Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Jorge
I rub my palm after I shut the bedroom door. I made my hand hurt from spanking Liesel. Or maybe it’s touching her that burned. But once I started, I couldn’t stop.
Not true.
I absolutely could’ve stopped if she insisted, but her objections were half-hearted at best. It wasn’t like I spanked her indiscriminately, just spanking her as many times as I could before my hand hurt.
She got twenty-five, which I know is a lot.
I didn’t do it out of anger. I did it as a punishment and to prove a point.
I don’t think she noticed the last fifteen were far lighter than the first ten. Her ass already hurt by then.
She needs to understand I take her safety seriously.
I’m unwavering in my promise to protect her, even if it’s from her foolish or mistaken choices.
She needs to understand my will is unbendable.
I’ll consider what she has to say, but when I decide something is for the best, she won’t beg or argue her way out of it.
I noticed how she rubbed her cunt against me for the last few spankings.
I bet she was wet by the end. I kept her as close to my knees as I could without her falling off my lap, so she wouldn’t feel how hard I was.
Her ass is perfection. Perfectly round, soft to the touch but firm when she clenches.
My dick wants me to bend her over the sofa and fuck her from behind.
She may be attracted to me, but she has a boyfriend.
One she lives with. It was a moment of weakness for her during an already stressful time.
I only added to it by spinning her world around with a spanking.
But I’m certain she wanted me to kiss her the first time I drew her against me in the suite’s living room.
I think she would have accepted it the second time too.
“Tío, nosotros tenemos una situacion.” Uncle, we have a situation.
I’m certain my tío Enrique doesn’t want to hear that after he greets me.
“?Qué pasó?” What happened?
We continue in Spanish. As far as I know, Liesel doesn’t speak the language. Maybe she picked up some while studying in the U.S., but she’s not fluent. I don’t want her to understand anything she overhears. I ordered the food as much to comfort her as I did to occupy her.
“Gunter’s hand showed up in a box on Anneliese’s desk. She recognized his wedding ring.”
“Were you there when it arrived?”
“No. I was in the area when she called.”
“Convenient.”
He knows I didn’t just happen to be there. The drawback to my generation being carbon copies of his generation is that they know what we’re thinking before we even formulate the idea.
“I brought her to my suite. I don’t know what’s going on, but if a courier can deliver a package like that, then she’s not safe there.”
“Do you believe whoever’s the leak is responsible? Do you think they killed Gunter?”
“Either is possible, but I’m not convinced. You know what Gunter’s brother is like.”
“True. Gunter may be pompous, but he always came across as harmless compared to Clyde Schlossberg. Joaquin, check if Clyde is at home in Munich right now.”
I knew I was on speakerphone from the sound quality. I guess at least one of my brothers is there. I figured my tío just wanted to be hands-free. It’s Alejandro who speaks next, so my cousin is with them.
“We’ve never worked with Clyde before, but Sean has. It was back when he was dating Nicolina. Remember? Her brother—shitbag that Ewan is—was trying to do a deal with them up in Boston. Sean fucked him over with that to get back at Ewan for being a douche to Nicolina.”
“Yeah, and the O’Rourkes made a killing off the goods they stole from Ewan. They invested half through Clyde, so he still made a profit. It wasn’t what it was supposed to be, but Clyde knew not to bite the hand that feeds him.”
The gang’s all here. That was Pablo. I’m sure Javier will have something to say soon.
“Gunter doesn’t seem that smart.”
Javier’s an introvert just like Joaquin and me, but he generally just doesn’t like other people. At least not ones outside our family. He’s an old soul—by sixteen, he was a jaded misanthrope.
“It wouldn’t surprise me if he pissed someone else off enough for them to do this. Joaquin, I still need your help. Did you make any progress?”
“Not yet.”
I swallow my aggrieved sigh. “I’m not prepared to reveal to Anneliese that I tapped her office phone. If I ask her about anything I’ve heard, she’ll know.”
“And when it comes out, she’ll be pissed.”
“Yes, Javier. I know.” Fucking Captain Obvious.
“Snippy.”
Fuck being the baby of the family. Javier’s barely a year older than me. Hell, Joaquin’s barely a year older than Javier. At twenty-one months apart between Joaquin and me, we probably could’ve all been in the same grade.
“Until I have some certainty about what’s going on, I’d rather she fears the unknown than panic over inconclusive speculation.
I don’t want to leave her alone here to search for her father.
I need help tracking his last known whereabouts.
