Damián (Harknett 8 #1)

CHAPTER 1

DAMIáN

The office is a cramped room decked out in leather furniture that looks like it was stolen from a stripper’s VIP lounge. The AC is blasting, and I can feel the nightclub’s continuous bass vibrating up through the concrete floor and into the soles of my boots. It feels freaking great.

I am kissing a man, Eric… no… Esteban? Or was it Tomas?

Well, his name is irrelevant.

What matters is that I have him pinned against a shitty desk littered with receipts and invoices. Maybe not the most romantic place on earth, but romance isn’t what we are after.

Mr. Stranger hooks his ankles behind my knees, pulling me closer, leveraging his body to grind our hips together in a frustrated rhythm that has less to do with passion and more with getting the only thing I want from him… getting off.

I break the kiss and trail my lips down the man’s jaw, flicking my tongue over his skin, making sure not to leave a single mark.

I despise hickeys.

I hate marks and everything that feels like you’re being claimed.

Slowly, I unzip my pants and take us both in one hand.

“Ahhh! Damián, fuck… yes,” he cries out, his head falling back. “Get down and suck me.”

I laugh with a little more dismissal than humor. “Sorry, guapo. I don’t kneel for anyone.”

Instead, I stroke us together and continue until the heat rises, my mind goes blank, and my skin shivers. And just as fast as it started, the moment is over.

I move away, my breath still ragged, and take a cloth to clean myself.

Now, Leif, one of the Swedish twins, would probably launch into a boring lecture about how cuddling after getting off is important because it “binds the soul,” but, ay, no por favor.

Me? I always avoid this part… when the fun ends, the air gets awkward, and men tend to get so damn clingy. So once I’m done cleaning myself up, I move fast. I’m done zipping my jeans before he has even caught his breath, his back still pressed against the desk.

“You can stay,” the man says, his voice breathy and strained. “My shift is done in two hours. We can go to my place and finish this the right way.”

“Pass,” I say, buckling my belt. “Got plans.”

“Cancel them. I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Can’t. She is too special to cancel, but thanks.” I grab my leather jacket from the back of a chair and wave goodbye.

“So, this ‘special plan’ of yours…” he says, his tone now bitchy, “does she know you’re back here frotting your dick off with a stranger?”

A shiver crawls down my spine, and now I’m officially grossed out. “Oh, Dios, no… That would be wrong on so many levels.”

And before he can get a word out, I slip out of the office back into the club, and I’m welcomed by a sea of dancing bodies slick with sweat that move under the flashing rainbow lights.

I cut through the crowd, ignoring the hands reaching for my arms and the voices calling my name, giving them quick fake smiles to dodge the invites. I shove the exit door open, letting the cool air wash over me, and I stretch my hands.

Ahh! Freedom!

I walk to the parking lot, where I swing a leg over Chiquita, my Ducati Diavel, its custom red paint gleaming under the streetlights.

She looks stunning, as always.

I pat the curve of the tank. “Hello, mi Chiquita! Did I make you wait too long?” I turn the beast on, and it roars between my thighs. “Yes, yes. I missed you, too.”

I put on my helmet, lift the kickstand, and drive away.

Twenty minutes later, I reach the suburbs, and the city feels a world away.

I park in front of a beautiful two-story house with a swing, two apple trees, and a blue front door. That door took me four damn coats to get the “perfect” shade, but I have to admit, it looks pretty cool.

I hop off the bike, smoothing my jacket and checking my reflection in Chiquita’s mirror.

I run my fingers through my stubble and then through my brown hair to fix the mess the helmet left behind.

My hair isn’t even long, but for some damn reason, the helmet’s padding always makes it look like a camel chewed on it.

Finally happy with the result, I run over to the neighbor’s prize-winning garden and steal the three prettiest roses I see.

Gift in hand, I scurry back to the house, unlock the blue door, and step inside. “Honey, I’m home!”

“In the kitchen, mijo!” she says, her voice barely audible over the music.

Aaahhh! The house smells delicious! Like a perfect blend of baking apples, cinnamon, roasted meat, and the familiar tang of lemon floor polish.

Dios, I’m so hungry.

I follow the music through the hallway, its walls lined with frames and drawings holding a lifetime of memories. I walk into the kitchen where I see her dancing, and I smile… a real smile this time, one that actually reaches my eyes and touches my heart.

Ana María Soto, my mom, turns from the stove, her face lighting up the second she sees me. She pulls me into a tight hug, squeezing me hard, and I bury my face in her hair, inhaling the mix of floral shampoo and spices.

Don’t ask me how, but she has smelled exactly the same way since I was a boy.

