CHAPTER 3 #2
“The phone is in the pool,” I hiss, half annoyed, half panicking. “And the guards are closing in… Fuck, Elijah is looking right at me.”
“Damn it, I’m too far. We need a distraction, now,” Logan says, and I can hear he’s moving fast around the crowd, trying to reach me.
“I got this,” Bjorn volunteers, and I watch in disbelief as he launches himself into the air from the terrace railing while screaming a Viking war cry and holding a three-liter bottle of Moet like it’s one of his damn F1 trophies.
He hits the water in a massive cannonball, drenching the front row of guests, the band, and some of the ice sculptures.
“What the fuck…” says Knox on the comms.
But Bjorn splashes out, surfacing like a majestic, tattooed dolphin. He lifts the champagne bottle and screams, “The water feels fucking great!”
Okay… so, we are all going to die.
But instead of being dragged away by the guards, Serena West laughs from the balcony, kicks off her heels, and climbs the rail.
“Pool party!” she screams and dives into the pool.
Suddenly, the “it” crowd is treated to a damn pool party, and the guards are stuck watching billionaires, celebrities, and drug dealers splash around like toddlers around our beautiful, unhinged Swedish Viking.
Jajajajajaja, pinche Bjorn.
I lunge into the shallow end, ignoring the death of my amazing outfit, snatch the dripping phone from the dazed woman’s hand, and climb out. I’m soaked, my hair is a mess, and I am beyond annoyed.
I check the phone; it’s cracked, wet, and dead.
Carajo!
Then I see it… A part of my tattoo is visible now.
One of the women must have smudged the makeup when they pulled me. The black and red ink of the infinity symbol stands out way too much against my skin.
“My phone is dead, and my tattoo is visible,” I let the team know.
“Leave,” Logan orders.
“I can find a way to cover it.”
“Leave immediately, Damián,” he growls. “If anyone recognizes it, you’ll be as good as dead.”
Aaargg… Carajo with this damn mission.
“Alexios, on my way to you.”
I shove the dead phone into my pocket and turn to push through the crowd, head down, adrenaline and anger spiking to the max. I take a turn near a cabana, and I slam directly into a man.
“Sorry,” I mutter, stepping back, water dripping from my shirt onto the stranger’s shoes.
I look up, and my breath hitches.
Oliver West.
He isn’t laughing like the rest of the guests near the pool; he is just staring at me. And I hate to admit it, but up close, he is even more gorgeous. His presence is so magnetic that I can totally understand why so many women and men sleep with him even after knowing how deranged he is.
His eyes are a beautiful mix of green and brown, but they look completely hollow, as if the lights are on, but the soul left him years ago.
He stares at me from head to toe, his gaze indifferent, until it lands on my left hand… The black and red infinity symbol standing out against my golden skin.
Oliver’s empty eyes snap back to mine and darken with anger.
Mierda… Does he know what this tattoo means?
Does he know what I am?
“Excuse me,” I say, trying to get away from him, my heart beating so fast I wouldn’t be surprised if it cracked a rib.
But once I feel like I’m in the clear, his hand shoots out and grabs my forearm. His grip is tight, his fingers digging into my muscle. On the other hand, he is holding a bottle of expensive red wine by the neck.
“Stop.” Oliver takes a sip and sways slightly, looking drunk and volatile. “You are coming with me.”
Oh, mierda… he is drunk.
I stay quiet as Oliver pulls me toward the house. I can’t speak a single word without putting my team in danger.
If I fight him here, the guards on the balcony will open fire and hurt a lot of innocent people. If I run, they will lock down the estate, trapping Bjorn, Tae, and Logan inside.
“Damián? Are you compromised?” asks Logan, and, oh man, I can hear something I’ve never heard in his voice before: fear.
I’m soooo fucked…
Well, this is it.
The math is mathing, and it is fucking cruel. I have no other option but to let him take me.
Well, at least this way my teammates will be safe.
“Logan, is Dami compromised?” Leif asks on the comms, and I can hear the panic in his voice, too.
Ok, so I guess today is the day we all panic.
“Damián, if you are compromised, say you need another beer,” Logan orders.
“…I think I need another beer.”
“Fuck…” The word is a collective exhale from the whole team.
We all know the rule; we all know that if we’re taken to the house, we’ll most likely be killed.
Oliver tilts his head, his pouty mouth set in a thin line. “You seem to be under the wrong impression that you have a choice.” He yanks me forward, nearly making me stumble. “I suggest you move before this escalates.”
I look around and clock four bodyguards closing in on our position.
