Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
Layla
I left Raul's room with a heavy heart, silently making my way down the darkened hallway to my own. As I pushed open the heavy oak door, the familiar scent of leather and suntan lotion greeted me. My sanctuary.
Flicking on the lights, I headed straight for the walk-in closet. I pulled out a duffel bag and tossed it onto the bed. Time to gear up. Samantha was perched in her usual spot in the center of my bed, and stood as I laid my bags next to her. I picked her up and gave her tiny kisses all over her little kitty face. I hated leaving her for so long, but she was spoiled by the staff here, so I didn’t feel too bad.
I selected weapons and gear from the arsenal hidden behind a false wall panel. My custom Glock 19, lovingly modified for accuracy and fitted with a suppressor, went in first. Next came my trusty Ka-Bar combat knife, wickedly sharp and perfectly balanced. Better to have and not need than need and not have.
Clothing was next—all black, form-fitting, and practical. Cargo pants with plenty of pockets. Moisture-wicking long-sleeve shirt. Sturdy tactical boots. A lightweight kevlar vest, because I wasn't stupid. But I also packed several sexy as hell dresses and my favorite heels, because why the fuck not?
As I carefully packed each item, my mind raced with possibilities. Where exactly in San Diego was Gage? Who was he meeting with? How long had he been there? The questions swirled, fueling my need to finally track down that lying bastard.
I zipped up the duffel bag, double-checking that I had everything I needed. My fingers lingered on the cool metal of my Glock, tracing the custom engraving along the slide. The same words that were tattooed along my spine: It stops hurting when you’re dead inside. This gun had seen me through some of my darkest moments. It felt like an old friend, familiar and comforting in my hand.
Moving to the dresser, I pulled out a few more essentials—extra ammo, a burner phone, fake IDs. You never knew what might come in handy on a hunt like this. I tucked a wad of cash into my toiletry bag, in a new box of tampons. Money talked, and I planned on doing a lot of talking in San Diego.
As I packed, my mind wandered to Gage. What would I do when I finally found him? The rage still burned hot in my veins, demanding retribution. But underneath it all, there was a tiny flicker of something else. Something I refused to acknowledge. I shook my head, banishing those traitorous thoughts. Gage was the enemy now. Nothing more.
I hefted the duffel bag onto my shoulder, doing one final sweep of the room. That's when I heard it. The faintest whisper of movement behind me, so quiet I almost missed it. But years of training had honed my senses to a razor's edge.
In one fluid motion, I dropped the bag and whirled around, my Glock already in hand and aimed at the source of the sound. My finger rested lightly on the trigger, ready to fire in an instant.
But it wasn't an intruder or assassin standing there in the shadows. It was River, silent as always. His good eye gleamed in the dim light, the other hidden behind the patch he wore sometimes. It made him look like a sexy tatted up pirate. A slight smirk played at the corners of his mouth, clearly amused at having caught me off guard.
"Jesus fuck, River," I hissed, lowering the gun. "Make some goddamn noise next time before I put a bullet between your eyes."
He shrugged, utterly unfazed by the weapon that had been pointed at his face mere seconds ago. "You’re not trigger-happy enough for that?"
I holstered the Glock, my heart still racing from the surge of adrenaline. River's ability to move with absolute stealth never ceased to unnerve me. For a man of his size, it seemed to defy the laws of physics.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, bending to retrieve my fallen duffel bag. "I thought you were heading back to Spain for the month?”
According to Alex, there were a few ‘things’ he needed wrapped up at his main home in Madrid. I didn’t ask, and he didn’t tell, but I suspected it had something to do with his father.
River moved further into the room, his overbearing presence seeming to fill the entire space. The dim light from the bedside lamp cast half his face in shadow, accentuating the sharp angles of his jaw and the hollow of his cheek.
"Change of plans. Spain can wait. I'm coming with you to San Diego."
I arched an eyebrow, studying him carefully. River wasn't the type to change plans on a whim. "And why's that?"
He took another step closer, close enough now that I could smell the faint scent of leather and sweat that clung to him. "Because I was the one who got tipped off about Gage. My contact spotted him. Said he was meeting with someone—a woman. Blonde, early thirties. They seemed intimate. "
The words made my stomach roll, though I fought to keep my face impassive. Gage, meeting some mystery woman? My mind raced with possibilities, each one more infuriating than the last.
River's eye narrowed, catching the slight tension in my shoulders. "You okay with that?"
I snorted, turning away to busy myself with my bag. "Why wouldn't I be? Gage can fuck whoever he wants. I just want to put him down.”
The words came out harsher than I intended, betraying the turmoil churning inside me. I could feel River's gaze burning into my back as I zipped up the duffel bag with more force than necessary. I wasn’t accomplishing anything, just fidgeting, and he knew that.
