Yours (Beautiful Sinner Series Book 4) Read online

  There’s an important choice to be made here:

  Be brave or fight.

  Shoot him or me.

  Not that he would ever set a single foot outside this warehouse, but when the will to survive is strong, you’ll try anything. A few beats of silence follow, the sole cause of noise coming from the man still kneeling on the cold and dirty floor.

  Gil begins to recite words that are familiar to me. A prayer from the Catholic church while Francis raises a shaking hand. There’s a line on forgiveness for one’s sins—on repenting for harmful thoughts—and throughout both, the man remains breathing.

  Sweat beads on both sets of brows, and those in the room to witness don’t dare speak.

  “Shoot him.”

  “Javier, I’m—”

  “Unable to follow simple instructions?” Because playing the role of a monster and being one are two vastly different things. “Is that what you’re telling me?”

  “I can do it.” His shaking limbs say otherwise. His expression is one of utter fear.

  “Then get closer and use both hands to steady the shot.” Not that his injured shoulder helps, but it amuses me to see him grit his teeth while doing as I say. “You have five seconds to shoot.”

  Francis closes his eyes, and I move closer. He exhales roughly, and I smirk. “That’s five.” Before he can react, I have the Glock back in my hand and Gil lies dead with a bullet hole to the side of the head. Fragments scatter with the force of the blast. A lifeless body. Cold, vacant eyes.

  I drop the gun between his bare feet and wait.

  No reaction. Not so much as a twitch of a muscle.

  My eyes flick to Alejandro, and he presses a button on his phone. At once, the buzz of speakers fills the space and Francis’s voice filters through the room.

  “I told you this would be easy, parce. These people are mindless slaves. If the Lucas family says jump, they fall into line and ask how high.” The sound of an engine turning can be heard, and then the seat belt alarm follows shortly after. His companion doesn’t give more than a grunt in answer, giving Francis the opening to run his mouth. I’ve listened to this recording. “Cocky assholes sit comfortably atop while we do all the work.”

  “But isn’t your dream to be them?” Gil asks. A lighter sparks and you can hear his deep inhale from a cigarette. “That’s why you’re doing this, no? The money, power, and easy pussy attached.”

  “Always for a willing whore!” Both men laugh, but then Francis sobers. “But apart from that, I said yes because both Alejandro and Javier denied me the money I needed. They cost me my wife, and I’m returning the favor by taking a client and making them lose a lot more than the fifty thousand dollars I asked for.”

  “They couldn’t spare fifty?” Gil’s tone is incredulous with a hint of amusement. “That’s nothing to them. Not even a blip on their accounts.”

  “It isn’t.”

  “Then why say no?”

  “Javier—”

  “Turn it off.” Alejandro does and then tosses the device to land beside the gun. Francis looks down at both, face pallid. “Say it again.”

  “Say what?” He doesn’t look up at me.

  “Finish what you said on the recording.”

  “You know?”

  “We do.” Every single member of my family does.

  “How?” Now his eyes meet mine, and in them I find defeat. “I didn’t talk around—”

  “The pickup Gil offered was one of ours, you dumb motherfucker. It was a loaner he got from Emiliano a day before under the guise of being here on vacation. An idiot move, for a man who didn’t hide his tracks well.”

  “Why?”

  “We let you empty the fields. We let you make the transaction with him.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You will be.” I take the few steps toward the tray with the machete and pick it up, slapping the metal against my palm before turning back to him. He’s a mess: bloody and weak. “But this was the risk you were willing to take when you decided to rise against us, and all because we wouldn’t give you the money needed to silence your mistress.”

  “It wasn’t supposed to end like this.” Francis hangs his head, shoulders slumped. “In and out is what he promised me and with the move, Ana would forgive me. She’d come back.”

  “Why put yourself in this position?” I ask, but the answer is of no true importance.

  “Because I’m an idiot.”

  “Very true.”

