Deep Within Me (The Prophesy #2)

Chapter Four

A little more than fifteen minutes ago, Carreon had reached the strip club. One of many enterprises his father had built, which Carreon had then taken for himself.

He sat on the black leather sofa in Ernez’s office, an ice cube pressed to his injured ear. Most of the Chivas Carreon had poured was already gone, drunk to blunt the pain. Fat lot of good the booze had done. The ache in his lobe had moved to his jaw. It throbbed as though an abscessed tooth caused the discomfort rather than his ripped skin.

Carreon kicked the cocktail table. It tottered on the carpeting, threatening to spill over before coming to a halt, still upright. Through narrowed lids, he regarded the area.

Although it was furnished with an expensive sofa, matching chairs, and a chrome desk with a glass top, it didn’t own the opulence of his stronghold. He should have been resting there tonight as Roberto tortured Zeke to learn the content of his visions. Dr. Munez should have been in his room down the hall with no possibility of escape, while Liz…

Carreon gulped the last of his drink and splashed more of the liquor into his glass.

He pictured Liz in his bed, her hot, tight cunt sheltering his cock, her buttocks marked from the whipping he’d given her for defying him in the least.

In his fantasy, he imagined teaching her obedience to all that he willed, ordering her to strip and accept—no, to welcome her punishment.

Meekly, she would pull off her garments, while he remained dressed, knowing it would enhance her feeling of being naked and vulnerable. Without further direction, she would climb onto his bed and go to all fours, her head lowered in submission, her ass lifted in offering to appease his anger and lust.

She wanted his strong hand, his ruthless command of her flesh.

He wouldn’t immediately grant it. Instead, he’d make her wait and wonder about what he would deliver. Pleasure? Pain? A bit of both?

He’d run his hands over her plush ass, cupping her buttocks, separating them to further expose the tight ring of her anus and below it, her moist slit. Playfully, he’d explore her body, the delicate folds of her sex, her furry mound, then her snuggest opening, pretending not to know where to linger.

She wouldn’t dare speak or demand. Not even a pleasured moan would escape her lips as he focused on her rigid nub. She was his to enjoy in whatever way he deemed appropriate.

She’d smell of musk, her wanton need as great as his own.

He’d bring her within a breath of orgasm, noting how her body tensed. Only then would he stop and whip her for what she’d tried to do to him tonight, watching her ass grow pink beneath each—

The office door cracked open, interrupting Carreon’s thoughts. Pounding music from the business end of the club spilled into this space. Something crude and rough. Possibly Jay-Z.

Ernez moved inside with the grace of a panther, despite his size. He was six-one, the same as Carreon. Dressed in solid black—a silky shirt and well-tailored pants—he appeared both elegant and dangerous. His beefy shoulders, thick neck, and arms revealed how much he liked to work out, no different from Carreon’s other men. Ernez wore his dark hair cropped very short, just shy of a crew cut. His face was clean-shaven, his complexion a deep brown from his ancestry and afternoons spent in the sun.

He stepped to the side to allow a young woman entry into the office.

Carreon knew she was just barely twenty-one. He’d read her employment application while Ernez went to fetch her. As one of the club’s strippers, she wore little on stage and nothing now except for spike-heel, thigh-high boots. They laced up the front and appeared to be made of black suede.

Above the material, her legs were sleek, her cunt smooth, her feminine curls waxed off to give the patrons a full view of her sex. Idly, Carreon regarded her slit, and then her youthful breasts. Firm, lush, real—according to her application—which Carreon didn’t doubt. Those perfect globes enticed a man to cup them in his palms, squeeze them to feel their heat and suppleness. Implants could never provide what nature offered so easily.

This woman had received many physical gifts.

Her nipples were the color of damp earth, the areolas smooth. Clearly, the cold air pouring from the ceiling vents hadn’t chilled her…nor was she aroused in the least. For her nightly performances, she’d rubbed some kind of cosmetic on her nipples and mound that caused her skin to sparkle faintly in the light.

Her warm complexion proved she shared his clan’s blood. Her dark-green eyes were a surprise, as lovely as her sensuous features and glossy hair. It was so black, blue highlights shone in it. One thick tress rested on her shoulder. The rest of her mane hung halfway down her back.

Tall, five-eight without her heels, she seemed decidedly unimpressed with the surroundings or with him.

Carreon wondered if she knew who he was and figured Ernez had probably told her. Odd that she didn’t seem cowed or even curious as to why she was here, what he might want from her. Rather than irritating him, her indifference intrigued Carreon. He dropped the ice cube into his glass.

“Close the door,” he ordered Ernez.

