Midnight Revenge

  Beer bottle in hand, D leaned against the counter and did another sweep of the bar.

  And there she was.

  As his gaze collided with the dark-haired bombshell across the room, he suddenly felt like he’d stepped into a time machine. He was twenty-four again. Christ, he almost expected to look over and find Gael standing beside him.

  “Hola, papi.” A young woman with huge tits and glassy eyes sashayed up to him. “You wanna get outta here and fuck me?”

  D arched a brow. Shit, chicks were a lot less coy these days. They used to at least ask him to buy them a drink first, flirt a little before they offered to spread their legs. This one wasn’t a whore, though—she lacked the trashiness of the whores that serviced this area. Not a tourist either. Which meant she was a local, and stoned out of her mind, from the looks of it.

  “No,” he said coldly.

  She opened her mouth as if to argue, but it snapped shut when she saw the look in his eyes. Then she stumbled off without another word.

  D kept his gaze trained on his prey. Angelina Mendez. The bitch hadn’t aged. She’d be twenty-eight now but didn’t look a day over twenty, and the youthful, carefree vibe she emitted had her fitting right in with the college crowd.

  She was at a tall standing table surrounded by a dozen or so kids. More males then females, but Angelina seemed far more interested in the girls. Giggling with them, asking them questions, clinking her shot glass against theirs.

  His jaw tightened. She was on duty tonight. Still working for the family business, then.

  D knew the drill, remembered it as if it was yesterday. Chat ’em up. Find out where they were from, who their families were. Rich girls needed to be avoided, because their parents would stop at no expense to find their trust-fund brats. Middle-class or poor girls were preferred, as long as they didn’t hail from big families. The ideal targets were loners, girls on the outs with their folks, women estranged from their loved ones. Those were the ones nobody ever looked for.

  His chest was tight as he watched Angelina work. Her long throat tipped back as she downed a tequila shot with both her hands behind her back. The group cheered, and she wore a goofy grin as she accepted the high fives from the boys in the group. Her eyes shone like black diamonds, her body exuding the kind of sexuality that drew every male gaze in the room to her.

  She’d always been better at the job than her brother. Sexy but sweet, wild but fun. Something about her made people hand over their trust like mints.

  Gael, on the other hand . . . People had looked at him and seen a fuck-up, a nineteen-year-old punk with a hint of sadism beneath the surface. The girls hadn’t trusted him, and they’d been right not to, because Gael Mendez had been a slimy motherfucker. A coke addict. A rapist. A sick fuck.

  D would happily kill him all over again if he could.

  It was ironic, though. The one time D had done the right thing, and it had caused all sorts of wrong. He didn’t regret putting that bullet in Gael’s brain, but the fallout had been a pain in the ass. He’d gone off script, and because of that, he’d made an enemy out of Mendez, out of his handler. He’d pulled that trigger, and life as he’d known it had ceased to exist.

  Fighting his annoyance, he shoved the memories aside and forced himself to concentrate. Gael was dead, but Angelina was very much alive, holding court among those laughing, intoxicated girls who were oblivious to her sinister motives.

  D was standing at the bar in plain sight, yet her gaze didn’t once travel in his direction, and that made him want to chuckle. He could just imagine her horror if she spotted him. Hell, he almost willed her to look his way so he could see her reaction, but Angelina was wholly immersed in her task.

  That had always been her problem—tunnel vision. She wasn’t aware of her surroundings. She focused on one person, one task, and remained oblivious to the rest. It didn’t surprise him that her instincts hadn’t been honed in the nine years since he’d seen her. Angelina would always be the most self-absorbed woman he’d ever known.

  D watched. Waited. He scanned the group, wondering which female had been targeted. The blonde with the pigtails, maybe. Or the one in the tube top. The Mendez organization went after blondes—the Asian market loved them. Redheads too, but not as much as the blondes.

  He sipped his beer, battling a rush of impatience. Angelina remained oblivious to his presence, still focused on charming her new “friends.”