  Francis takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “For what it’s worth, Javier, I’m so sorry about what happened to your Mrs. Ida…how we left her there. I regret that more than you’ll ever know.”

  “And I’ll see you in hell one day, parce.” With that, I swing the machete clear across his chest, tearing open his flesh from shoulder to rib. Blood spills and his scream of pain overtakes every inch of the room while those inside begin a slow clap. One by one, the witnesses make their approval heard as the noise level drowns out Francis’s pain. “Mercy or pain?”

  “Pain.”

  “Pain.”

  “Pain.”

  It’s a chant that grows louder, the small windows rattling, and I nod, lifting the machete high again. The next strike is down his injured shoulder, embedding deep before I leave a matching slice across the opposite arm.

  The puddle beneath him grows. The strength in his body is depleted and he slumps forward on all fours. “Please end me, Javier.”

  “It’ll come sooner than you think.” One by one, I leave cuts across his body from the neck down. His face is left alone and only so his family can bury him without further trauma.

  “Thank you.” Those are his final words as the last blow is delivered to the back of his neck. My blade stays lodged as he falls, the final breath escaping while his mouth is now stained by the blood trickling from the corner.

  “Let this be a lesson to those who ever try to rise against the Lucas family. Next time, I won’t be as forgiving.” Faces nod and people turn toward the door as the seconds begin to pass. They go back home to their families while Alejandro’s men begin to remove the bodies, and it’s when Gil is placed inside a bag and wheeled out that my cousin approaches once more, a damp towel in his hand. “Thanks, primo.”

  “Our get-togethers have always been entertaining.”

  “Would you have it any other way?”

  “No.” Alejandro claps me on the shoulder then, a laugh booming out of him. “You remember our last trip to Mexico?”

  “How can I forget.” There’s a smirk across my face as I remember what led to the showdown with a local cartel boss. “Who knew turning down a gold-digger would cause such a mess. I lost my favorite gun in that exchange.”

  “There’s a replica in the car for you.”

  “It’s the least you can do.” We both let out a chuckle, making our way outside and toward my SUV where I pause to admire the gaudily wrapped box atop the hood. “The paper is hideous.”

  “Shut it and smile.”

  “I’m going to miss you, asshole.”

  “And it won’t be the same without you here.” He turns and leans against the front grill. “Are you sure about Chicago?”

  “I’m a wanted man.”

  “Aren’t we all in this family?”

  “True.” I mimic his stance, and we both watch the sun begin to set across the skyline. “But something is pulling me in that direction, and I’m following my instincts. Besides, I’ve been made a very lucrative offer.”

  “How good?”

  “Enough to keep me occupied for a year.”

  “And you trust this person?”

  “He comes highly recommended.” It’s the best I can give him, and he nods. In this business, no one has morals and everyone has ulterior motives—myself included.

  “Just remember that this will always be home, Javier.”

  “And blood is always thicker than water.”

  2

  Two months later…

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nbsp; THE ASHER BUILDING is synonymous with wealth and opulence, and yet, I know the truth behind these walls. Things hidden in plain sight that those walking past would never imagine the man behind a CEO’s desk is capable of.

  But then again, I’m not most people, and word travels fast within certain circles.

  All it takes is the right connection—the right person pulling the strings—and doors open with endless possibilities for the right price. A price Mr. Asher is all too willing to pay for a man with my particular set of skills.

  A young woman sitting at the receptionist’s desk looks my way as I walk through the main entrance and head straight for the elevator. She’s smart enough to not draw attention my way just as the guards ignore my existence. Instead, she quickly looks away and helps an elderly woman asking to speak with the investment specialist inside the branch.

  No one speaks to me, and I don’t wait long as the door opens a few seconds after I press the button, letting me inside a wide and empty car. The walls are glass and as I ascend, I take notice of multiple cameras on each floor and the heavy security watching all who enter.

  To someone who doesn’t know any better, it’s a simple system—common—while I know the quality of the equipment will rival that of the White House. The sensors are there to read more than activity. More than account for who comes and goes.