Not bothering to watch, she lit the cigarette she held then took a protracted drag off it.

She’d painted her long nails black. To match her hair? The boots? Carreon didn’t know. He liked the look.

She slipped her lighter into the top of her left boot, blew out the smoke, and watched those grayish plumes rise to the ceiling.

“You know that’s not allowed in here,” Ernez said, scolding her as he would an annoyingly stupid child.

He grabbed a plate from his desk. Crumbs from his snack dotted it. He extended the item, clearly wanting her to use it as a makeshift ashtray.

She regarded her cigarette then him.

“Put it out,” he ordered, his contempt deliberately obvious to prove she was nothing more than a dumb stripper. He called the shots in this place and she would do as he expected, especially in front of his boss. It was Carreon who didn’t allow cigarettes in the office. He didn’t want to smell the stench the times he did come around. If it had been up to Ernez, he would have joined her, given that he was also a smoker. “Now.”

Dutifully, she stubbed out her smoke. Not on the plate, though—at the base of Ernez’s thumb.

He dropped the plate and jerked back his hand. “Son of a fucking bitch. You goddamn stupid—”

“No one tells me what to do,” she interrupted, serene as could be. However, there was a slight edge to her words, as though she wanted him to know no one embarrassed or humiliated her, especially to make themselves look better. “You could have asked nice. You should have.”

His face turned a deeper red, his features contorted with rage. He raised his hand to strike her. To prove he still ran the show?

Didn’t matter. Her response was as quick. In one surprisingly graceful move, she pulled something from the top of her right boot. There was a whoosh and then a click as a blade locked into place.

“You don’t want to do that,” she warned him.

He still swung his arm—seemingly unable to stop what he intended in spite of her weapon, as if he needed to prove his manhood.

As though to dispute it, she easily stepped out of his reach. “That was a mistake.”

Before he could draw his hand back, she made a slashing movement with her weapon. The switchblade flashed, its metal edge reflecting the light…slicing his palm. Not too deep but not all that shallow either.

He gasped then growled.

“Enough,” Carreon said. Ernez could howl like a banshee, but that didn’t change matters. From the beginning, she’d proved the worthier opponent.

Carreon’s command had the desired effect. Even with Ernez’s fury and pain, he went quiet and retreated, his steps stiff, forced. Wariness and possibly a grudging respect for her shone in his dark eyes, along with deep loathing as he pulled out his handkerchief and struggled to wrap it around the wound.

To her, Carreon murmured, “Come here.”

She regarded Ernez’s misery, her head cocked to one side as she listened to his rough panting and watched how his hands shook. Carreon wasn’t certain if she merely needed to savor her victory over Ernez, or if she wanted to confirm to everyone in this room that she meant what she’d said. No one told her what to do.

We’ll see.

Patience wasn’t one of Carreon’s virtues. However, he waited without comment until she deigned to come to him, her slender fingers still fisted around her weapon. A bit of Ernez’s blood clung tenaciously to the blade.

Carreon settled his hand on her warm, silky mound, studying her to see what reaction she’d give.

She didn’t slice him with her knife. Neither did she betray any desire.

He wondered what she’d do if he punished her. Beg for more, enjoying the mixture of pain and pleasure? Possibly.

Fascinated, he ran his fingers down the length of her cleft then back up, finding and stroking her clit.

She inhaled a bit more quickly than she had before, though it didn’t come close to the lusty moan Carreon wanted to hear. To test her true reaction—what was really going on inside her head—he slid his fingers to her opening.

She was decidedly wet.

Interesting. And arousing.

It appeared she wasn’t made of stone any more than he was. Carreon’s already stiffened cock thickened even more. His balls were beginning to ache, wanting release.

In time.

For now, he stroked her delicate folds, harboring no delusion that his touch alone stirred her. She seemed to crave danger, just as he did. As long as someone other than him got hurt.

“Please put the knife away,” he requested, his manner nice, just as she preferred.

Her expression didn’t change as she closed the blade. Carreon noted that she kept the weapon in her palm.

To reward her for being partially obedient—full submission would come later—he again ran his thumb over her nub. A bit harder and faster this time.

She pushed to her toes then came back down, not making any sound, not giving him the satisfaction of knowing she liked what he was doing. With her face raised to the ceiling, he couldn’t see her expression.

“What’s your name?” he asked while his fingers explored her sex.

“Trinidad,” she murmured then shivered slightly. At what he was doing? Perhaps. “But you already know that,” she added.

He did. Her employment file was next to him on the sofa. She’d glanced at it as she’d moved across the office to him.

“You’re one of my strippers,” he said.