  Nearly forty minutes passed before she finally whispered something to one of the girls and excused herself from the table.

  Her curvy body swaying through the crowd drew much attention, but it did nothing for D. He’d once dug his fingers into that round ass. Squeezed those big tits. Kissed those pouty lips. But it had been a job, a tool to get close to Mendez. He’d used Angelina as skillfully as he’d used her brother.

  Across the room, Angelina headed for the corridor leading to the restrooms. D set down his bottle and made his move.

  At first he was jostled left and right, but people began stepping out of his way once they noticed him. He knew he was a scary motherfucker. The tats. The scowl. Isabel and Juliet teased him that he needed to smile more often, claiming he had a million-dollar smile, but in his world, there wasn’t much to smile about. He was fully aware that he was attractive, but that was simply another weapon in his arsenal.

  A long line stretched out from the ladies’-room door. D could see Angelina only in profile, but the pout of her lips was unmistakable. The little princess wasn’t happy about waiting in line, and for one brief moment, he glimpsed the real Angelina behind the college-girl facade. The spoiled bitch, the daddy’s girl who’d do anything to please Raoul Mendez. Unfortunately for her, Mendez had only had eyes for his pride and joy—Gael.

  Angelina, Gael’s twin, had been an afterthought to Mendez, and D had happily exploited that as well.

  She was engrossed in her cell phone as she stood at the end of the line, texting something on the keypad. Her lack of awareness only aided D’s cause.

  He reached into his waistband and extracted his HK, palming it against his thigh as he entered the corridor. A moment later, he stood directly beside her, yanking the phone out of her hand in one swift move.

  “Hey—” Her outraged shout died abruptly when she felt the muzzle of his gun jam into her lower back. She was smart enough to know what that meant, and she froze on the spot.

  “Not a word,” D rasped as he tucked her phone in his back pocket. “You’re going to follow me now. And you’re going to keep your mouth shut.”

  Her head whipped up in shock.

  “Jason?” she breathed.

  “Not another word,” he snapped. “Not here.”

  She still looked dumbfounded. Horrified. But her rosebud lips pressed shut as he used the barrel of his gun to nudge her forward.

  She started to move, her gaze glued to his profile as they walked to the end of the hall and turned right. They passed two staff members on their way to the rear exit, but D ignored their startled exclamations and kept moving.

  He was surprised Angelina hadn’t put up more of a fight. He would’ve been happy to knock her out. Preferred it, even. But the woman remained silent. Obedient.

  Only when they stepped into the alley behind the bar did she begin to struggle.

  “You fucking bastard!” she screeched.

  Two small fists shot up at him, one batting him in the chest, the other flying toward his jaw, but he was both faster and stronger than her. He slapped her fist away and pressed his gun to her temple, shoving her against the brick wall before she could strike again. They were hidden between two overflowing Dumpsters that stank to high heaven, but he still kept his voice to a whisper.

  “Don’t fight,” he hissed in her ear. “I didn’t come here to hurt you. But make no mistake, I will absolutely do it if you push me.”

  Dark eyes blazed up at him. “What are you doing here? You—you—you killed my brother! You killed him and disappeared and . . .” The venom i
n her voice was replaced by confused silence. Defeat.

  “Yes, I killed him. I had my reasons, reasons you probably won’t understand, but they were there,” D said flatly. “But I’m not here to talk about him. I’m here for you.”

  Something splashed his chin. The bitch had spat at him.

  At least she wasn’t struggling anymore. Then again, she couldn’t struggle, not with his gun on her temple and his thigh wedged between her legs, pinning her in place. Fuck, he could snap her neck right now. It was so damn tempting, he could hear the crack it would make when he twisted.

  But no. He had to stick to the plan.

  “Does Papa know you’re back?” she demanded.

  Before he could answer, the back door creaked open and then male voices echoed in the alley. Bar employees stepping out for a smoke. D could smell the cheap tobacco wafting toward the Dumpsters.