  At this point, someone inside the security room knows the size of my cock and to what side it hangs.

  There is no privacy within these walls, and I respect that. Respect the man who’s taken his family’s bank and turned it into a profitable money laundering empire for corrupt and unapologetic businessmen around the world. Men like my cousins who could profit from the services offered.

  He’s dangerous, but I have no soul. He’s wealthy, and I have no fear.

  I pass floor after floor until reaching the last, and the door opens. Two letters stand out across from me; a large golden M and A that lead to a small hallway where a desk awaits. There’s no one sitting there—no one to let their boss know I’m here, and just when I take a step past the table, my world stops.

  Literally. Unequivocally.

  “Take another step and I’ll shoot you.” There’s a hint of amusement in her tone, and the decadent sound sends a rush of excitement down my spine. Every nerve ending vibrates as her scent, a sweet and floral tone, infiltrates my senses. The owner of the voice is close, invading my personal space, and my nostrils flare—my cock giving a harsh jerk behind the confines of my zipper. What the fuck? “Now, the question here is…are you feeling frisky?”

  “Those are dangerous words for a…” I begin but trail off when she steps into my line of sight, hand on her hip and eyes, challenging. Fuck. This woman is beautiful: a tiny doll with a hint of wickedness behind those seafoam eyes and a taste of depravity in every sinful curve.

  Because I take her in.

  All of her.

  From her dark auburn hair to the dangerous heels on her tiny feet; this woman is perfection. At no more than five feet and three inches, she draws something from deep within that makes me throb where I stand, but it’s the cockiness—that tiny curl of her upper lip that brings forth the asshole in me.

  I take a step forward, loving the way her chest expands.

  I lick my bottom lip, savoring the way she follows the movement with unveiled interest.

  Who is she?

  “Who are you?” she asks without pause. No shame in the way she watches me.

  “I’ll tell you after I meet with your boss, Muñeca.” There’s a slight narrowing of her eyes and purse to her top lip at my words, and they make me want to bite her. To keep pushing her buttons to see if she snaps—if she scratches. “So be a good girl for me and let him know Javier Lucas is here.”

  “What did you just say? What did you call me?” My eyes skim down her front and pause on a small name tag attached to her white silk top. “I think I heard wrong.”

  “Mariah,” I croon low, savoring her name on my tongue and the small hitch in her breath. There’s a slight tremble that she quickly hides behind a rigid back when I close the space between us. “Muñeca…my little doll, I asked that you do your job and announce me. I promise to reward you after.”

  “Step back,” she hisses through gritted teeth, her expression angry, but I catch the straining of two little nipples against her top. The goose bumps on her arms. “I’ll give you to the count of—”

  “Mariah, let me know when Mr. Lucas arrives,” a male voice says from the doorway at the far back of the room. It startles her, and she jumps back as if burned while I hold my ground, never taking my eyes off of her. Never addressing the man I came here to see.

  “He’s here, Malcolm.” I don’t like the way she says his name. The familiarity and ease when she should address him as her superior and nothing else.

  “You mean Mr. Asher?” The bite in my tone isn’t missed by either, and I feel the man’s eyes on me. Sense when he comes closer, and if I were a lesser man, I’d cower back.

  But I’m not. Never will be.

  “Is there a problem here between you and my cousin, Mr. Lucas?”

  Cousin? She’s his cousin? I’m better than to miss an important fact like this.

  For the first time in my life, I’m speechless—a bit embarrassed—and all I can manage is a shake of my head, and yet, pulling my attention away from her is impossible. The jealousy that burns through me like molten acid unnerves me, but at the same time, excites me. It’s shaken me, and by the coquettish look in those beautiful orbs, Mariah knows this.

  Finds my reaction amusing. Motherfucking dangerous.

  “Mr. Lucas seems to take his formalities extremely serious, Malcolm. Cut him some slack. It might be a cultural thing.” My eyes narrow at her words, but her cousin merely chuckles to my right where he seems to be taking in my fumble.