If we can narrow down where he might be, I’ll send men to check it out.
I need to get her mother and sister here too. ”
“And her boyfriend?” I hear the humor in Javier’s voice.
“I don’t know if he’s on shift at the hospital or not. I won’t call him away from that unless I confirm he’s in danger or poses a danger to those around him.”
I sure as fuck don’t want to watch him holding and consoling her. I’ll rip his fucking lips off if I see him kiss her.
“I’ll call as soon as I have something. I’ll start digging online. I’ll also call Tío Matáis to see if he knows anything about Clyde or has heard anything about Gunter.”
“Thank you, Joaquin.”
Tío Matáis—Alejandro’s dad—is on his way to Hong Kong today. I’m glad I came here in his place, but that’s because I’m a glutton for punishment. I want a woman who’s already taken, and now I have to help her discover who chopped off her father’s hand.
Fuck if this isn’t some eighties mystery TV show shit.
Murder, She Wrote meets Friday the 13th.
Fucking Kojak, but I’m not bald. Though Telly Savalas looked like he could’ve been in a syndicate.
If anyone knows shit no one in the international finance world wants made public, it’s my tío.
He knows shit about everyone, but not everyone gets to know him.
Anyone who’s unaware he represents Diaz Holdings wouldn’t guess he’s linked to narco-traffickers.
Hell, they wouldn’t know he is—was—I guess still is—one.
He maintains a clean image to make people feel safe investing.
Those investments often go through shell companies we control without them knowing until a merger or acquisition.
His last name is Dos Santos—All Saints—so he must be harmless.
I practically snort at my thought.
No one would believe that.
“Do you need one of us to meet you?” Tío Enrique’s voice pulls me back to the conversation.
“No thanks. For now, I can handle this. If it looks like I can’t, I’ll ask for help immediately.”
I won’t endanger Liesel if I can avoid it. I don’t think my dick’s so big that I’m less of a man if I ask for help. I even ask for directions—sometimes.
“All right. Keep me posted, Jorge.”
“I will, Tío.”
“Te quiero.”
There’s a round of “I love you” before we say goodbye, and I end the call.
I look at the bedroom door. I heard the food arrive, then it went quiet for a moment before Liesel turned on the TV.
I brace myself to go back out there since I have no news.
With a deep inhale, I rise from the bed where I perched.
I hang up my suit coat and fold my tie, placing it on top of the dresser before I head back to the living room.
I unbutton my cuffs and roll up my sleeves.
I fucking hate suits. I truly do.
Liesel watches me as I approach. Her gaze follows my movements, and I see curiosity as parts of my tattoos peek beneath my sleeves. I’m not covered in them, but I have several.
I have what looks like a sundial over my heart. Where there should be numbers, there are initials. Twelve o’clock has an E for Esteban. My father—when he was alive and now his spirit—has always been my north star, my guide.
One and eleven o’clock have Js for Joaquin and Javier.
They stand beside Papá. There’s M for Tía Margherita at two o’clock, and P for Pablo at three o’clock.
Four o’clock has J for Juan—I have mixed feelings about covering that with the initial of any wife I might have. Five o’clock is L for Tío Luis.
Six o’clock—directly across from Papá’s E is Mamá’s L. When I’m lost and get turned around, Mamá’s always the one who puts me back on the right path.
Seven o’clock is M for Tío Matáis, and eight o’clock is A for Alejandro. Nine o’clock is C for Tía Catalina. Ten o’clock—directly over my heart—is E for Tío Enrique. He’s the head of our family, and mine beats for them.
Mamá didn’t let go of me for a solid five minutes the first time she saw it.
I feared I pissed her off since it’s a sizable tattoo, and it was my first. Instead, she cried happy tears when I explained its meaning.
My tías were misty-eyed, and the men were silent—the macho way to handle being choked up.
“Did you learn anything?” Liesel’s slow to stand from the sofa after she puts her tray on the table.
“Not yet. I asked my family to help.”
“I called my mom.”
She looks hesitant to tell me. She’s worried about how I’ll react.
“What did you tell her?”
“Nothing about this. I asked for a recipe. She sounded completely normal, so I don’t think anyone’s holding a gun to her head. I called my sister too. She was walking into a meeting and said she’d call me back.”
“And Bastian?”
I struggle not to grimace at the thought of him. His name is an unpleasant taste in my mouth.
“It’s his day off. I tracked his phone. He’s at the apartment.”
“Did you speak to him?”