She slanted her face to regard him. “And a whore.” The corners of her exquisite mouth tilted upward with her wry smile. “It pays better than—what do they call it? Oh yeah,” she answered herself, “exotic dancing.”

The genteel term appeared to amuse her.

“You’ve been here how long?” he asked.

“Two months. But you already know that too.”

“Are your parents aware of what you do for a living?”

She chuckled, a throaty, provocative sound that excited Carreon even more. He resumed stroking her nub.

She swallowed. Her throat quivered quite nicely. After a deep breath, she murmured, “They threw me out when I was fifteen. They said I was a bad influence on my little sisters.”

“Were you?”

“I don’t like rules.” Her eyes were glassy with arousal. However, she clearly fought it as though she needed to draw out the pleasure or deny him proof that he’d satisfied her. “I’m exactly like you are, Carreon. I don’t do what’s right. I do what I want.”

“Nothing wrong with that.”

“No?” She blew out a sigh then continued, “That’s not what my parents would say.”

“To hell with them.”

Her smile widened. “Exactly what they’d say about you. They may be from our clan, but they think you and your men are scum.” Her expression grew ecstatic as he rubbed faster, harder. “They’d hate me being here.”

“Maybe we can do something about their attitude.”

“Maybe. That would be—” She stopped, clearly unable to continue as she climaxed.

Carreon slipped two fingers deep inside her sheath to see if she was faking. Her muscles pulsed around the tips of his fingers. Hardly proof, given that any woman could simulate those contractions. Her cunt’s slickness was another matter entirely. She was beyond wet, her body relaxed with pleasure.

Before it passed, Carreon pulled his fingers from her then grabbed her wrist. Trinidad’s hand tightened around her weapon.

With more tenderness than it was his custom to use, Carreon eased her fingers from the switchblade. If she resisted in the least, he’d break every one of her digits.

As though she understood his character was as indecent as hers, Trinidad submitted. Carreon took the switchblade and slipped it back into its sheath within her boot.

She made a sound that reminded him of a contented cat, claws withdrawn.

Angling her palm to the light, Carreon studied the reddish stain on her lifeline, the size of a large freckle or a mole. In her file, Ernez had recorded her height, weight, measurements, all body marks. This one was the most important.

Liz and her father also had the discoloring on their palms, though theirs were far larger.

Proof, Liz had said, that her and her father’s gifts were the strongest. Others in their clan may be able to heal, but none of them—at least according to Liz—had the indisputable mark of a primary healer, the greatest there was.

Obviously, she and her father didn’t know about Trinidad.

“You can heal,” Carreon said.

She shrugged, her indifference returned. “I’ve been told that.”

Carreon stroked the discoloration, feeling a faint spark of energy emitting from it…or so he hoped. “You’ve never tried?”

“My parents wanted me to heal my little sister when she fell from a tree and broke her leg. I said it would cost them a hundred bucks. Was that too much to ask?”

Carreon laughed. “Cheap, I’d say.”

She returned his smile. It didn’t reach her eyes. “Exactly. They cursed me. Said I was no good.” Another shrug. “That’s the only time I’ve been asked to use it.”

“Until now.” He switched off the charm and got serious. “Ernez.”

The young man’s shoulders were hunched, the handkerchief around his sliced hand wet with blood. Obediently, he joined them, his breathing shallow and fast.

“Take off the handkerchief,” Carreon ordered.

The moment Ernez did, Carreon spoke to Trinidad. “Heal him.”

She lifted her shoulders as if to say, sure, why not? , then took Ernez’s hand in both of hers and licked off his blood.

“Aw shit,” he growled, his upper lip curling, “don’t do that. You’ll give me some fucking disease, you goddamn—”

“Quiet,” Carreon snapped.

Disease or not, insult or not, Trinidad continued lapping until she’d apparently had her fill—or proved her point that she was one badass—then she laid her palm on Ernez’s.

Carreon leaned up, forearms on his knees. “What’s happening?”

Ernez spoke through clenched teeth. “She’s fucking burning me.”

Wrong. The healing always felt like that—a surge of nearly unbearable heat.

“Let him go,” Carreon said to Trinidad.

She finally did, after several seconds. Because she didn’t like anyone telling her what to do?

She’d better get over that shit and fast.

Carreon took Ernez’s hand and studied the wound. Narrower now, no longer bleeding but not healed entirely either. Trinidad had the gift, though not to the extent that Liz and her father did. For now, it would have to do.

Releasing Ernez, Carreon grabbed Trinidad’s wrists and directed her to straddle his lap. When her cunt was snuggled against his rigid cock, he turned his damaged ear toward her. “Heal me.”

