CHAPTER 17 #2
He squirts an antiseptic directly onto the gushing wound, making Bjorn flinch, before grabbing a square of gauze and pressing it firmly against the gash.
Once he secures the gauze, Tae slides to me.
His hands move quickly over my body, checking for broken bones, and the second he presses on my shoulder, I hiss in pain.
“Dislocated,” he diagnoses.
“Oh, fuck… okay. On three,” I say, and brace myself as Tae grips my shoulder, getting ready to force the joint back in. “One… two—”
Tae shoves my arm up, snapping the shoulder back into its socket.
CRACK!
“Aaggg! Learn how to fucking count, Tae!” I groan through gritted teeth, and our tiny sadist laughs.
“Are they okay?” Logan asks, jogging over to us, his honey blond hair now covered in ashes.
“They’re alive,” Tae reports, not looking away from us. “Both are moderately bruised. Bjorn has a busted eyebrow, a broken finger, and a concussion. Dami has scrapes all over, tender ribs, and a dislocated shoulder, but nothing’s broken.”
“Good. Knox, Leif, clear the perimeter. Law, keep your scope on the tree line for runners.” Logan grabs both of my arms. “Good job on the plane, Damián. But we are having a very long conversation about unauthorized vehicular missiles when we get back to the office.”
“Sí, jefe,” I wheeze, letting him haul me to my feet.
“You’re… you’re fucked.” A cartel man bleeding out near us starts laughing, choking on his own blood. “You have… no idea who you just hit.”
I glance down at him. His forearm is covered in twelve ‘X’ tattoos, each one marking an innocent life he’s taken.
“We hit Elijah West,” I say, crouching down so we’re at eye level. “We know exactly who we hit.”
“No… not Elijah,” the man gasps out. “Oliver.”
“Fuck…” Bjorn is leaning against Knox, and he is looking at me worried. “Didn’t mini drug lord tell you?”
“No…” I murmur.
“Okay, so now we know what that ‘something big that must have happened’ is,” says Leif through the comms.
“Damián?” Logan asks, patting me on the shoulder. “You good?”
“Fuck no… I’m not good.”
— ¤ —
Once Tae cleared me, I went to my house, showered, changed, and came directly to Oliver’s house. I park Chiquita right in front of the doors of the West estate, and walk straight to the entrance.
As always, Martin opens the door before I can even reach for the knocker, and I toss him my helmet and keys.
“Yes, yes, Martin… you can move her.”
“Master Oliver is in his office,” he says, pointing to a female staff member with brown hair. “Malena will take you there.”
“Thanks, Malena, but I know the way.”
I walk down the long, creepy hallway. The dark paneled walls are lined with weird-ass English oil paintings of dead rich people and their weird dogs.
Seriously, who decorated this place? It’s so creepy, I feel like I am in line to get into the Tower of Terror ride.
Madre mía… I hate this place.
I reach the doors of the main office and push them open without knocking.
Oliver is sitting behind his father’s desk, looking at some paperwork with Silvio and Franco while two other men are stationed on each side of the office.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I snap.
Oliver looks up and smiles, “Hi, babe!”
“Don’t ‘hi, babe’ me. When were you going to tell me?”
Oliver closes the folder of papers he was working with and makes a hand gesture. “Everyone out.”
The henchmen immediately nod and walk out the door. And even though I am angry at him, wow… that boss move was soo hot.
“Silvio,” Oliver calls out, and Silvio stops, looking back over his shoulder. “Not a soul goes past the first hallway.”
“Yes, sir.” Silvio leaves, shutting the door behind him.
Oliver leans back in the boss’s chair… which I guess is his chair now.
“Don’t worry. Silvio is on our side now.”
“From what I’ve heard, everyone is on your side now.” I glare at him from where I am standing.
“You seem angry…”
“Wow, mi cielo, your power of intuition is so fucking accurate.”
“What was I supposed to do? Wait?”
“Yes! We are so close to closing this thing.” I hiss, lowering my voice. “Why the hell did you take the throne?!”
“So Rafael wouldn’t!… He was getting close, Dami.”
I open my mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. What the hell can I tell him when I know he is right?
“Fuck,” I mutter, as I pace the length of the room. “This changes everything, Oliver. You won’t just have issues with Rafael or finding intel; you have now gone international.”
“I know…”
“Every fucking drug lord, cartel boss, and trafficker out there is going to react to this. Some will want to maintain the deals they had with your father, others will walk away, and a lot of them will try to kill you.”
“Dami—”
“No, Oliver, I’m serious.” I pace harder, my chest tight enough to snap my super sore ribs. “No offense, but you look like a sweet little angel. Do you have any idea how many people have been waiting for Elijah to step down just so they can strike?”
“Many?”
“?Un chingo!”