  “You’re coming with me to my car,” he said softly. “We won’t get inside of it. I won’t take you anywhere. I’m not going to hurt you, all right? The only reason I took your phone is so you don’t call anyone until we’re done talking.”

  “Talking,” she echoed, her expression skeptical.

  “That’s all I want. I promise. You’re not in any danger, Angie.”

  Her breath hitched at his use of the nickname. The nickname that only he had ever called her. In bed mostly, when he’d fucked her to orgasm while she’d screamed his name. Well, one of his names. And as she’d begged Jason to screw her, to give it to her, he’d grunted her name and faked pleasure and wondered when he’d be able to kill her.

  “Please,” he begged.

  Begged, like a fucking dog, because that’s what she needed. The trick with using people was to let them think they were using you. You figured out their weaknesses and exploited them, all the while making them believe they had the upper hand.

  Gael’s weakness had been cocaine and young pussy.

  Angelina’s weakness had been D.

  “I can scream,” she said tightly. “Mateo and David will hear me, come for me. They’re nearby.”

  “They won’t hear you.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

  Because I killed them.

  “Because you won’t scream.” D shrugged. “We haven’t seen each other in nine years. I know you want to hear what I have to say.”

  Her features relaxed.

  Christ, she was so damn naive. A woman who’d grown up the way she had should know that her bodyguards were dead. That the only way D could have gotten anywhere near her was if the guards had been eliminated.

  Though bodyguards wasn’t exactly the right word to describe the two men he’d killed. They were more like collection agents, tasked with transporting the tourists Angelina delivered from the bars. D and Gael had done the same thing back in the day. Find the targets, lure them away, and hand them over to the men who then delivered them to Mendez.

  “I won’t hurt you, Angie. I just need to talk to you,” D assured her. “Please. Will you come with me?”

  She blinked, looking even more confused now.

  Then she nodded.

  D hid a grin. It was so easy to play this woman.

  He slowly dragged his gun down her bare arm and slid it back to her tailbone, but he didn’t dig it into her flesh this time. He let her believe he’d loosened his grip. She needed to believe she wasn’t in any danger.

  They stepped out from the cover of the Dumpsters. The alley was empty now, the bar employees gone. Silence stretched between them as they took off in a brisk pace toward the street. He noticed her fingers clutching the strap of her purse, inching down the supple leather, but her hand froze when she caught him looking at her.

  They passed two alleys, three, and then he directed her to the deserted passageway where he’d stashed his SUV. The moment they reached the vehicle, her hand zipped down toward the purse’s opening.

  D snatched the bag before she could access it and tossed it away. They both watched it land on the dirty pavement ten yards away.

  “You’ll get it back after we talk.” He backed her into the passenger’s door, injecting sincerity into his tone. “Don’t worry—your gun will still be there.”

  She scowled at his knowing look.

  “You’ll get your phone back too. I promise.”

  Her hostility faltered, bewilderment taking its place. “You’re really not going to hurt me?”

  “Of course not.” He thickened his voice as he stared at her, his gaze doing a slow, thorough sweep of her face. Her body. Those tits, big and round and barely contained by her flimsy top. The long legs extending from her tiny leather skirt.

  “God.” D made a choked noise. “You’re even more beautiful than I remember.”

  Her eyes widened. The streetlamp in the distance allowed only the slightest sliver of light into the dark alley, just enough to reveal Angelina’s flushed cheeks.

  “Does Papa know?” she asked again, her tone softer now.

  “If he did, I’d be dead already.” D moved closer, pressing his body to hers as he buried his face in her neck and breathed in her perfume. She’d always worn too much fucking perfume. “I had to see you first.”

  “Why?” she whispered.

  “Why the fuck do you think?” He nuzzled her neck, then dragged his tongue over her salty flesh.

  A noticeable shiver shuddered through her.

  So weak. This woman was so fucking weak when it came to him. She’d wanted him from the moment she’d met him, and it had been so easy to manipulate her back then. So easy to manipulate her now.