Something in his tone or manner made her obey more readily than usual. She cupped his ear. A spark of energy flowed from her body to his. The heat became intolerable as Carreon knew it would. Despite the discomfort, he sighed happily.

The office phone rang. Ernez answered it, muttering a hello, after which he paused to listen, then mumbled something Carreon didn’t catch.

The stinging had turned to velvety warmth, allowing Carreon to concentrate on Trinidad’s nipples brushing his chest, her warmth and weight, her fragrance—soft musk with a hint of roses.

Ernez strode across the room and stopped at the sofa. “The men you ordered to your stronghold found something.”

Carreon regarded Ernez through hooded lids, irritation in his response. “What? Liz’s body? Her father’s? Don’t tell me Neekoma left them there.”

Worry crossed Ernez’s features. He handed the phone to Carreon. “You better hear it from them.”

Zeke captured Liz’s hands and pulled them away from the metal button on his jeans’ waistband.

Surprised, she asked, “What are you doing?” Was this a joke? Had to be…for reasons she couldn’t figure out. Even so, Liz decided to play along. “Since when are you reluctant to strip, especially in front of me?”

If not for all the people in this stronghold, Zeke would never have worn clothes around her.

“Come on,” she murmured. “Let me undress you. I want you inside of me.”

“No.”

No? Uh-uh. Liz didn’t believe that answer for a second. She saw the lust in his eyes, recognized the tension in his big body, had felt his rigid rod. If he got any harder and didn’t get immediate relief within her cunt or mouth, he’d be whimpering in pain. “You don’t want to make love?”

He eased her arms behind her back and held her as close as he could. His lips brushed her cheek, pulling a soft sigh from Liz. She released her weight into him. Zeke bore it well, as though he’d been born for this moment. With his face pressed to her hair, he inhaled deeply, no doubt to capture her shampoo’s lingering floral scent.

“I don’t want to rush,” he whispered. “Never again. This has to last.”

Liz wasn’t about to argue the point, needing the same. However, the way he said it—with such desperate need—made her pulse quicken with worry. “It will.”

As though he didn’t quite believe her, Zeke held Liz for minutes, his heart beating in time with hers, their scents mingling. She felt his increasing arousal, the rigidity of his cock pressed against her mound. Her cunt responded, growing wet, preparing for his shaft’s intimate invasion.

On a deep sigh that sounded utterly helpless, he finally eased back and lifted her tee. Slowly, though, so he could expose her torso a bit at a time. Her belly fluttered at the promise of her nudity and then his. When he’d bared her breasts, Zeke stopped to regard them in the room’s gentle glow.

Smiling, he ran his forefinger around her areolas, already tight with carnal hunger. He stroked the sensitive tips.

A riot of sensations thrummed through Liz. She shivered in delight and reached for his jeans again, eager to strip him.

Her fingers paused on the metal button. She recalled his request that he didn’t want to hurry through this. He—they—needed to savor these moments.

Why? Because Carreon was still out there and would soon be hunting Zeke again? Because Zeke’s people wouldn’t be mollified for long? They’d demand that she and her father leave? Because—

Her thoughts paused at Zeke’s mouth on her nipple. He flicked the tip with his tongue then swept it over her areola’s bumpy contours. His mouth’s heat and the rasp of his beard-roughened skin against hers brought a new thrill.

On a pleased moan, Liz settled her hands on either side of his head and worked her fingers through his hair to keep him from stopping.

He drew her nipple deeper into his mouth and settled his hands on her ass then squeezed those cheeks, using his touch to imprison her.

Liz never wanted to be separate from him. Her head fell back and her chin tilted upward. Zeke took that as an invitation to kiss her throat.

My God.

Warmth and yearning poured through Liz at the softness of his lips, the wet heat of his tongue. She sighed in willing surrender to whatever Zeke wanted to do, whatever pace he preferred. She was his. Had been from the moment he’d first mounted her in Carreon’s stronghold, his cock stretching, using her sheath. That evening, he’d taken her with a master’s right while also delivering exquisite pleasure.

At the time, she hadn’t expected to drown in his strength and passion. She’d been there merely to heal him.

It was what her heritage and gift demanded…at least until tonight.

Her desire receded as she recalled Zeke’s earlier behavior. Why hadn’t he wanted her to heal Jacob, Samuel, or anyone else who might have needed her help? Why hadn’t he stripped her the moment they’d come in here then pulled her on the bed, unable to wait a second longer to plow inside her cunt?

She knew that was what he wanted to do, could feel it, and yet he kept holding back.