  “Is that so, Javier?”

  “Not at all.” I flick my attention in his direction for ten seconds—moments where I take in the familial resemblance and smirk—before meeting Mariah’s challenge head-on. “I’ve just been caught off guard by your cousin’s beauty. That’s all.”

  “I am spectacular, cousin,” she says, and then fucks me in a way that tests my control. I’m left hanging by a very thin thread and every muscle in my body tenses, coils when her delicate fingers land on my chest while closing the distance between us. There’s playfulness in her words while her body language teases. “Can’t fault the man for having impeccable taste.”

  “You are trouble.”

  “And I think you like challenges.” With that she walks past me, leaving me in the open room with the man I came to work for and a hard cock.

  “Christ.”

  “Is not affiliated with my family.” Malcolm gives my shoulder a quick squeeze before turning toward his office, and I follow, walking through and taking a seat on the other side of his desk. And while I try to gather my thoughts and explain my behavior, Asher walks over to a small bar on the back wall and pours a few fingers’ worth of clear liquid into two glasses.

  He hands one to me and I immediately bring it to my lips, taking in the floral with a hint of citrus notes in the gin. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” His first sip is slow, and I expect the narrowing of his eyes when he swallows. Once, twice…on the third, Malcolm tosses back the spirit and walks around to his chair, taking a seat with the Chicago skyline as his backdrop. “Now, tell me why I shouldn’t shoot you.”

  “That’s the second time within thirty minutes someone in your family has threatened to do so.”

  “And we won’t hesitate, either.”

  “Neither will I.”

  Malcolm doesn’t react as one would expect with my threat. No. Not at all.

  Instead, his smile widens and his narrowed eyes crinkle at the corner from amusement. “You’ve got balls, Javier. More than you should for a man outside of his country.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? Outside of my country?”


  “Simply put?”

  “Speak your mind, but I will do the same.”

  He’s smirking, not a single thread of fear. “This isn’t territory the Lucas family controls, nor is this a diplomacy. I hired you because I know you’re the best and will be an asset to me.”

  “An asset?” Because my understanding is that I’d be in charge of his security for the next twelve months with a payout well over three million American dollars. I’m here to shape his guards and implement what I’ve done back home. “Explain yourself, Asher.”

  “I’ve done my homework.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  “Then you know I put out the call after the job you did for a client. News travels fast, and I’m not an easy man to impress.” Placing the glass down, he rubs his chin. Dissecting me. Waiting for me to ask a question that will never leave my lips. I’m not a man who worries about the whys or maybes. Instead, I match his composure and wait.

  And wait.

  His patience matches mine and, in this game, neither is willing to bend. I know why he wanted me and why the call came, but the change in negotiation came much sooner than I expected.

  “Ask me.”

  “How long?” There’s no need for me to elaborate and he sits forward, opening the drawer to his right and pulling out two items: a file and a knife. Both are pushed my way and I open the folder, reading the contents inside. He’s been busy. Most of the offenses here are well accounted for and I’ve never denied or hidden them, but it’s the last page that makes me pause. “Who gave this to you?”

  There’s no mistaking the venom in my tone nor the tensing of my muscles for what it is…

  A threat. A warning.

  “I paid that contract out, Javier. No harm will come to them.”

  “Who did this, Malcolm?” I grit out through clenched teeth, crushing the paper in my hand. “Who the fuck was stupid enough to put a hit on the women in my family?”

  “It’s taken care of—”

  “No. It isn’t.” With that, I stand, roughly pushing the chair back, and turn to leave, but before I reach the door, the knife once atop his desk embeds itself in the wall closest to me. My reaction is just as volatile, full of ire, and I grip the handle in my hand and pull it out. It’s a beautiful piece, and by the weight, I can attest that it’s solid gold. The blade is sleek, sharp, and I return the favor with a quick flick of the wrist.