30
Luna
A pulsing ache drags me from sleep. I stretch, wincing as a new kind of emptiness flares between my legs, every movement reminding me of how good he felt. How badly I want him to fuck me again.
Christ, that man excites me. I can still hear him—those low, guttural moans—making me feel like a fucking sex goddess. The only problem is that he doesn’t play fair. That wasn’t just sex. It was something else. A taking. A surrender.
Cade Quinn is a head trip, pure and simple. One moment, I’m fighting the urge to run screaming; the next, I want to drown in him until I forget my own name.
Groaning, I kick off the tangled sheets and shuffle to the bathroom, fumbling behind the towels for my phone. The screen lights up with notifications. Reese replied, thank God.
My stomach churns as I open her respon se:
Subject: WTF!
Oh, look who finally got bored of the silent treatment! And no, I don’t expect you to forgive me—in fact, I’d be disappointed if you didn’t milk this ad nauseam.
Now, about your little sitch, I know a guy who can track you down and get you out of whatever spot you've tangled yourself into—clumsy cow.
But listen, you have to check in when you say you will because this guy doesn’t mess about. He will murder your hot kidnapper and their grandma if they hurt you.
PS. You not attaching a headshot of said hot kidnapper for reference? That’s just douchebag behavior, Luna.
Love,
World’s shittiest, sluttiest ex best friend.
My throat tightens at Reese’s familiar tone, at the way she can still make me laugh even now. God, I’ve missed her. Our easy banter, the stupid jokes, the nights we brainstormed over Guilty Pleasures.
Then Delilah’s face swims into my mind, closely followed by Clemenza’s, and my momentary softness hardens into steel.
What is wrong with me? Getting nostalgic over one backstabber while two more almost destroyed me. Had it not been for Cade . . .
Cade.
My heart clenches in a fist as I remember last night again, but this time, the memories hit differently. The way he held me as I cried. The way he asked if what we did was okay.
It’s not fucking okay. How could it be?
I have no family, no friends, and I’m losing my fucking mind to a serial killer who makes me submit.
And the stupid tears are back. I strip off my clothes and stumble into the shower. The water can’t wash away the pain of betray al or the gnawing loneliness or this inexplicable need for Cade, but at least it can drown my sobs.
I stay in the cleansing deluge until I feel the knot in my chest loosen enough to face another day of holding my guard up with Cade.
Finally, pulling on a pair of black jeans and a deep purple soft ribbed top, I reach for my boots—and freeze.
What the hell?
The heel of my right boot is broken.
I blink in shock and then pick it up for closer examination. The leather is shredded, and teeth marks are etched into the broken heel as if . . .
Saint chewed off my freaking boot!
Gritting my teeth in frustration, I reach for my new Louboutins when a chilling thought occurs to me. Returning to the ruined boot, I check the hidden slot in the sole. It’s empty.
My stomach twists as I dig frantically through my purse, but I already know it’s not there.
That damn dog ate my shoe and my credit card.
“St. Michael! Get your ass here right now!” I yell, marching barefoot down the spiral steps, clutching my mangled boot as evidence. “Cade, you would not believe what Saint did . . .”
I stop dead in my tracks, the rest of my words trailing off as I take in the scene in the living room.
The dining table is covered in food: perfectly golden toast, eggs, fruit, and crispy bacon. A pot of freshly-brewed coffee sends aromatic tendrils curling through the air. It’s like a cozy spread from a magazine, a picture of normalcy.
Except it’s not the food or the man’s culinary skills that has me frozen in place.
It ’s the two men tied to the dining chairs who look like they’ve gone several rounds in a ring with death. They’re talking to Cade in slurred Spanish.
Their faces are battered and swollen, streaked with dried blood. One’s nose is bent at a grotesque angle. Terror rolls off them as they sit perfectly still, like prey waiting for the predator to strike.
And Cade.
He lounges at the table like it’s any other morning, legs stretched out, one arm draped casually over his chair as he munches on an apple. He glances at me with that casual indifference I’m starting to recognize as lethal.
Saint sits on the floor behind Cade, staring straight ahead at the two men while he sneaks sideways glances at me.
My brain stumbles to catch up on the scene, my eyes flicking between Cade, the beat-up Spaniards, and the ruined boot still dangling from my hand.
“What’s happening?” I choke out.
Cade takes another bite of his apple, chewing slowly as if he has all the time in the world. “In a minute.” His eyes flick briefly to Saint. “Saint, you got something to say about that boot?”
At the mention of his name, Saint immediately lays down flat with his head on his front paws and looks away—but not before side-eyeing me again.
Guilty as hell.
I roll my eyes at Saint’s attempt at denial, but I’m still puzzled by his behavior. “Why on earth would he even do that, Cade?”
Cade sighs and flicks his wrist in what seems like exasperation. “He used to pull that stunt to stop me from going away but he hasn’t done it since he was a puppy.”
His voice drops into an icy register. “Now what do you think gave him the impression that you were leaving?”
My stomach drops like a stone. I recall the way Saint’s eyes tracked my every move at the supermarket. Shit. “I-I have no clue,” I lie.
Cade just watches me, his gaze expertly cutting through the layers I’ve rebuilt since last night. His jaw tightens with a flicker of what looks like disappointment—but it’s gone in an instant, replaced by a steely hardness.
“Sit down, princess.”
Oh. We’re back to ‘princess’ now, are we?
His tone is so chilling that the snarky response doesn’t make it past my lips. My butt hits a chair. Sitting at the table with our battered guests makes this all the more real.