  “Walking away from you was the hardest thing I ever had to do.” D groaned as if he were in pain, and thrust his thigh between her legs. Her skirt was so short, her thighs were practically bare, and he knew she could feel the hard length of him straining against her flesh.

  Her breath caught again.

  Yeah, baby, I’m hard for you. He tried not to roll his eyes. Shockingly few people understood the concept of adrenaline boners. The erections of a soldier, the ones that stemmed not from arousal, but from danger. From risking your life, taking a life, escaping death.

  “I missed you, baby,” he mumbled. “So fucking much.”

  Sharp fingernails suddenly raked down his arms, bringing a sting of pain. Angelina hissed like a rattlesnake as her furious voice heated his chin. “You killed my brother.”

  “I had no choice.”

  “There’s always a choice!”

  “Not back then.” He dipped his head again, kissing her neck, moaning as if he couldn’t get enough.

  She flinched, then relaxed. Stiffened. Relaxed. It was like her body couldn’t decide whether it wanted to welcome him or push him away.

  “Why did come you back, Jason? Why now?”

  “Because my past finally caught up to me.” He licked the curve of her jaw, and she shivered again. “In a few hours I’m going to throw myself at your father’s feet and beg for mercy. But we both know he won’t show any. He’ll kill me.” He kissed his way toward her mouth. “I had to see you before that happened. I had to.”

  D ground his lower body against hers and lifted his head, pleased to see that her pupils were dilated. Her arousal incinerated the air. Confusion, too. And anger. But the arousal . . . that’s what he capitalized on.

  “Tell me you missed me, Angie. Tell me you missed this.”

  He cupped her breast over her shirt and squeezed it. Hard enough to make other women yelp, but not Angelina. She’d always liked it rough.

  “Tell me you missed my dick inside this tight cunt.”

  He shoved a hand between her legs and squeezed just as hard.

  A moan tore out of her throat. “You’re so filthy.”

  “You missed that too.” He laughed darkly. “Admit it.”

  Her eyes had glazed over with lust. Filthy, dirty lust, because she was a filthy, dirty woman. He still remembered how she would sneak into her father’s dungeon all those years ago, hide in the shadows, a
nd watch the guards beat the girls when they got out of line. Mendez had a strict rule about not touching the merchandise, but D knew Angelina would have liked to see the guards fuck the prisoners. She used to ask him to describe it to her—in vivid detail—when they were in bed together.

  He grabbed her wrists and yanked them over her head, pinning them against the car as he rotated his hips so she could feel his erection. “Your father will find out I’m back. Soon. I want to fuck you before that happens.”

  She made a breathy noise. The wetness between her thighs was soaking the fabric of his cargo pants.

  “Tell me you want me to fuck you,” D ordered.

  Angelina’s pink tongue darted out to moisten her top lip. “I . . . want you to fuck me.”

  Triumph erupted in his gut, along with a flash of disgust. They hadn’t seen each other in nine years—because he’d skipped town after murdering her brother—and yet she was so damn eager to spread her legs for him. It was almost enough to make him feel sorry for her. If she weren’t such a twisted bitch.

  He stared into her lust-drenched eyes, then lower, at the red lips quivering in anticipation. Keeping their bodies locked, he gave a husky chuckle and crashed his mouth over hers.

  Angelina moaned the moment their lips touched, her eager tongue sliding out and chasing his into his mouth. He let it, went through the motions of kissing—groaning, moving his lips, swirling his tongue with hers. But there was no desire burning in his blood. Inside, he was a block of ice. He was bored.

  He released her wrists, and she rubbed up against him like a bitch in heat, her hands clawing at his chest and bunching the front of his T-shirt to pull him closer.

  D deepened the kiss, curling one hand around her neck. He stroked the delicate tendons of her throat before settling his fingers at her nape, his thumb moving toward her windpipe. Slow and easy.

  “Jason,” she moaned against his mouth.