Oliver’s brow furrows in confusion. “Yeah, I don’t know what that means…”
“It means a lot… just less polite.” I let out a sigh, running a hand over my face. “I don’t like this.”
“And you think I do? You know I’ve been running from this since I was thirteen… I just finally ran out of places to hide.”
I let out a breath and slump on the couch. I spread my legs slightly and stretch both arms out to rest along the back of the leather cushions. “Fine. Then I’ll join you.”
“You’ll join me where?”
“I’ll join the organization. I’ll be your right hand.”
“Absolutely not.” Oliver rounds the desk, walking straight toward me. “I’m not kidding, Damián. I won’t let you get into this.”
“I am already in this.”
“I forbid you.”
I grin, grabbing him by the waist and pulling him forward. Before he can protest, I pull him down to straddle my thighs.
“Ouch…” I wince as his weight presses against my bruised ribs.
Oliver immediately lifts my shirt and gasps. “What the hell happened to you?!”
“I jumped out of a moving fuel truck and blew up a plane. And oh, yeah… you’re three hundred kilos short on crystal.”
“You what?!” He glares at me angrily and tries to scramble off my lap. “Am I hurting you right now?”
“Don’t you dare move,” I warn, pressing him against my body. “I’m fine, mi cielo. Tae already cleared me.”
“See… this is exactly why I don’t want you in on this.”
“And this is exactly why I’m doing it. I am officially your right-hand man.”
He leans in closer. “I am the boss, and I said no.”
“What are you going to do to stop me?” I whisper, looking up into those beautiful hazel eyes. “Shoot me?”
Oliver tries to fight it, but the corner of his mouth twitches into a smile.
“I can always ask Silvio to do it.”
“Uff… mi cielo sending his henchmen to do his dirty work?” I slide my hands down to grip his ass, pulling his hips against mine as I lean in to kiss the curve of his neck. “That’s so hot.”
“Damián…” Oliver tries to resist, since it’s clear he isn’t done arguing about my safety, but I slide my hands over his ass and squeeze… hard.
A breathless moan escapes his lips, and his body relaxes.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, placing small kisses all over his neck.
“Don’t change the subject,” he breathes, but his fingers automatically curl and cling to my shoulders.
“Sorry, boss, the subject is closed.” I press my hands into his lower back, forcing his hips down as I thrust my own hips up. Our bodies grind together, slowly, and Oliver moans again, his head falling back.
“Is your body sore?” I ask, pulling the neck of his shirt so I can trail my lips from the curve of his neck to his shoulder.
Oliver doesn’t answer.
“My man is so stubborn.” I flick my tongue over the tense muscle connecting his neck and shoulder, then bite down gently.
Oliver gasps, his grip on my shoulders tightening painfully.
Fuck, he looks so beautiful clinging to me.
“Not anymore,” he pants.
“Good…” I pull him closer, kissing his lips.
I take my time, kissing him slowly, feeling him, tasting him.
And I kiss him as I’ve never kissed anyone before… not to get off, but to reassure him that no matter what kind of hell we’re walking in, we’re facing it together. And thank Dios, he kisses me the same way.
Oliver pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. “…I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I wanted to do it in person.”
“Yeah, I assumed that would be the case.” I scan the dark, freaking, creepy office. I know how much Oliver hates it here, considering all the nightmarish things he’s been through in this room. “Are you okay being in this office?”
“No. But we are very close to ending this.”
I move my gaze over the antique gun collection, to the black books, the mounted lion’s head over the fireplace, and the replica of Goya’s painting where Saturn is devouring his son.
The irony of this painting… In the end, it will be your son who ends you.
I look back at Oliver, who is waiting for my judgment. “Mierda, the gun collection is incredible, but this place is creepy.”
“If you think the decoration is creepy, you should read the manifests.” Oliver shivers in horror.
I nod toward the crystal box that’s on the mantle above the fireplace. Inside, there is a black, leather-bound book. “Is that the ledger you told me about?”
“Yep… that’s the one.”
“Why is it displayed like it’s the Declaration of Independence?”
“I always thought it looked more like Merlin’s book of curses,” Oliver says, and his eyes water.
No, no…
I panic. I don’t want to see him cry… I want him to smile.
I try to find something to distract him with, but everything within my reach right now is either dead, tied to a bad memory, or it’s probably a Horcrux.
So… I do the only thing that comes to mind, using the one thing within reach that I know Oliver likes. I grab his hips and grind against him.
He gasps, instantly distracted by the new sensations.
Success!
“Dami!”
“What? I’m only doing my job as the capable henchman I am.”
“How is grinding against your boss your job?” He glares at me, though I can tell he feels happy.
“Well, my boss was feeling down, but now he is—” I look down at his tented trousers and grin, “—up.”