“Mijo! I thought you’d be late.”

“And miss my mamá’s cooking? Never.” I pull back and present the flowers with a dramatic ta-da! “I brought you these. From a secret admirer.”

She laughs and glares at me at the same time. “You need to stop stealing from Mrs. Brown’s bushes. One day, she will call the police on you, and I will not bail you out.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say, faking innocence as I steal a tostón.

“Stop eating while standing up.”

“Is Fernanda coming?”

“No, mijo, she had to take a double shift.”

“What do you mean by ‘had to’? I already set her up with an account with enough money for the year.”

“I told her, but you know your sister. She wants to save all that for a rainy day.”

“So what if she uses it? If it pours, I’ll send her more.”

“Dios mío, she is stubborn, you are stubborn. I’m not getting in the middle.” She points at a big pot. “Now help me get that to the table so we can eat.”

“Fine.”

We sit at the large dining table, covered with enough food for ten starving guests. My mom pushes a plate of pernil toward me and passes me a serving fork. It looks so amazing, I can even see the roasted pork skin crackling.

“Are we expecting to feed a football team?”

“It is all for you, mijo. You need to eat more. You look thin.”

“Ma,” I laugh, filling my plate with rice, beans, and two large servings of pork. “I’m almost twice your size. Besides, this is all lean, soldier muscle.”

“Ay, of course… The soldier has spoken.”

“Here,” I say, sliding the plate toward her. “I left you the crunchy part. I know it’s your favorite.”

“Thanks. By the way, your sister sent a video of Carlitos. Look at this.” She unlocks her phone and plays a clip of my nephew, a three-year-old kid with wild dark hair and light brown eyes like my mom’s and mine.

“Why does it look like he’s grounded?” I laugh and give her back her phone.

“He is grounded. He figured out how to unlock her phone and send pictures.”

“A prodigy! What did I tell you?”

“An evil prodigy. The little menace took a photo of Fernanda sleeping with her mouth hanging wide open, and sent it to her boss.”

“Hahaha! Of course, he’s a menace. He’s my nephew. I bet he’ll be running a baby black ops ring on the playground by age five.”

“Diosito santo, I hope not.”

“Hey! That talent for trouble paid for this house.”

“I would be happier if it paid to upgrade your apartment to a bigger house with, I don’t know… five rooms?”

“Five rooms? Who do you think I am, Goldilocks? I live alone, Ma. I don’t need more rooms.”

“You would if you had others to fill those rooms with.”

“Others? Now you want me to kidnap people?”

“No. You know, others… like a grown-up other and maybe some little others?” She grins, and I shove food into my mouth.

“I’m not interested.”

“But… what if I know a very nice, handsome man who is very interested in meeting you?”

“Is he a nice man?”

“A sweetheart.”

“Oh, in that case, I’m definitely not interested.”

“I’m serious, Dami. Man or woman, mijo, I don’t care. As long as they are a good person, you’re happy, and it’s a real, committed love.”

“Can I just eat my pernil in peace? Besides, I do meet other people; it’s not like I’m locked in a cave.”

“You are already thirty-five, but you keep living like you’re in college. This sleeping-around lifestyle is not healthy.”

“I’m always careful.”

“Careful with your body, maybe.” She points her spoon at me and glares. “But it’s not healthy for the soul, mijo.”

“I don’t need a commitment or to build a new family. I have you, sis, and Carlitos. And I have my brothers at Harknett. I already have a family.”

“That’s different.” My mother reaches across the table and pats the back of my hand with the infinity tattoo, a tattoo everyone in the Harknett 8 has.

Only mine has a mix of black and red.

“Finding a partner to love… that is one of the biggest wonders of this world, Damián.”

“Until it almost kills you when you lose them… I’ll never allow myself to go through that.”

“Loving your father… was the best thing I have ever done. Even though losing him to cancer nearly killed me, I would do it all again.” She squeezes my hand. “Besides, how can you be afraid of loss when you get shot at every day at work?”

“Ah, that’s different.”

“How?!”

“One is emotional, and the other one is awesome.” And I mean every word.

My job is awesome.

Even how I met my business partners was beyond epic.

It was almost a year and a half ago, but I can still remember everything that happened as if it were yesterday.

That day, I didn’t know the men beside me: Logan, a Delta Force Colonel, his Lieutenant Knox, Bjorn, and Tae.

We were complete strangers. But when the shooting started, we moved as one, taking down the shooters like we’d been teammates for years.

A week later, when Logan tracked us down and pitched the idea of opening a security agency, saying yes was the easiest decision I’ve ever made. I even handed in my resignation to the CIA the next week.