Eagle elite volume ii, p.20
Eagle Elite Volume II, page 20
“And a donor?”
She shrugged.
“Andi, I have something to tell you.”
“Can we not?” She wiped away a few stray tears. “At least for the next hour, can we just lie here? Can you just hold me? I don’t want to talk about it, not yet… please?”
I sighed heavily. “Yeah.” No use in upsetting her more. But we would have that conversation. And it would be soon. If there was a chance at saving her, I was going to take it, even if I died trying.
“Kiss me.” She pressed her hands against my shoulders and pushed me against the bed, straddling my body with her legs.
I was finding it extremely hard to stick to my promise to not shed any tears. I had to be strong for her, for us. “Kiss you, huh?”
“Yes.” I would never get tired of her smile, of the way it lit up her entire face. Shit, the way it lit up my entire world.
I brought her head down and met her mouth with mine in a tender, desperate kiss. Every touch inflicted a slow-burning fever of need—not to just kiss her, to make her mine again and again—but to mark her, to possibly mark her so hard that she stayed with me.
Logic, numbers… hell, even reality told me that it was an impossibility. That no matter how hard I kissed her, she wouldn’t stay, but I had to try, right? I would be foolish not to.
So I kissed her harder.
I dove deeper into the madness of our feelings—the desperation of the love I felt for her.
When the kissing wasn’t enough, I pulled her shirt over her head, my fingers making a slow trail down her stomach, memorizing that feeling right there and holding onto it, just in case.
She didn’t fight me. She didn’t even flinch when I started slowly pulling down her yoga pants.
“Andi,” I whispered against her lips, “I have to tell you something.”
“What?” Her hands cupped my face.
I was lost in that look, the very look that said she loved me, would die for me, knew she was but wanted to take that risk anyway—the risk that before death her heart would be broken, and she wouldn’t get a second chance to fix it or to allow me to put the pieces back together again.
Had there ever been a love like ours before?
I doubted it.
And if there had been, I pitied those people, because every touch felt like the last… when it should have been the first of many.
Every kiss that should have been hello was goodbye.
Once her pants were dangling by her ankle, I reached for her bra and removed it. “You’re too beautiful for me.”
“For an Italian like you?” she countered, then slid off her underwear and crawled on top of me, her breasts pressing against my chest. Andi kissed up my neck, her hands drawing my T-shirt over my head and tossing it aside.
I closed my eyes and ran my hands slowly down her hips, my fingers pressing into her soft skin. With a sigh, I took her mouth in a slow, agonizing kiss, a kiss that I had a hard time stopping—because stopping meant ending, and ending just reminded me of the time that kept slipping through our fingers.
“Sergio?”
I opened my eyes and paused while my heart cracked against my chest.
“It’s okay to be scared, right?”
I nodded, not trusting my voice. “Yes.” I tucked her hair behind her ears. “But we’re together. When you have a partner, things are less scary because suddenly you aren’t facing giants all by yourself.”
“I like the idea of facing them with you.” She sniffed and looked down. A single tear slid down her cheek and landed on my chest.
It may as well have been acid; I felt the burn of that tear in the depths of my soul, crushing in its weight, devastating in its truth.
I kissed her harder, deeper. Our bodies slammed against one another. With a grunt, I flipped her onto her back and kissed between her breasts, sliding my hands down her legs. I refused to stop until I gave her every ounce of pleasure she deserved.
She cried out when my hand slid between her legs.
“I thought you just screwed,” she said, breathless.
I retreated, then pressed forward again, this time replacing my hand with my mouth.
Every arch of her body, every whimper, was music to my ears. When she was finally ready for me, our bodies slid together in a perfect match.
I moved deeper, harder.
Andi’s eyes closed.
I could have sworn in that moment I felt the air; I could taste its bittersweet reminder that time was against us.
It wasn’t just about sex.
Not anymore.
Not ever, if I was being completely honest with myself.
It was about sharing every single part of my soul—my body—with her, and hoping she did the same with me.
Because she was it.
We were quiet, passionate; both of us realizing we were experiencing one of those rare moments in life where words were useless and actions meant everything.
Her hands clenched my arms as I continued my slow, languid movements, taking time to relish each sensation of our bodies connecting, communicating. It was bliss—it was everything.
“Feels so…” She exhaled. “…good.”
“Italians are always good.”
“Had to joke,” she hissed, her nails digging into my flesh. “Sergio, I’m—”
I felt her body clench around mine as a shudder wracked her body. I watched, absolutely dumbstruck by the beauty before me and utterly wrecked that it wouldn’t last.
“Andi…” Sweat trickled down my cheek and landed on her bare stomach. My body soon followed hers as I collapsed onto the bed, trying not to crush her. “…I love you.”
Her hand drew slow circles along my back. “I know.”
I lifted my head. “That’s it? You know?” I smiled tightly. “Harsh, Russia.”
“Let me finish.” She pressed a fingertip to my lips. “I love you too. And I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?”
She shrugged. “My love is short.”