I whirled around, fixing him with a glare. "What do you want me to say, River? That I'm jealous? That the thought of Gage with some other woman makes me want to claw her eyes out?" I laughed bitterly. "He's a lying, traitorous piece of shit. I don't give a fuck who he's screwing."
River held up his hands in a placating gesture, but the knowing look in his eye made me want to punch him. "I didn't say anything. Just making sure you've got your head on straight for this."
I snatched up my bag, shouldering past him towards the door. "My head's just fine. Now if you're done psychoanalyzing me, we've got a plane to catch."
Two hours later, the jet sliced through the night sky, its powerful engines humming softly as it carried us westward. The smell of leather and expensive cologne hung in the air, mingling with the faint scent of whiskey.
I slouched in my seat, one foot propped up on the edge of the polished wood table in front of me. My headphones were cranked up to an almost painful volume, the pulsing beat of heavy metal drowning out my thoughts. A half-empty tumbler of whiskey dangled from my fingers, the amber liquid catching the light as I swirled it absently.
My eyes were fixed on the window, watching the moonlit landscape far below rush past in a blur. But I wasn't really seeing it. My mind was in San Diego, imagining all the ways I'd make Gage pay when I finally got my hands on him. And try as I might to ignore it, a small part of me kept picturing him with that mystery blonde, their heads bent close together in some cozy cafe.
I took another swig, relishing the burn as it slid down my throat. The alcohol had dulled the edges of my anger, leaving behind a hollow ache in my chest. I hated this feeling—this weakness. I wanted the rage back. Rage I could use. This? This just made me feel pathetic.
I drained the last of my whiskey, savoring the smoky burn. As I set the empty glass down, a shadow fell across the table. I looked up to see Sarge standing there, his broad shoulders blocking out the overhead light. Without a word, he slid into the seat across from me. His dark eyes roamed over my face, taking in the tension in my jaw, the slight furrow between my brows. I pulled off my headphones, letting them dangle around my neck.
"You look like shit," he said bluntly, reaching for the bottle.
I snorted. "Thanks. Always know how to make a girl feel special, don't you?"
He poured himself two fingers of whiskey, then topped off my glass without asking. It sloshed invitingly. "Someone's gotta keep that ego of yours in check."
I rolled my eyes, but couldn't quite suppress an answering smile. This was familiar territory—the easy banter, the unspoken understanding. It was comforting, in a way.
Sarge took a sip of his drink, his gaze never leaving my face. In the dim cabin light, the planes and angles of his features were striking. The strong line of his jaw, covered in a salt-and-pepper beard. The slight crook in his nose from one too many fights. His long hair was well past his shoulders, pulled back into a low bun.
Across the aisle, Alex and River were deep in conversation, their heads bent close together. Always secrets with those two.
Sarge's dark eyes met mine over the rim of his glass. Something electric crackled in the air between us, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. He set his drink down with a soft clink and stood, moving around the table towards me.
"Scoot over," he rumbled, his voice low and gravelly.
My pulse quickened as I shifted to make room. Sarge slid into the seat beside me, his solid warmth pressing against my side. The leather creaked softly as he settled in.
"You doing okay?" he asked quietly, his breath tickling my ear.
I turned to face him, suddenly very aware of how close we were. Our knees brushed under the table, sending a jolt through me. "I'm fine," I replied, aiming for nonchalance. "Just ready to get this shit done so we can move the fuck on.”
Sarge studied me for a long moment, his dark eyes searching mine. I fought the urge to squirm under his intense gaze. Finally, he sighed and ran a hand over his hair. "Look, I know you're not fine. Not in the fucking slightest." I opened my mouth to protest, but he held up a hand to stop me. "Let me finish. I'm not saying this to piss you off or make you feel weak. I'm saying it because I care about you, Layla. And I'm worried."
I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the lump forming in my throat. Sarge rarely got this open and vulnerable. It was unnerving. "I don't need you to worry about me," I muttered, dropping my gaze to the table. "I can handle myself. Always have."
Sarge's large, calloused hand covered mine, his thumb tracing circles on my skin. The gentle touch sent shivers up my arm. "I know you can," he said. "But you don't always have to. It's okay to let someone else carry the weight sometimes."
I looked up at him, my eyes burning with unshed tears. The concern in his gaze was almost too much to bear. For a moment, I wanted nothing more than to collapse into his arms and let go of all the pain. But then reality came crashing back. I couldn't afford to be weak, not now. Not when we were so close to finding Gage.
I pulled my hand away, straightening my spine. "I appreciate the concern," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "But I don't need a shoulder to cry on. I need to destroy something. And maybe a chocolate bar or something.” I stood up abruptly, nearly knocking over my whiskey glass. "I need some air," I muttered, stalking towards the back of the plane.
