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She swallows me deep.
Again.
And again.
And again.
I close my eyes, clawing for control that’s out of reach.
Fuck.
The tingle begins, inching up my spine, like a roller coaster making its final ascent. Every muscle tightens as I climb.
I stroke harder—rougher—chasing the release I desperately need.
I can’t hold back a fucking second longer.
Tugging at my tight balls with quick, rhythmic pulls, I detonate, decorating the shower wall with thick milky streaks.
My heart hammers as I brace my forehead against the wall, gasping for breath.
The edge isn’t gone. The desire for her hasn’t waned.
I can’t make it stop.
I fear it never will.
17
RAFAEL
After the helicopter landed, I took Lexie to my apartment and packed a bag while I waited for her guards to arrive. I’m sure she’ll sleep for most of the day, and there’s nothing I’d like more than to fall asleep wrapped around her. Instead, I’ve been toying with the souvenir we brought back from Quimper.
I enter a dank cave deep in the bowels of Huntsman Lodge for the second time today. Unlike the one where I questioned that feckless pussy, Marco, there are no comforts here. If the walls could talk, they would tell gruesome stories of men who took their strangled final breath, pleading for mercy that never came.
While I’ve never asked, I suspect this is where my brother got the end he deserved too.
The prisoner we transported in the plane’s cargo hold is strung up by the arms, in the far end of the cave, wearing nothing but his briefs. The blows I meted out earlier are now swollen purple bruises. When he spots me, he begins to cry.
After interrogating Andre earlier, I warned him that when I returned, he should either be prepared to tell me everything he knows about the flesh traders, or to meet his maker after a long, excruciating death.
The truth is, he’s less than a foot soldier and knows very little, but he did implicate Francesca Russo’s boyfriend, Paolo, as well as Paolo’s cousin. It’s unlikely either of them are the mastermind of the ring. Although Russo believes Paolo led his daughter to her death.
The closer I get to Andre, the more desperate his whimpers become. With his toes barely grazing the floor and his arm sockets groaning under the weight, he’s had plenty of time to ponder his fate. I don’t know if he slept in the cargo hold, but the guards have kept him awake since he arrived. There’s been no food, and the only water he’s been permitted is when his head is pushed into a vat and held down until he nearly drowns.
Let’s see if our hospitality has jostled a new memory.
“Andre. Tout va bien?” He doesn’t reply, but I can see for myself how it’s going. And more importantly, I know exactly how it’s going to end.
This is the man who was sent to gather intel on my Angel—to deliver Lexie to her death—or worse. He will die not by my order, but at my hand, and I will relish every cut of the blade.
“Tell me more about Paolo.”
Andre shakes his head. “I told you everything I know.”
“Paolo’s Italian,” I begin, recounting what he told me earlier, “and he speaks to you in French with an Italian word thrown in here and there. Paolo has a cousin who speaks a little Italian, but more French, although you don’t think he’s a native French speaker.”
It all seems worthless on its own, but when pieced together, it could give us a lead. Plus, even a seemingly inconsequential bit of information can be the key to solving the puzzle. You never know.