Was he worried she hadn’t fully recovered from Carreon’s attack? Didn’t he trust that her father’s healing…the reanimation…would last?

Liz ached for answers but didn’t speak. Zeke had asked her not to bombard him with questions. To simply hold him and follow his lead.

He lifted her bloodstained tee over her arms, past her head, and tossed it aside. The garment landed on a chair near his bed. A beige-and-brown Indian blanket covered its seat, its bold geometric designs similar to the blankets draped across the mattress.

Zeke stepped away from her and kicked off his suede moccasins. His large feet and long toes were as masculine as the rest of him, urging Liz to fall to her knees. To kiss and lick his toes then draw each into her mouth.

With all the will she owned, Liz resisted because what she really wanted was to have him nude. Hell, she craved that as she had nothing else.

While she studied the impressive bulge between his legs, Zeke placed his hand on the limestone wall. Somehow, the rock morphed into a mirror, no different from the limestone in Jacob’s bath. Days ago, she’d been in there with him and Zeke. When she’d neared that wall, it had turned into a mirror too, showing her reflection. A phenomenon that still surprised her and now brought a wave of dismay.

Her hair was a mass of hopeless tangles, dark circles discolored the skin beneath her eyes, and her jeans were filthy with dirt, blood, and who knew what else. She spoke without thinking. “I look really shitty.”

“Bullshit.” Zeke swept her into his arms. He was so strong, he made it seem as though she weighed nothing.

Easily, Liz snuggled into him and glanced at his bed.

After a moment’s hesitation, he bypassed it.

Not a good thing. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“Bathroom.”

“Why?”

He pressed his mouth to her ear and whispered, “For a bath.”

Okay.

She expected Zeke’s bathroom to be similar in design to his brother’s. Jacob’s shower was no more than a semicircular depression in the wall, made of the same metal alloy as that in the tunnel. No glass door or showerhead was visible. Rather than pouring down, the water had misted in the enclosure and somehow drained away even though there wasn’t any visible means for it to escape.

No such shower existed in Zeke’s bath, a room that was perfectly circular. Instead, there was a large stone tub, ringed with polished rocks of various colors. Some had veins of yellow running through them that sparkled like gold. Zeke put Liz down and touched one of the larger rocks. Instantly, water poured into the tub from between the smooth stones, splashing merrily over several of them. Frail threads of steam rose from the tub, the water scented with something fresh and sweet Liz couldn’t immediately identify.

“Wow,” she breathed. “This is amazing. Better than a rock star’s pad.”

Zeke grinned. “You have no idea.” He touched the wall. The entire area, including the ceiling, turned into a mirror. Behind it was that same golden glow. Subtle. Romantic.

She grinned. “Your alien ancestors must have been hedonists.”

“They were. I’ve been told I take after them.”

At her side, Zeke sank to his knees and unfastened Liz’s jeans. The denim folded away from her, exposing her belly. Zeke kissed the gentle swell.

Her muscles trembled. Sighing, she used his shoulder for support as he removed her moccasins. Next, he eased her jeans down, exposing her mound and thighs. With the garment bunched at her knees, Zeke cupped her naked ass and pulled Liz into him, his mouth on her cleft, his tongue exploring her sex, searching for her clit.

She gasped as he found it.

Zeke suckled her, his tongue flicking against her erect nub. A satisfied moan escaped Liz as indescribable sensations surged through her. Her knees sagged. Zeke pressed the pads of his fingers into her ass to give her as much support as he could. He licked and sucked until Liz thought she’d explode. Her body tensed. Her burning lungs urged her to breathe. Gritting her teeth, she surrendered to him and her coming climax.

Zeke stopped, stalling the magic.

Liz alternately groaned and panted then frowned. “Why did you stop? What are you doing?”

“Undressing you. Hold on.”

The last of her arousal drifted away, leaving overwhelming frustration. Clamping her hand on his shoulder, Liz lifted one leg then the other so he could remove her jeans.

The moment she was nude, Zeke stood, his attention on her breasts and pussy as he unbuttoned his jeans then lowered the fly.

“Wait.” She went to him. “Let me do that.”

“Will you hurry?”

Was he kidding? Liz stared at the meaty bulge behind his fly, the dark curls above it, revealed by the denim sagging away from his body. She found it impossible to swallow, difficult to speak, her desire was so great. “What do you think?”

“You ask too many questions.”

She shouldn’t have asked that one or taken her eyes off the prize. It gave Zeke the few seconds he needed to strip, which deprived her of so much. The chance to lower his jeans and expose his cock so she could trap him as he had her…so she could press her face to his hairy groin and do wicked things to his stiffened shaft with her mouth and hands.

