Chapter Two
I was going to spank the ever-loving hell out of Catarina Keys. Peel her jeans down her legs, bend her over my lap, and redden her delectable ass.
The woman had no sense.
None.
I’d died a thousand deaths since I’d met her.
The problem was, she was smart as fuck, and her risky behavior paid off.
At least it had when she was undercover in Las Vegas pretending to be a ditzy bombshell on the prowl for a sugar daddy.
Our target had zeroed in on Cat’s gleaming blonde hair, blue eyes, tight body, and gorgeous face, and took the bait.
Then for the next few weeks, I had to watch her cozy up to a rich scumbag who made his money by selling women.
Not only selling them outright to other rich, sick fucks but renting them out by the night.
Each time she’d tricked herself out for a meeting with Martin Jackson, my gut had churned.
Every night she had been with him, worry had set in until it burrowed deep and turned to fear.
One wrong move would’ve been the end of her.
It wasn’t just our target but also his entourage of guards she’d had to fool.
In reality, there was nothing sweet, soft, or compliant about Catarina. Yet she’d expertly pulled it off. All the way to the very end, when, during the takedown, Cat had beaten the absolute shit out of Martin.
I couldn’t say the man hadn’t deserved it, but the rage behind it was what had worried me. I’d seen the way Martin had touched her. How his hand had rested on her thigh while the motherfucker made her sit on his lap. That beating said something other than takedown—it screamed of retribution.
The last time I saw the woman was on the veranda of a mansion—dress torn, barefoot, with blood coating her hands along with splatters on her face, neck, and forearms.
And there she was, once again putting her life in danger. This time without the full support of the Sex Offender Investigation Branch of the US Marshals Service. She didn’t have the FBI as backup. She didn’t have my old boss, Wilson McCray, and my old team to watch over her.
This time, she was alone in a country known for femicide. And she was there, alone, eating lunch in a café in an area of town that was a hotbed for kidnapping and murder.
Oh yeah, I was spanking her ass. Then I was demanding answers. I was done playing games with this woman.
My teammate, Mason Hughes, lifted Cat’s feet and stepped out of the van.
I hadn’t zip-tied her wrists—something I’d have to think about later—but the lack of restraints meant I’d had to keep her back pressed tightly to my chest the short drive to the warehouse.
I wasn’t exactly sure if I wanted the excuse to keep her in my lap or if hooding her and tying her ankles together was as far as I was willing to go in my ‘scared straight’ ploy.
Once we had her in the middle of the room, I jerked my chin to Mase. He slowly lowered her feet.
My mistake was thinking since she’d been docile in the van, she’d stay that way. I should’ve known better—she was trained and highly skilled.
The moment I relaxed the band my arms around her formed, she quickly bent her knees and dipped down while just as quickly lifting her arms, breaking loose. Her elbow caught me in the right kidney. Even blind, her aim was perfection.
Before I could stop her, she spun to face me and threw a right jab to my gut, then a left hook aimed for my jaw. I easily dodged the hook, grabbed her wrist, and twisted it behind her back. In a stupidly brave maneuver, she used my momentum and launched herself backward.
Not wanting to dislocate her shoulder or break her arm—which was what I would’ve done had she been anyone else—I eased off the arm hold and controlled our fall.
But just because I didn’t want to hurt her didn’t mean I didn’t have a point to make.
I twisted, rolled her facedown on the concrete, rolled again so I was on top of her, and pinned her with my weight.
“God,” she huffed. “You win, Jack.”
My body froze.
“What’s with all the drama?” she continued. “You couldn’t just roll up, say hello, and offer me a ride like a normal person?”
Mase’s chuckle echoed throughout the cavernous space. Saint ‘Pete’ Young wasn’t far behind with his laughter.
“That’s it?” Pete asked. “I thought you had at least one more round in you.”
“If you’re talking to me,” Cat wheezed, “I’m smart enough to know when to tap out.
And two hundred pounds of muscle, I have no chance of moving.
” To punctuate her statement, she shoved her ass into my groin.
I stifled a groan by grinding my molars.
“Unless I do damage to his testicles. And as a thank-you for not popping my shoulder out of its socket, I’ve decided to spare him the pain of a twist and pull. ”
My second error related to my first mistake—I’d lost focus and hadn’t paid enough attention to her shifting under me.
What felt like her wiggling in order to breathe while I gave her most of my weight was, in reality, her worming her hand down between her legs.
With a shift of her shoulder and a lift of her hips, she awkwardly found her target.