“No.” I shook my head and gripped her hands between mine. “Just because our love feels short doesn’t mean it is. Our love is forever.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Andi
I watched him sleep. I wasn’t sure I believed in heaven. I’d seen too many horrible things in my short life—but if heaven was real, Sergio had to be a gift from above, because he was everything I didn’t know I even wanted.
And at the same time needed, more than oxygen.
His breathing was heavy. He’d woken me twice in the middle of the night, both times kissing me, making love to me, not caring that I was fragile, but acting like he was desperate for every inch of my body.
I was exhausted.
In the best way possible.
He mumbled in his sleep and turned on his back. That silly scar stared back at me—I stuck out my tongue—his one imperfection, if you could even call it that.
The longer I stared, the sadder I became. Tears soon filled my eyes as a thought occurred. I wouldn’t get to stare at the scar much longer, and soon, well hopefully, he’d be able to move on—to live his life—and someone else would be sleeping in my place, staring at that scar, wondering about its story.
It was an eerie feeling.
Knowing that the sheets would be, and should be, warmed by another body, by another soul.
I wished in that moment I had control over what would happen when I was gone, or that I could at least help him.
An idea popped into my head.
A slow smile met the tears streaming down my face. “Oh, Sergio, you’re either going to love me more or hate me. But at least you’ll be forced to live, and that’s the greatest gift I could ever leave you.”
I kissed his forehead and went off to find a piece of paper. Ha, the man made fun of my lists; he was going to want to strangle me over this little piece of paper.
It was two hours before I finally made it back into bed. It was quiet around the house, which wasn’t all that normal, considering a lot of the men Nixon had left took shifts, meaning the TV was almost always on downstairs.
Frowning, I glanced into the living room.
Empty.
I called down the hall, careful to keep my voice low.
Again, nothing.
And then a hand slammed across my mouth. Someone pulled my body back. I was too weak to fight.
The man dragged me up the stairs; once we were back in Sergio’s bedroom, he placed a gun against my back and whispered, “Talk and I shoot.”
I didn’t recognize the voice.
Soon footsteps sounded up the stairs.
Another man burst into our bedroom as Sergio was starting to wake up.
“Ah, Andi.”
My eyes widened in horror. It was my father, my real father.
“Did you have to screw him so hard he blacked out?”
Sergio jumped to his feet just in time to get shot through the shoulder by my father. He crumpled to the floor.
I yelled. The gun pressed harder against my back.
My father moved over Sergio and whispered, “Well done, Andi. I knew you could do it.”
What? What the hell was he talking about? I opened my mouth to yell when I was hit in the back of the head.
Everything went black.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Sergio
Blood filled my mouth. The metallic taste made me want to puke; instead, I spit out as much as I could and tried to take in my surroundings.
Well, at least I wasn’t in a warehouse—or worse, dead.
I was in a living room, my sad ass tied to a chair right in front of a baby grand piano.
Heavy black curtains decorated each of the large bay windows.
An expensive leather sectional was in the middle of the room; a bookcase covered one end, while a large desk sat in the other.
One door.
One exit. One entry.
Well, there went my escape plan unless I wanted to jump out the window, but I wasn’t sure if I was up high or if I was on the bottom floor of whoever’s house I was in.
I assumed it was Petrov’s.
Memories of what had taken place came flooding back. I flinched in pain as I remembered being shot in the shoulder. I glanced to my right. It was bandaged. Ah, so they wanted to keep me alive before they killed me. Fantastic.
Andi! I tried to jump to my feet, but they were tied too.
It was fuzzy, but Petrov had said something about her… doing a good job? Or was it something else? I blinked, straining to remember what he’d said.
She would never double-cross me.
Or would she?
No. I had to trust my instincts, and my instincts said she was good; besides, she was being held at gunpoint. If she was bad, they would have pulled the gun away.
Or was there a gun?
Again, I couldn’t tell; the memory was too fuzzy.
She’d been standing in front of another man…
Her face broken.
But I couldn’t recall a gun.
“Shit,” I mumbled.
“Ah, he’s awake.” Petrov walked in, wiping his hands on a towel and tossing it onto the couch. It was covered in blood, which made me wonder what else he had in his house of horrors.
“Petrov.” I grinned. “Care to explain why you have me tied to a chair?”
He shrugged. “Think about such things hard enough, and you’ll come up with a solution.”
I glared.
He was a large man, who one could surmise quite enjoyed his food and vodka, if his gut was any indication. He was at least six four with a girth that made me cringe. His black suit fit him to perfection.
With a sigh, he pulled out a cigar, clipped the end, and lit it. Puffs of smoke filled the air, making me want to gag.
“She betrayed you.”
I rolled my eyes. “I highly doubt that.”
He shrugged. “Believe what you want, but know this. She’s been working for me the entire time, and now I have a greater prize than my own daughter.”
I burst out laughing. Even though my entire world felt like it was crumbling, I had to save face. “I’m not a boss. I mean nothing to the Families. I mean nothing to the FBI.”