His rod was so hard it was elevated slightly, its thick head seeming to point at her. His lightly furred balls were plump as could be, tight against his body. She reached out to touch them. Zeke curled his fingers around her wrist and pulled her into him, his caress filled with tenderness.

He smelled wonderful, musky and male. Liz felt his thundering heart, recognized his need, as desperate as hers to be as close as they possibly could.

Rather than take her where they stood, Zeke gave her a hard, brief hug—clearly restraining himself—then led her down the stone steps into the tub.

Liz sighed at the water’s delicious heat, its gentle eddy, like a thousand fingers massaging her weary body. She hadn’t realized how tense she’d been until she began to relax. She sank into the water and sprawled on one of the stone benches within it, not caring how shameless she looked. A contented moan spilled from Liz at the delicious warmth. Plumes of steam misted around her, adding to the allure.

Zeke went to his knees between her legs. He brushed several strands of damp hair from her shoulder. She did the same with his. They stared at each other, saying nothing. Words weren’t necessary or even welcome. Drinking each other in was all that mattered.

She adored him so much the emotion was actually painful, in a good and needed way. He’d returned her dignity, hope, her life when she hadn’t thought such a thing was possible.

Liz touched the barely visible scars on his pec from where Carreon’s men had shot him, loathing them for it. She ran her forefinger over the tattoo on his biceps then stroked the shiny area where the snake’s head had once been. The scar was pink and puckered. If it took the rest of her life, she’d make Carreon pay for injuring that part of Zeke.

Not that she’d been any better, at least in the beginning. Liz recalled how she’d fought Zeke, clawing him when he’d kidnapped her. Those injuries were no more than thin red lines now. She traced them with her fingertips, recalling what he’d told her at the time…what she’d refused to believe.

“Carreon’s going to kill you,” he’d said. “I’ve seen your murder in my mind. If you want to live, you have to come with me.”

His vision hadn’t been wrong. She had died.

Liz stroked his bottom lip. Zeke smiled. So did she then whispered, “You’re so damn beautiful.”

Never had she seen a more virile male.

Soft laughter poured from him. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No. Look at yourself.” She gestured to the countless mirrors.

Zeke ignored them. “I’d rather look at you.”

Good answer, even though she looked like hell. On a sigh, Liz murmured, “I want more than that. What are you waiting for?”

“I refuse to rush.”

He proved it, kissing her with great gentleness as though they had all the time in the world. His fingers circled her nub, touching and teasing it periodically. Oddly enough, his sweet kiss and restrained touch excited Liz more than if he’d given in to pure lust. Her body tensed with anticipation. She shuddered each time his fingers made contact with her clit. Before long, the tension between her legs became unbearable, an itch she couldn’t scratch, didn’t want to shake. Zeke knew, no doubt reading her reaction. This time, he didn’t let up. He deepened their kiss and rubbed hard, his pace fast. Liz tore her mouth from his, crying out and gulping air, her orgasm billowing through her.

Before she could adequately fill her lungs or quiet down, Zeke settled on the bench at her side then directed her onto his lap to straddle him.

Still panting from her climax, Liz cradled his cock in her palm and guided the plump head to her slit. Her body welcomed his immediately, needy of his cock. Zeke pushed himself up and into her, sinking deep inside.

God, God, God.

Was there ever a more wondrous feeling than being filled by a man you loved, having him as close as he could possibly get?

Liz didn’t think so.

Zeke was so blessed, his rigid sex strained against the confines of Liz’s sheath, forcing her body to accommodate his.

She did so gladly, welcoming the incomparable pressure. Working her fingers through his damp hair, she angled her mouth and captured his. He thrust his tongue inside, taking immediate command of the act, his previous gentleness gone.

Good. Liz didn’t want gentle. She needed him to fuck her raw.

With his hands cupping her buttocks, Zeke coaxed her to pull up.

Liz obeyed. She fell into an easy rhythm—up and down, up and down—her cunt nearly releasing his cock only to slide over it once more.

Zeke broke their kiss. His head lolled back on his shoulders and his Adam’s apple bobbed with his hard swallow. Liz kissed then licked the prominent bump.

Laughter rumbled from him.

“Feel good?” she breathed.

“Not as good as this.” He brought one hand from her ass and stroked her clit.

Liz moaned, long and loud, at the pleasure rolling through her. It was an effort, but she forced herself to concentrate on Zeke, increasing the pace of her pumping, coaxing him toward climax.

The water splashed loudly from tumbling over the rocks, the tub’s whirlpool effect, and the movement of their bodies. The noise couldn’t compete with the brazen sounds they made. Coarse. Wanton.

