Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
B ecca heard the car pull up and drifted over to the window.
It was him . He was back.
A frisson of excitement shot through her, like a live wire under her skin.
He’s a bad boy, Becca. A thug.
She stared, unable to look away. His thick, bulging arms had probably gunned down more men than she’d care to know, those broad, mountainous shoulders carrying more than just gear—maybe wounded comrades, maybe bodies. And that hard, powerful body of his? It looked like it was built for chaos. Destruction.
Stay clear!
Yet her feet stayed planted. She watched as Carlos yanked the hood off his head, revealing Dominguez’s face—hard, unyielding, and tense. He blinked in the sunlight, his eyes adjusting before he grabbed a bulging backpack from the car like it weighed nothing and tossed it over his shoulder. The way he moved, the way he carried himself—it screamed soldier .
Again, Ramirez came out to meet him, guiding him into the house.
Preferential treatment. He must be important to Markov.
Becca peeled herself away from the window, busying herself with the vase of magnolias on her desk, though her mind was far from the task at hand. The spacious office leading to Markov’s study was where she spent most mornings, but this afternoon, she was restless.
She’d been told to prep the guest cabin down by the beach. Was Dominguez staying this time? Anticipation fizzed in her belly.
What is it about this guy?
He was no different than the other hired muscle wandering around. Big, dangerous, and lethal. The kind of man who exuded that arrogant confidence only someone who knew how to kill—and had done it—could carry. And yet, she couldn’t shake the electric buzz that seemed to settle under her skin whenever he was near.
Get a grip, she told herself, snorting softly. It wasn’t like he was the first man around here with a gun. This was the Americas, after all.
No, it was something else. The way he carried himself—with a quiet pride, like he knew he was a professional. His eyes didn’t just scan the room—they observed. They had locked onto her the moment they met. And despite his rough exterior, she sensed a sharpness, an intelligence lurking beneath.
Maybe that’s why Markov was working with him. Her boss didn’t waste time on idiots. He liked precision and power, and maybe this guy had both.
Or maybe I’m imagining all of it, she thought, irritated. He was probably just another thug in the end, another mercenary with more brawn than brain. Just because he was built like a god and had eyes that reminded her of the jungle after the rain didn’t mean he wasn’t as hollow as the rest of them.
“Hello again,” came a low, gravelly voice from the doorway.
Becca startled, her heart leaping into her throat. She’d been expecting him, but his presence still hit her like a jolt from a live wire. She spun around, flashing her best professional smile. "Good morning, Mr. Dominguez. It’s good to see you again."
Their eyes locked, and for a second, she felt like she couldn’t breathe. His gaze was intense, too sharp, too penetrating.
"Mr. Markov will be with you shortly," she added, her voice coming out more breathless than she intended.
He grunted and sank onto the sofa opposite her desk, stretching his long legs out in front of him, his frame dominating the room. Even with the massive mahogany desk between them, she felt the weight of his presence like a gravitational pull. His backpack landed with a thud beside him, reminding her just how lethal this man was.
“I have something to attend to,” Ramirez said, and Dominguez gave a brief nod as the financier left the room.
Carlos, the sleazy head of security, took up his post by the door, his beady eyes watching everything. No matter how important Dominguez might be, trust was a rare commodity here.
“Can I get you anything?” The man practically radiated danger, and yet she couldn’t stop herself. "Tea, coffee, a cold drink?" Damn, her voice sounded much too eager.
"I'm good," he muttered, his gaze fixed on her like he was appraising something far more personal.
Becca’s pulse quickened. She gave him a tight smile and shifted in her seat, her fingers fumbling over her phone as she texted her boss to let him know Dominguez had arrived. She had to retype it twice—her fingers were shaky, damn it.
She was no stranger to powerful men, but there was something about Dominguez that got under her skin, made her feel exposed. His gaze wasn’t just focused—it was consuming, like he could see straight through her, peeling back layers she wasn’t ready to share.
A few agonizing minutes passed before her boss’s office door finally swung open.
Markov appeared, as polished as ever in his tailored suit. His eyes flicked to Dominguez, sizing him up. After a brief pause, he nodded toward the study.
Dominguez stood, casting one last, lingering glance at Becca, before following Markov inside.
Becca let out a long breath. The room felt oddly empty without him, but at least her heart rate had a chance to slow down. She absently brushed a hot strand of hair off her forehead and tried to focus on the legal documents she’d been working on—farming equipment, her boss’s “legit” business. Yeah, right.
It was no use. Her thoughts were elsewhere, swirling around the dangerous mercenary currently holed up with her boss. What the hell was his deal? Was he really just another hired gun? And why did it matter so much to her?