The tiny bathroom felt even smaller as I slipped inside, gripping the edges of the marble countertop. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, taking in the dark circles under my eyes, the tension in my jaw. I’d cut my hair last month, but it was already growing, just barely reaching my shoulders now. I wasn’t taking any chances in a fight anymore.
Before I could fully collect myself, the door burst open behind me. Sarge's massive frame filled the doorway, his eyes blazing. I sucked in a breath, backing up until my ass hit the sink. In one fluid motion, he stepped inside and locked the door behind him.
"What the f—" I started to say, but the words died in my throat as Sarge advanced on me. He gripped my hips, spinning me around and pressing me back against the counter. His body pinned me in place, solid and warm. One large hand tangled in my hair, tugging my head back.
"Maybe you don’t need a shoulder to cry on, but how about a face to ride on?"
Without waiting for a response, Sarge dropped to his knees. His hands gripped my thighs, spreading them apart as he buried his face between my legs. Even through my jeans, the heat of his mouth sent shockwaves through me.
I gasped, my hands flying to his shoulders for support. "Holy shit…”
With deft movements, Sarge unbuttoned my jeans and yanked them down along with my underwear. I kicked off my heels, cool air hitting my heated skin as he tossed the garments aside. His large hands gripped my thighs, spreading them wide.
I shivered as his hot breath ghosted over my pussy. Sarge looked up at me, his dark eyes smoldering with need. “I told you not to fucking push me, Lala. I warned you I can only take so fucking much before I snap. If you want to act like a little brat, then I’m going to treat you like one.”
Without breaking eye contact, he leaned in and ran his tongue along my pussy lips in one long, slow lick. A strangled moan escaped my lips. He hummed under his breath as his fingers dug into my skin. “Brats get their cunts licked until they shut the fuck up, don’t they?”
The scrape of his beard had me quivering. My head fell back against the mirror as Sarge's talented mouth went to work. He licked me like a man dying of thirst, his tongue exploring every part of me. When he found my clit, he circled it teasingly before sucking it between his lips.
White-hot pleasure surged through me. My hips bucked involuntarily, grinding against his face. Sarge's stubble scraped deliciously against my inner thighs as he devoured me.
How many times has I fucked my own fingers with this exact scenario playing out in my head? How many nights did I moan Sarge’s name into the pillow while some random enforcer fucked me from behind, wishing to god it was who I really wanted?
One of his hands left my thigh, and I felt thick fingers probing at my entrance. He slid two inside, curling them to hit that perfect spot. The dual sensation of his fingers pumping in and out while his tongue flicked rapidly over my clit had me seeing stars.
"Oh fuck," I panted, my fingers tangling in his hair. "Don't fucking stop?—"
My entire body trembled as his skilled mouth and fingers worked me into a frenzy. The tiny bathroom was filled with the obscene sounds of his licking and sucking, mixed with my breathless moans.
Pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in my core, building to an almost unbearable intensity. I was right on the edge, so close I could taste it. Sarge must have sensed how near I was. “Come in my mouth, brat. Give me what I want…”
"Oh god, oh fuck—" I cried out, my back arching as waves of ecstasy crashed over me.
I probably should have warned him ahead of time that I was a squirter. My legs shook uncontrollably as I rode out the pleasure. Sarge didn't let up, licking up my release as aftershocks rippled through me. Liquid coated his lips and beard as I convulsed, my thighs shaking as I moaned.
Only when I weakly pushed at his head did he finally pull away. He stood slowly, wiping his glistening beard with the back of his hand. His eyes were dark as he gazed down at me. "Feel better?" he asked, with more than a hint of smugness.
I narrowed my eyes at his stupid grin. “Maybe.” My legs felt like jelly, and I gripped the edge of the counter to stay upright. "Don't look so pleased with yourself."
Sarge chuckled, the sound low and gravelly. He stepped closer, caging me in with his arms on either side of the counter. The heat of his body radiated against mine, and I could feel the hard length of him pressing insistently against me.
"Can't help it," he murmured, his lips brushing my ear. "Who knew orgasms were the easiest way to get you to stop brooding.”
I huffed. “Brooding? Yeah, coming from you, that doesn’t mean much. You’re the fucking king of brooding.”
Part of me wanted nothing more than to drop to my knees and return the favor. To feel him heavy on my tongue, to hear those deep groans of pleasure... Brooding my fucking ass. He just wanted a taste. He’d been salivating for it ever since the night everything went to shit.
But a larger part of me bristled at how easily he'd broken through my defenses. How quickly he'd reduced me to a quivering, moaning mess. I wasn't some blushing virgin to be seduced with a few well-placed licks.
I pushed against Sarge's broad chest, forcing some space between us. "Thanks for the orgasm, but I think we're done here," I said coolly, reaching for my discarded clothes.
Sarge's eyes narrowed, a flicker of anger crossing his features before his usual stoic mask slammed back into place. "Lala..."
