CHAPTER 3 #3
Oliver snaps his fingers. “Give me your freaking mic right now.”
I pull the tiny, flesh-colored bud from my ear canal and hand it over.
“I said microphone, not earpiece.”
“They’re the same. Alexios made them specially so we don’t need any mics,” I tell him, and watch as Oliver holds the comm close to his mouth.
“To whoever is listening: In five hours, Red Hook Terminal, Pier 12. The cargo ship is the Andean Star. The ship is exporting weapons.”
Oliver hands the comm back to me, and I reinsert it. “Alexios, did you get it?”
“Got it. I’m searching for maritime logs now… and… It’s real. It’s set to sail in six hours and flies a Panamanian flag.”
“Knox and Tae, come back to the van,” Logan orders. “Damián, stay with the informant. Bjorn, stay as backup.”
“On it,” I say and then smile at Oliver. “Great. Now that that’s settled, is there a way to remove the guards from the coatroom?”
“Not all at once.”
“Damián,” Alexios says over the comms. “One of the guards came to get Rafael, and it looks like they are headed your way. They’re twenty seconds from leaving the DJ’s camera angle, so I assume you have less than two minutes before they reach you.”
“Two minutes?!”
“What did they say?” Oliver asks after seeing my grin drop.
“That your brother was just told we are locked in here, and he is headed this way. Is he part of your team?”
“Far from it… We need to leave.” Oliver reaches for the doorknob.
“No.” I slam my hand against the door, right next to his head, holding it shut.
I step in close, my arm framing him, trapping him between the wood and my body. The air between us instantly thickens and feels as if it’s charged with static.
He looks up at me, eyes wide, his breath hitching in his throat.
Up close, the aroma of expensive wine and suntan hits me.
Damn, he smells good.
“I can hear guards walking outside.” I lower my voice to a whisper. “If we walk out now, they’ll see us.”
“It’s the only door,” Oliver whispers back, his gaze dropping to my mouth for a split second before snapping back to my eyes. “The window is a stationary stained glass, and the exhaust fan is the size of a squirrel. We’re locked in.”
My eyes dart around the room: white marble, gold, flowers, and towels.
Fuck. There is nothing we can use and nowhere to go.
Then I see the toilet.
“There. Puke in the toilet.”
Oliver looks at me with horror. “What?”
“Shove your fingers down your throat and puke.”
“Why the hell would I puke?”
“Because your staff knows you’re drunk half of the time. It makes sense if they find us locked in here while I’m helping you puke.”
“Oh, how noble.”
“Thanks. Now go, go.”
“I am not going to puke. That’s horrifying. You shove your fingers down your throat and puke.”
“I can’t,” I smirk. “No gag reflex.”
Oliver looks like he wants to strangle me, but there’s no time; we can hear the footsteps thudding down the hallway.
“Then kiss my neck,” he says abruptly.
“Are you cursing at me? Is that some type of drug-lord way to say ‘kiss my ass’?”
“No, idiot. I literally mean kiss my neck. They’ll think we came here to hook up,” he explains, leaning his head back, offering his delicious neck to me.
That… is actually genius.
Usually, I would feel bad touching someone out of convenience, but with the sexual partners Oliver has had, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t mind… hell, he probably wouldn’t even feel it.
That, plus this man is breathtakingly stunning… and well, who am I to deny his amazing plan?
“Come here,” I say and close the distance between us, pulling him against me and burying my face in his neck.
I slide my tongue over his skin. It is soft, warm, and tastes better than I thought. My mouth closes over the curve of his shoulder, and Oliver moans the most sexual, cock-thickening sound I’ve ever heard.
Is he usually this sensitive, or is he just faking it for the guards outside?
Whatever the case, the sound is so raw it snaps my self-control, and the world melts away. The incoming guards, the party, the mission… it all goes quiet.
I feel as if I have submerged my head underwater until the only sound left is my own heartbeat.
Tasting him is pure, electric bliss, enough to make me forget I am in the middle of a damn job. A job that a few minutes ago could’ve gotten me killed.
I grip the fabric of Oliver’s sheer lace shirt with both hands and shove him back against the tile wall. He gasps, his eyes going wide, but I don’t give him a second to recover… I capture his jaw, tilting his head to the side, and crash my mouth down onto his. The kiss is anything but gentle.