Liz came on a prolonged moan. Zeke followed, his bellow filling the room.

Together, they came down, trembling with the aftereffects, clinging to each other as though they feared the best was over. That this couldn’t last.

Trinidad reclined on the sofa, her right leg bent at the knee. She’d stretched out her left leg, the tip of her spike heel digging into the carpeting. The position exposed her cunt fully, while the office’s bright lights illuminated the faint moisture that glistened on her cleft. A shameless invitation for a man to take and use her.

She seemed not to notice or care about her indecent pose, or that Carreon had unceremoniously pushed her off his lap and left the sofa at Ernez’s worried expression. His comment that Carreon needed to take the call.

Roberto was still on the phone now, waiting for his boss’s response to a report that defied reality and belief.

Carreon tried to concentrate on what he’d heard but couldn’t. He kept picturing Roberto using his pliers and other tools on Zeke, making him bleed, pulling one agonized scream after the other from him. In the past, those images might have calmed Carreon. Not tonight. His pulse pounded and his belly rolled. Rarely had he felt as shaken. It took all of his will to remain calm.

“How long will it take you to get the information to me?” he asked Roberto.

“Victor’s downloading it now.”

“Send it to—” Carreon stopped, not knowing the club’s private email address. He turned to Ernez to ask for it.

The young man’s face was dark with fury at the wound on his hand. However, animal lust flared in his eyes as he regarded Trinidad’s slit. Carreon considered what their mating would be like…an enraged and emasculated male taking a she-devil who was intent on delivering more pain, her long black nails scoring his back, drawing blood, while he hammered his cock into her hot, snug cunt. With those images flooding his mind, Carreon snapped his fingers to get Ernez’s attention.

Instantly, the young man turned to him. Carreon handed Ernez the phone. “Give Roberto the club’s email address and download what he’s sending. I want to see it.”

He needed proof of what Roberto had claimed. It couldn’t be true. Wasn’t possible.

Dutifully, Ernez returned to his desk and delivered the address. Trinidad studied his ass as she ran her forefinger over her clit. Carreon saw amusement, rather than desire, on her lovely face. Her expression turned to quick indifference as Carreon curled his fingers around her wrist and pulled her hand from her cunt.

If he’d annoyed her by doing so, she didn’t show it. Wise move.

“There’s a mirror in the john.” He inclined his head in the direction of the bathroom. “Bring it to me.”

She glanced that way but didn’t move.

To hurry her along, Carreon bent her hand backward. Not enough to cause true pain. Merely the right amount to get her attention and acquiescence.

She stood.

He tightened his grip and brought her wrist to his mouth, kissing the inside of it. Gently, he murmured, “Don’t make me wait.”

Trinidad’s eyes glittered with the danger in his words. She gave him a smile then strolled toward the bath as if she had all the time in the world, her behavior reminiscent of a rebellious teen. A “fuck you” in each unhurried step.

Carreon doubted pain would guarantee her obedience, at least in the long run. She’d promise anything to stop the hurt, and once it was through would revert to her true nature. Threatening her family wouldn’t do the trick either. She clearly had no use for or sentimentality toward them. The more Carreon pushed, the more recalcitrant she’d become. As stubborn as Liz had grown when she’d finally realized it hadn’t been love he’d felt for her, but need of her gift, her submission to all he demanded.

Again, Carreon recalled what Roberto had told him. The thought brought another rush of worry, along with renewed rage. A growl of frustration escaped his throat.

“The download’s slow,” Ernez said, anxiety evident in his tone. “The file’s huge. It’s going to take several minutes.”

Carreon didn’t comment.

“I’ll try to hurry it along,” Ernez promised.

Trinidad exited the bath. She held the mirror—a circular model in its own gold stand—between her thumb and forefinger, letting it swing with the movement of her arm.

She walked with the grace of a princess or a ballerina, her sweet breasts trembling with each step. Just shy of him, she stopped. However, she didn’t offer the mirror.

“Give it to me,” he ordered.

She extended her hand just a bit, still making him reach for it.

Carreon moved close and ran his fingers up the inside of her thigh. Her lips parted on her lewd moan, telling him she clearly enjoyed his touch. Slipping his hand between her legs, Carreon ignored her cleft and concentrated on her anus instead. His fingertips circled the tight ring. Trinidad’s mouth fell open in appreciation.

“The mirror,” he said as he withdrew his hand, giving her a choice. If she obeyed him, she’d know pleasure. If she didn’t…

It would be a pity to mar one inch of her delicious flesh. However, a man had to do what was necessary to insure deference, no matter how fleeting.