My feet move automatically. I am walking toward the main house, the massive structure looming over the garden like the mouth of a fucking monster waiting to swallow me whole.
“Damián, drop to the ground,” Knox desperately begs in my ear. “Create a scene. Fight him.”
“I can’t get a shot,” Law hisses. “Too many bloody civilians. Damián, don’t go into the house!”
I turn around and risk one last glance over my shoulder.
Near the fountain, I see Tae vibrating with rage. He’s taking a step forward like he’s about to charge through the guards, but Logan slams a hand against his chest, restraining him.
They both look at me, their expressions telling me what I already know: I’m walking to my execution.
But screw this; I can’t let them throw their lives away for me.
Not for this.
I make a subtle motion with my free hand behind my back… flat palm, pressing down, telling them to stand down. Then I look at them one last time and grin.
Lo siento, familia.
Finally, I let Oliver drag me through the French doors into the house.
As we walk through a huge open living room area toward a hallway, two guards stand up from a couch, getting in our way. Oliver lifts the bottle to his lips and takes another sip, excess wine dripping from his lips.
“Move before I smash this bottle on your fucking face,” he says, and the guards move immediately.
Oliver wipes the dripping wine from his chin and lips with the back of his hand, stumbling slightly as he pulls me along.
My stomach twists.
Ugh, this is going to be painful… and it will be, because dealing with a mass murderer is one thing; dealing with a drunk, volatile druggie who snaps this violently is a whole different level.
Nah… Fuck it.
At least I had a good life.
I focus on a memory of my mother’s smile. The smell of her pernil, the sound of Fernanda laughing, the crazy family dinners with the Harknett 8.
I have loved my family and friends, I have fought, had incredible sex, and I have protected the people who matter. If this is how Damián Soto goes out, trying to save others from a monster, then so be it.
Good fucking way to go, if you ask me.
As we cross the dark hallway, Oliver doesn’t look back or loosen his grip. He keeps walking in silence until we reach a tall golden door. He opens it and shoves me into a… bathroom?
I look around for knives, guns, anything he’ll use to torture me, but there is nothing but soap, flowers, and potpourri. We are alone in a tacky, opulent guest bathroom with a huge white bathtub.
Mmmm…
Okay, weird place to kill me…
Oliver slams the door, locks it, and I turn around to stare directly at him.
If he’s going to kill me, this fucker better believe he’ll do it while I look him in the eye.
The moment our eyes meet, his transformation is instantaneous. The swaying stops, the glassy haze in his eyes vanishes, and he looks as sober as I am.
Oliver sets the wine bottle down on the vanity and leans closer to me.
“Did you really…” he says, his voice a bit softer than before, but still full of anger, “…just break my fucking phone?”
I freeze.
And I know it might sound like an exaggeration, but my brain literally just went into pause…
Did he just say, “my phone”?
My gaze shifts from his hazel eyes to his left ear… nothing. Then I move my gaze across his face, past his rosy cheeks, to his right ear… And there it is.
Glittering against his neck is the long, dangling chandelier of blood-red rubies and golden chains.
“You?” I breathe, full of shock…
The druggie manwhore… is the heir?
The fucking mass murderer is the informant?
Oliver’s expression doesn’t soften. If anything, he looks like he wants to wrap his hands around my throat and squeeze.
“Me?! What about you?! I can’t believe you dropped and broke the phone,” Oliver hisses, grabbing my wrist. He opens a makeup compact and begins to apply a thick coat of concealer over my tattoo. “You had one job. Do you have any idea what I went through to arrange this meeting?”
“We have a spare phone in my coat if that helps you feel better.”
“It doesn’t. There are five guards in the coatroom, and we don’t have time to deal with them.”
I start laughing, and he glares at me. “Sorry.” I stop and lift my free hand in surrender. “I thought you were bringing me here to kill me, but instead you’re here applying makeup and telling me off.”
“You thought I was going to kill you, and now you’re laughing?”
“Well, I’m a Harknett and a Latino; I recover quickly.”
Oliver steps closer, his eyes narrowing even more than they already were. “You should be more guarded. Haven’t you read my file?”
I hold his stare, my heart rate finally slowing down, and grin.
“If you wanted me dead, I would already be a corpse. Besides, a man who puts his own life on the line to save thirty strangers from being trafficked… well, he must have other reasons why people believe he is a sociopathic mass murderer.”
For a second, the anger in his face fades, and a glimmer of something else passes through his eyes… hope? Relief?
But before I can analyze him, Knox’s voice comes from the comm.
“Damián…?”
“I’m Okay,” I say, speaking to my team and to the man in front of me. “The mission has not been compromised. Oliver West is the informant.”