“See?” He nodded. “That is where you are wrong.” He puffed again on his cigar and set it on a dish, then pulled a small syringe from his pocket. “You are blood, and blood always fights for blood. You will draw out one, if not all, of the leaders. I shall finish what my idiot son and Director Smith started. I will destroy the heads of the Families. I will take over what should have been mine in the first place, Italian scum,” he spat.
“Save the dramatics,” I hissed.
“You have control of seven of our docks in Seattle. Seven.” He ground his teeth. “You’ve infiltrated every single major harbor in the United States. How can I run drugs if the Italians are constantly trouncing all over my territory?”
“Well, here’s a thought.” I leaned forward as much as I could. “Go back to Russia. This is our home, our right. We’ve been here a hell of a lot longer than you and have a shitload more money. Just try to take out the Families—cut off one head… two more will appear. Besides, killing me would be doing them a favor. Believe me.”
“Oh yes.” He nodded. “Double agent. You’ve been a bad man, haven’t you?”
I was really tired of this conversation.
“It matters not.” He flicked the syringe with his forefinger. “I won’t have to kill them. You’ll do that for me.”
“Oh, I will?”
His grin was malicious. “Truth serum is often misused.”
I squirmed in my seat, my eyes frantic for a weapon I could use to kill him. I stalled instead. “I imagine you’re going to tell me why.”
“Of course.” He chuckled, taking two steps closer to me. “It rarely works when asked direct questions, but the power of suggestion? Oh now, that is a different beast entirely. I inject this…” He held up the needle. “…and I tell you so many falsehoods you forget your own damn name. I imagine if you’re weak enough, I could even convince you that your cousin Nixon was Satan himself.”
“Doubt it.” I jerked at my hand restraints.
He sighed, and with a nod, set down the needle. “You know, you’re right. What am I thinking? Truth serum!” He laughed loudly. “Sleep, dehydration—those are even better—but why don’t I inject you first, cloud your vision, cloud your logic a bit before we begin, yes? Oh, and I do hope you enjoy the heat.”
“What?”
He clapped his hands.
The fireplace turned on.
And a loud noise sounded.
“Hear that?” He cupped his ear. “The heat has just been turned on in this glorious state-of-the-art prison. The walls are triple insulated, the door lets no air in or out. By this time tomorrow morning, you’ll be begging for release. You’ll be so dehydrated you can’t see straight, and the best part? Just when you’re ready to take a nap, to escape the hell I’ve put you in…” He pulled a black collar from his pocket and fastened it around my neck.
I tried to bite him, but he was too fast.
“…I’ll simply shock you awake. Let the games begin. I imagine it will take them at least twenty-four hours to locate you. Another twenty-four to form a plan, and by then, well, let’s just say by then I’ll have you eating out of my hand. Just think!” He started waltzing toward the door. “In the end, you will betray them all, just like you should have a month ago.”
“I won’t,” I vowed.
He didn’t turn around. He simply answered, “We’ll see.”
I was trying to figure out why I was strapped next to the piano, facing the door, when the heat started searing my back.
I was backed against the fireplace.
My kidneys.
“Shit,” I hissed. He really was trying to dehydrate me. I closed my eyes and tried to meditate on keeping my breathing even.
The guys would come; I prayed they wouldn’t.
I prayed they’d stay and just let me die. Funny, this morning I’d dreamed about following Andi into the afterlife, and now I would be preceding her.
“Don’t,” I whispered. “Don’t come for me.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Sergio
My head was so heavy it didn’t even feel like it was part of my body anymore; it hung forward. A beeping sounded, and then I was zapped twice around the neck, stunned so hard that I had to clench my teeth.
The fire continued to lick at my back. Sweat drenched the borrowed shirt and jeans they’d put me in.
I was thankful they were larger than I needed, at least providing some vent for the air to come up my back.
I was tired, so incredibly tired that my eyes were having trouble focusing. It didn’t help that the bastard had injected me again with whatever the hell was in that syringe.
Voices sounded down the hall.
Either that, or I was truly going insane.
The door opened.
“Twenty-four hours have passed…” Petrov had two heads.
I blinked, trying to clear the image. Nope, still two heads.
“…and your friends have not come.”
“Told you.” Sweat dripped into my mouth.
“The room is over a hundred degrees, the fire still roaring. I bet water sounds like a slice of heaven.”
I ignored the thirst burning in my throat. My mouth was sandpaper; the desire to drink so strong I couldn’t recall a time I’d ever been so thirsty.
“She betrayed you.” Petrov stood in front of me and crossed his arms.
“She wouldn’t.” My voice was weak, unconvincing.
Petrov laughed. “Oh, to be in love. Tell me, did she give you the sob story about her sickness? Did you feel sorry for her? That was part of the plan, you know. The easiest way to infiltrate is through the heart—through pity.”
I shook my head.
“You’re an idiot if you think she loves you. She feels nothing—she’s my flesh and blood, after all. She hates Italians. I imagine you saw that hate quite often.”
I ignored the voice in my head that said he was right.
“Haven’t you wondered how we were able to get into your house all those times?”