Who the hell are they and why did Cade beat them up this badly?
Cade pushes a plate of French toast in front of me and pours me orange juice. Although my stomach growls, I can’t eat or pretend this is normal. Those guys are bound to their chairs. With ropes for fuck’s sake.
“Now that everyone’s here,” Cade begins, “perhaps you ladies would like to catch us up on the latest gossip.”
The one with the broken nose flinches when Cade picks up a fork and points it at him. “You’re up first, bozo.”
The man swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He must be around forty, but terror makes him look like a kid caught stealing. He glances nervously at Cade, then at me, before stammering, “ N-No sabíamos que la chica—“
“Inglés!” Cade barks.
The man flinches, nodding quickly as he switches to heavily accented English. “I swear, w-we didn’t know the woman was yours. Or that you was . . .” he swallows again, his voice dropping to a terrified whisper, “El Segador.”
El Segador? Another of Cade’s aliases?
“ Focus, pendejo ,” Cade’s voice cracks like a whip. “Just tell your story so we can be done with it.”
The man gulps, face going paler. “The boss said a sale come through quick. Showed us photo of a woman, said to pick up around here.”
Cade cocks his head, still calm, but there’s a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Go on.”
Broken nose nods and stutters. “H-He said to bring her back to Mexico.”
I feel a cold shiver run down my spine.
“And what were the instructions for transport?” Cade takes another casual bite of his apple.
“To . . . to use the cooling truck.” Sweat beads on the man’s forehead, glistening under the dining room light.
Cade’s lips curl into a twisted grin. “Thirty-six Fahrenheit. Cartel protocol for organ harvesting, isn’t that right?”
He nods quickly as blood trickles down his nostril.
I can barely think beyond horror crawling under my skin. These men were instructed to collect my me for . . . I can’t even finish the thought. And Cade acts like we’re discussing the weather.
Cade’s eyes shift to the younger man whose face is too bruised to guess his age. “Your turn, darling. Why don’t you tell us how you found her?”
“I think . . .” the man begins.
Cade’s eyes narrow. “You think?”
The man gulps, his voice shaking as he manages to get the words out. “Credit card . . . it was used. At a store.”
Oh shit.
Cade hums as if pleased by the answer. “And remind me again who sent you?”
“Alejandro Córdoba—”
Cad e waves a dismissive hand. “Blah, blah, blah. Your boss’s client. The Italian. What’s his name?”
“Roman . . . uh, Romano.”
“First name?” Cade asks, leaning back with a casual air.
“Ricardo.”
My heart plummets into my stomach.
“Thank you,” Cade’s eyes flash as he turns to me. “Ring any bells, princess?”
My mouth is dry, my heart hammering in my chest. Ricardo Romano. Flavia’s big brother.
“My cousin,” I croak.
Cade tilts his head thoughtfully, tapping his fork against the table. “Well, it seems Ricardo had to find another way to make his pound of flesh off you, princess, since Clemenza didn’t share the booty with the rest of the family.” He snorts, muttering to himself, “Why are there so many human reptiles in the Mafia?”
I’m barely processing his words when his gaze snaps back to me. “Tell me, princess,” he says, his tone polite but his green eyes burning through me like twin lasers. “Why didn’t you use the cash I gave you?”
Panic rises like bile, but I fight to keep my face calm, to keep my voice steady. He knows. He knows I’m going to lie.
“I . . . I just wasn’t comfortable using your money for personal things,” I stammer.
Cade’s eyes flick down to my crotch. “Personal things like tampons?”
My face colors, but it’s too late to back out, so I nod. “Yeah.”
Cade huffs out a breath, his expression unreadable, before casually reaching over to my plate. Without a word, he takes my untouched French toast and eats it.
“Hey,” I protest, my stomach growling despite the nerves twisting it into knots. “I wanted that.”
Cad e’s eyes flash, and his voice drops to a dangerously quiet tone. “No, you don’t.”
“Why not?”
He wipes his mouth with a napkin, then stands, his steps unhurried, as he moves toward the two men. “Because it’ll just come back up. After I do this.”
Before I can process what he means, Cade grabs one of the men by the hair and jerks his head to the side violently. A sickening crack echoes in the room as the man’s lifeless body slumps to the side, his head in a grotesque angle.
A scream works its way up, only to get stuck in my throat. Time slows, my heartbeat pounding in my ears.
The second man doesn’t even have a chance to register his friend’s death before Cade’s forearm wraps around his neck, too. With a sudden, brutal twist, Cade snaps his neck just as easily.
The room plunges into an eerie, suffocating silence as Cade moves back to his seat, picking up his glass of juice as if nothing’s happened. As if he didn’t just kill two men with his bare hands in front of me. He takes a sip, his expression calm, almost bored, like the violence was a mere afterthought.
My stomach churns violently, the bile rising too fast to control this time. I push back from the table, about to bolt for the bathroom when Cade’s voice stops me.
“Luciana.”
His use of my name wraps around my throat like barbed wire and I turn on trembling legs to meet his eyes.
“Don’t fucking piss me off again.” Dark promise edges every word. “Make up your mind. Do you trust me or not?”
The question hits like a sledgehammer. Trust him? After that?
Bil e wins. I barely make the bathroom before my stomach empties itself. My body shakes as reality sinks in with each heave.
Cade Quinn isn’t just dangerous. He’s deranged.
I walked into his world with my eyes open. And now I have no idea how to get out.