She sighed, giving up on the document for now. Once Dominguez was gone, maybe she’d be able to concentrate.
Twenty minutes later, her phone buzzed with a request for tea. Tea for two. Of course. Markov had found a kindred spirit in Dominguez. Both ex-soldiers, cut from the same lethal cloth.
She gathered the tray and entered the study, her movements practiced and smooth. The men paused their conversation as she walked in, but not before she caught the words “merchandise” and “distribution.”
Her lips tightened into a forced smile. She didn’t need to guess what kind of business they were talking about.
She set the tea down with precision, but before she could pour, Markov waved her off. "I’ll handle it, Becs."
Becca nodded, avoiding Dominguez’s intense gaze as she hurried from the room.
An hour later, the door swung open, and the two men emerged.
Carlos straightened, eyes sharp, and Becca watched as a silent nod passed between Markov and his guard.
Dominguez had passed whatever test this was.
He was now part of the crew.
"Becca, show Mr. Dominguez to his room," Markov instructed, his voice casual. "He’ll be staying with us for a while."
Her stomach knotted as she stood, but she smiled, slipping into her professional role. "Of course. This way, Mr. Dominguez."
“There are some house rules,” Markov added in a no-nonsense tone. Dominguez turned slowly, his movements deliberate, like a predator sizing up its prey.
"No weapons on the premises. That includes knives. Carlos will take care of anything you’ve got."
"Understood," Dominguez replied, his voice cool.
“Also, you are welcome to any member of my staff, should you get the urge, but my assistant, Becca, is off-limits.”
Becca flushed. She knew it was for her own safety, but it gave their guest the wrong impression. Dominguez scowled, but didn’t glance at her. He gave a tight nod.
Becca’s face burned as she led the way out to the terrace, trying to keep her breathing steady. The sun was beating down, glistening off the swimming pool.
"How long will you be staying, Mr. Dominguez?" she asked, keeping her tone polite as they walked around the pool.
"Hard to say," he replied vaguely. "I’ll be coming and going."
That was new. Guests weren’t usually granted that kind of freedom. Even she needed clearance from Carlos to leave the hacienda.
"Well, I hope you enjoy your stay," she said, her voice strained.
They walked down a narrow trail toward the beach, the vegetation brushing against their arms and legs. "Can you believe this was cut back just last week?" She swiped a branch out of her way. "It grows like wildfire."
He didn’t respond. Of course he didn’t. Guys like him didn’t do small talk.
She led him toward a clearing where the guest cabins stood on stilts, all in a neat row. "The beach is through there," she said, gesturing toward a wide, sandy path. "And the only way back to the main house is the way we came."
"Unless you cut through the bush," he countered. She sensed a hostility in him that wasn’t there before.
She gave him a glance. "Well, sure, if you like creepy crawlies."
"Nothing I haven’t seen before," he muttered, his eyes scanning the dense foliage.
Tough guy, huh .
Of course. She bet he’d be comfortable living in the jungle for weeks on end. “You can try that, if you wish, however, there are security patrols operating on the premises. I wouldn’t surprise them, if I were you.”
“I’ve seen them.”
She smiled. “Hard not to.”
"Doesn’t it bother you?" he asked suddenly, his gaze piercing.
“Doesn’t what bother me?”
"Being trapped here, on the estate?"
"Not at all," she lied. "It’s part of my job." She lifted her chin. "Besides, I’m not locked in. I can leave whenever I want. It’s just for safety."
"Is that what he told you?" His voice had a sharp edge to it, like he didn’t quite believe her.
Her smile slipped. “Let me show you around.”
He followed her up the few steps, a hulking presence behind her, keeping her on edge. Once inside, she pulled the string attached to the ceiling fan, and the slow blades began stirring the heavy, humid air.
"If you leave the patio doors open, there’s a nice breeze," she said, making idle conversation until she could regain her composure. "The kitchen is pretty basic, but if you need anything, just let me know."
He dropped his backpack on the floor with a loud thud. Startled, she flinched. He’d done that on purpose to unnerve her, she knew it.
"How do I reach you?"
She took a steadying breath. "You can call or text me. Here’s my card.”
"Becca Lyndall," he read, rumbling over the syllables. A shiver tingled down her spine.
"That’s me," she said, the words catching in her throat. "Okay, well, if there isn’t anything else?—"
He didn’t move, just stared at her, his intense presence seriously messing with her karma.
“If there is, I’ll let you know.” His unreadable gaze trailed after her as she stepped outside.