As though she understood his unspoken intent, Trinidad handed him the mirror.

Carreon turned it so he could see his ear. The ice he’d held to it earlier had washed away most of the blood, while her healing touch had mended the wound with the skill of a drunken surgeon. His earlobe was misshapen, the skin puffy and red from the injury and the ice. Perhaps the poor result was because she hadn’t had enough time or opportunity to perfect her gift. If she used it repeatedly, as he’d forced Liz and her father to do, that might strengthen what she had.

It was Carreon’s only choice at the moment, his only hope. What Roberto claimed to have seen couldn’t possibly be—

“It’s ready,” Ernez said, interrupting Carreon’s thoughts.

He pushed the mirror at Trinidad and left her without a glance. Seated at the desk, Carreon stared at the video. The still shot showed the hall outside his stronghold’s safe room, just beyond the metal detector and full body scanner so no one ever entered his hiding place armed. After he’d had his father assassinated, Carreon had made certain no one would catch him off guard. Neither his enemies, nor his own men.

He directed the mouse’s arrow to the play button, his thoughts repeating what they had earlier. It can’t be true. It just can’t.

Unsettled, he clicked the button.

Nothing happened. All he saw was a shot of the empty hall. “What happened to the sound?” He should be hearing something.

“You need to turn it up.” Ernez pointed to the volume control.

Carreon put the sound at one hundred. All that produced was a steady hissing noise. “Is it broken? Why isn’t there any—”

“Liz!” Zeke’s voice shouted from the recording. “Liz, it’s Zeke. Your father’s with me. He’s all right.”

“Dr. Munez is still alive,” Roberto had said during his call.

The doctor’s voice sounded next on the tape. “The door might be shut,” he said. “If it is, she might not be able to hear any—”

Munez’s words stopped. He and Zeke finally came into view at the end of the hall. Carreon leaned up in his chair. Zeke had his arm wrapped around the older man’s waist, helping him to walk. Munez was limping badly.

The tape didn’t show what Zeke saw beyond the door. Carreon recalled every bit of the scene. Liz on her side near the fireplace, her face swollen and purplish from lack of air, mean bruises on her throat. Dead. Dead. Dead. Carreon had felt the bone in her throat snap beneath his fingers.

An anguished howl escaped Zeke as he and her father hurried into the room, out of camera range. Unmoved, Carreon listened to Zeke’s cries, his foolish pleas for Liz to be all right.

She wasn’t. Would never be again. He’d left her fucking dead.

“Go away!” Zeke’s voice shouted, no doubt to her father. “Leave us alone.”

“Put her down,” the older man said.

“No.”

Munez made a pained noise. “Do as I say.”

“Why? You think I wanted this to happen? I love her.”

Carreon’s jaw tightened at Zeke’s declaration. His fucking audacity in claiming Liz when she’d belonged with her own people. With him. Doing exactly what he said. Not defying him in the least. He gripped the arms of his chair.

Munez kept speaking. Carreon caught the last of his words. “—down. Let me do what I must.”

During the next minutes, Munez murmured to his daughter, telling her of his love. “Come back,” he finally murmured.

No, Carreon thought. What he wants is impossible. It can’t be true.

Not wanting to hear any more of the old fool’s sentimentality or Zeke’s sorrow, Carreon fast-forwarded the video then stopped and gaped at the screen.

Zeke left the safe room first, followed by Liz.

No.

Repeatedly, Carreon had insisted to Roberto that Zeke must have carried or dragged her lifeless body from the room.

On the recording, she walked on her own. Pausing, Liz glanced behind herself. Her face was no longer swollen, nor a sickening mauve color. The bruises Carreon had left on her throat were gone. She looked as though she hadn’t died…as though he hadn’t killed her.

He had, damn it.

Following close behind Liz was her father, no longer limping.

Had she healed him?

Had her father done the same with her? How could that be? Before Carreon had left his safe room, he’d searched for her pulse. There was none. She hadn’t been breathing.

This isn’t possible.

He backed up the video to play the parts he’d fast-forwarded over. For a moment, there was only silence or static then Munez’s voice.

“My dear sweet daughter, I’m so sorry. I never wanted to have to do this. It’s not fair leaving you with this burden. I warned you about our gift. I told you there were things about it that you didn’t understand. Now, I have to show you.”

Again, the video fell silent.

“Show her what?” Carreon growled, wanting the man to speak.

Munez’s voice continued finally. “Come back.”

“What are you doing?” Zeke’s voice asked. “What’s happening? She’s gone. There was no pulse. She can’t be healed. Why are you doing this?”

“Because I love her too,” Munez said. “I have to bring her back.”