"Don't," I cut him off. "This was fun, but let's not make it more than it was. Now get out so I can clean up."
For a moment, I thought he might argue. His jaw clenched, muscles ticking beneath the salt-and-pepper stubble. But then he nodded curtly and stepped back, unlocking the bathroom door.
After the shit went down with Gage, I’d backed off from anything that resembled a relationship. Even with Sargent. Not until things were settled. Betrayal fucking stung, and I didn’t think I could handle anymore emotional whiplash, and I’d made it perfectly clear where I stood for the time being.
"Whatever you say, boss," he rumbled, voice tinged with bitterness. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving me alone once more.
I let out a shaky breath, slumping against the counter. My legs still felt weak, and the ghost of Sarge's touch lingered on my skin. I shook my head, trying to clear the fog of lust from my mind.
Mechanically, I cleaned myself up and redressed, smoothing my hair back into some semblance of order. The woman staring back at me in the mirror looked flushed and slightly dazed, a hint of guilt in her eyes. I scowled at my reflection. There was no room for guilt or regret, not when we were so close to catching Gage.
I splashed cold water on my face, trying to cool the lingering flush in my cheeks. The icy shock helped clear my head, washing away some of the post-orgasmic haze. I scrubbed my hands with the fancy lavender-scented soap, its soothing aroma filling the tiny bathroom.
With one last glance in the mirror to ensure I looked composed, I stepped out of the bathroom. The plane's cabin felt cooler now, goosebumps rising on my arms as I made my way back to my seat. The low hum of the engines and the occasional clink of ice in a glass were the only sounds breaking the tense silence.
Sarge had moved back to his original seat across the aisle. His face was a mask of indifference as he stared out the window, but the tightness in his jaw betrayed his lingering frustration. I wondered how hard his cock was right now. Blue balls for days.
I slid into a new seat, acutely aware of the eyes on me. Alex sat directly across from me, his gaze burning with an intensity that made my skin prickle. His eyes roamed over me slowly, taking in every detail. A knowing smirk played at the corners of his mouth. "Have a nice trip to the bathroom?"
"Fuck off, Alex."
He chuckled, leaning back in his seat. "No need to be embarrassed. We're all adults here." His eyes flickered briefly to Sarge before returning to me. "Though next time, you might want to be a bit quieter. These walls are pretty thin and I think you scared the poor flight attendant."
I took a long sip of whiskey, savoring the burn as it slid down my throat. The alcohol helped steady my nerves, pushing away some of the lingering embarrassment. Sure enough, the pretty blonde flight attendant was pretending to arrange cutlery up at her station, pointedly not looking my way.
"If you're done being an ass," I said, setting the glass down with a soft clink, "maybe we should go over the plan for when we land."
Alex nodded, his expression growing serious. "Right. River’s contact says Gage has been spotted at a few different locations around the Gaslamp Quarter. Seems to be staying at a hotel in the area.”
"Good. We'll start there. Set up surveillance on the hotel and any others nearby in case he’s hopping them."
Alex nodded, pulling out his phone to tap out some notes. "I've got a few guys already in the area. They can start setting up cameras as soon as we land."
"What about the woman he was seen with?" River's deep voice rumbled from beside me. I'd almost forgotten he was there, he'd been so quiet.
I tensed at the reminder. "She's a secondary priority. Our main focus is Gage. But if we can ID her, all the better. She might lead us to him if they keep meeting."
I tried to ignore the ugly twist in my stomach at the thought of why they’d be meeting. Who was she?
"I may have a lead on that front," River said. "My contact described her as blonde, early 30’s, with a distinctive scar on her left cheek. I've got facial recognition software running through various databases now."
River's attention settled on my face, his eye roaming over my features with an intensity that made me want to squirm. I fought the urge to turn away. The fading bruise that still marred my left cheekbone left a sickly yellow-green stain against my skin. The split in my lip had mostly healed, leaving behind a thin, pale scar—another reminder of my fuck up.
When I'd returned to the villa empty-handed, after letting a narc walk free, I’d been prepared for the consequences, and even if Raul hated it, he knew that I’d never ascend to his position if he made exceptions for me. He'd ordered my punishment without hesitation, deaf to the protests of Sarge and Alex. River had to be held back, and nearly took out three enforcers.
I'd taken the beating stoically, gritting my teeth against the pain as fists and boots connected with my body. We’d been in the white room, so the mess was minimal, but embarrassing to say the least. Each blow was a penance, payment for my weakness in letting Gage escape. I hadn't made a sound, even as my ribs cracked and my vision blurred from the repeated strikes to my face.
Tomasso had enjoyed that a bit too much in my opinion and made sure to split my lip for good measure. It was the only time he’d have the chance to lay a finger on me and keep his life.