It is deep, rough, and almost alive.
Wait, stop… damn it, your morals…
Think of your morals, Damián.
I stop immediately and stare at his lustful eyes. He looks as out of breath as I feel and a little confused about why I stopped.
“The eighty-plus innocents you supposedly killed, how many are alive?” I ask between breaths.
“All of them,” he whispers back, and that’s all I need to take his mouth again.
Only this time, I slide my tongue inside and curl it around his, tasting the fading sweetness of the wine he drank earlier. My hips grind against his, and I expect him to go along with this incredible plan of his and kiss me back.
I mean, his reputation is worse than anyone’s in Manhattan, hell, probably the entire state. I expect him to push back, take control, use his whole body against mine.
But instead, Oliver freezes.
His hands fly up, not to pull me closer, but to cling to my shoulders. His fingers dig into my shirt like he is about to fall from a cliff. He is rigid against me, and I can feel his frantic pulse, hammering in his neck under my palm.
Why is he so nervous?
Could he really be this scared of Rafael?
Still, he clings to my arms, gasping, reacting to my touch, and I feel myself harden. Heat pulsates straight to my groin as I press into Oliver’s hip and grind against him. I deepen the kiss, a low growl building in my chest… and my body craves more.
I want more… I need more.
BANG!
The door breaks open, and Rafael walks in.
“What the fuck…?” he growls.
In a microsecond, Oliver transforms from the shy, shivering mess that was panting in my arms into a drunk asshole who is way too comfortable clinging to my body. But Rafael’s eyes aren’t on Oliver; they are fixed on me, and his glare is full of disdain.
Oliver pulls me closer and licks my neck. “Sorry, this bathroom is taken,” he slurs at his brother. “Unless you wanna watch or take turns on him, I suggest you get the fuck out.”
“You are a disgrace to this family,” Rafael sneers. “Get this fuckboy out of here. Father’s associates don’t need to see the family slut whoring in the bathroom.”
“Ha! I can tell you at least five names who’ve been right where you are standing while I was down on my knees.”
What? Is Oliver also sleeping with his father’s associates?
Is that how he is getting the intel?
“But as always, you’ve ruined my fun.” Oliver grabs my hand and pulls me out of the bathroom and into the hall, past the two hulking guards.
As we pass the grand staircase, a waiter carrying a tray of full champagne bottles passes by, and Oliver snatches one of the bottles.
He holds it high, pointing it in Rafael’s direction, and screams, “CHEERS, frigid bitch!” while flipping him off.
I bite my tongue, knowing this would be the worst situation for me to burst out laughing. Instead, I follow Oliver as he drags me past the main living room toward a private, golden elevator tucked into an alcove.
“There’s an elevator in your house?”
“Makes it easier to move… stuff.”
We take the elevator to the third and last floor, walk down a long hall, and reach the second-to-last door.
“The door is open, get in.”
I open the door and walk into a bedroom that looks like it belongs in a spread of Architectural Digest. I’ve never seen a bedroom this big, but it is also cold and incredibly impersonal.
The walls are gray, the furniture is modern, and the bed is big enough to sleep a family of five. But there are no personal photos, no messy “I live here” clutter, and no warmth. It feels like a penthouse of a fancy hotel where people only come to pass through, but never to stay.
Oliver closes the door and starts pacing.
“Fuck, that was close. That was too close.”
“Your brother, he seems…” I mumble, unsure of what to say.
Intense? Fucking psychotic?
“I’m sorry about the kiss,” Oliver says. “I didn’t mean to put you in an awkward position. And I’m sorry if it was uncomfortable for you… kissing a man, I mean.”
“Uncomfortable?” I let out an incredulous laugh. “Chico, I’m bi. And that? That was nothing.”
He nods but keeps pacing anxiously across the room.
“We just fucked up six months of planning,” he sighs, still angry. “The hell am I going to do?”
“We can meet tomorrow at a café, and I’ll give you the phone.”
“As if.” Oliver stands still and lets out a humorless laugh. “Rafael has me under constant surveillance. I can’t have anyone passing me a napkin without having forty pictures taken as proof.”
“What if it’s a special situation? Like you losing your phone or it needing service? That way it would make sense for someone to hand you a new one.”