spying on one of my guys having sex with an escort.
How wet she was when I slid my hand to work her soaked pussy as we both watched like voyeurs from the shadows.
How much I was looking forward to banging her cockiness and my anger away.
How pissed I was—still am—when she pushed my hand away.
“I appreciate your effort.”
A smirk on her full lips.
The little spy will witness my effort very fucking soon.
Impatience tickles my nerves.