She could get a handful, but to make her point, her fingertips grazed my crotch.
I dropped my chin until my mouth brushed the burlap still over her head and whispered, “Careful, Catarina, you break ’em, you buy ’em.”
Harder this time, her fingertips made another pass.
“With the stunt you pulled, you’ve already earned yourself a red ass,” I warned. “Maybe you should stop while you’re ahead.”
“What stunt?”
Her question came out as a breathy whoosh, and I wondered if it was the lack of oxygen or something else.
Then stronger this time with, “You can’t blame me for hitting you. Surely you didn’t expect me not to put up a fight.”
“The café,” I reminded her. “No, rewind—you being in Tegucigalpa, wandering the streets.”
“Hey, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, you wanna share with the class what you two are talking about?” Pete asked.
Cat took that as an opportunity to grind her ass harder into my crotch.
“Warning, baby. No one in this room will stop me from dragging you out of here.”
“Clearly. Seeing as they’re all accomplices in my abduction.”
“I didn’t accomplice anything,” Fallon Harris joined in. “Or is it assist? Either way, I was sitting here minding my own business when Jack tore out of here on his K-and-R mission.”
“Good luck with the R part of that,” Cat said from under me. “No one cares about me enough to pay a ransom.”
I frowned at her response.
“There was no R,” Mase interjected. “Just the K.”
“You wanna roll off me, big guy? It’s getting hard to breathe with this hood on.”
No, I didn’t want to roll off her. If I did, I’d lose my excuse for touching her. Not that I wanted to be horizontal with her in front of my team. But once the hood came off and I saw her fathomless blue eyes, it would be harder to remind myself Catarina Keys was off limits.
One could say I had a type—feisty, smart-mouthed, witty women did it for me.
Hair color, eyes, height, body shape . .
. didn’t matter to me as long as the woman was top-tier funny and smart.
Catarina had the feisty down. Her wit was razor sharp.
She was intelligent as fuck. Gorgeous face, prettiest eyes I’d ever seen, a body that made my mouth water, and hair that made me fantasize about wrapping it around my fist while my tongue was in her mouth.
But she was careless.
Careless with her personal safety—totally unconcerned. She took dangerous risks without a thought, which contradicted her intelligence.
With that as a good reminder, I rolled off Cat, got to my feet, hauled her up, and tossed her over my shoulder.
It was a short walk to the makeshift lounge we’d set up. When I bent to set her on the ratty-ass couch, her hands went to my belt.
“I’m not going to drop you,” I told her.
“I can’t see,” she hissed.
Right. The hood.
“Let go so I can set you down.”
She let go. I got her settled on the couch and pulled the burlap bag off her head.
Brown hair tumbled around her shoulders. Irrational irritation flared.
The dye job was professional, the brown locks were shiny, healthy, and she’d taken a few inches off since I’d last seen her.
The dark hair made the blue of her eyes stand out, the contrast stunning.
However, she was a natural blonde. That was how I’d met her, and that was how she came to me in my dreams—thick, glossy, sun-kissed golden hair.
Cat lifted a hand and demanded, “Knife.”
I fished my PSK out of my pocket and handed it over.
With deft movements, she flipped off the lock, slid her thumb to the stud, and flicked the folder open.
She bent forward to cut her ankles free while saying, “Your pivot screw needs to be tightened.” A moment later, she continued to bitch.
“When was the last time you sharpened this? It’s criminal how dull your blade is.
I should call Benchmade and report this blasphemy, have them recall your right to purchase—or better, confiscate her and restore her to her original glory. ”
“I think I like this chick,” Fallon quipped.
I chanced a look at my teammate. A risk I hoped didn’t end bloody, now that Cat was armed. I wouldn’t put it past the crazy woman to stab me to prove a point.
Fallon, Pete, and Mase formed an arc off to the side—identical poses, arms crossed over their chests, boots planted shoulder-width apart. To complete the pose, they all had matching grins.
The peanut gallery.
Great.
Fallon’s lips quirked, and my gaze quickly skidded back to Cat.
My knife was no longer visible, the plastic ties discarded on the concrete. Cat pushed off the couch, lifted a foot, and rolled her ankle.
“Which one of you zipped my feet?” she asked.
“With that elbow and right hook you’ve got, not sure you’re gonna get a confession,” Mase told her.
Catarina smiled. Not the kind that was toothy and wide and conveyed happiness. No, this smile was a barely there smirk, but it lit her eyes. It was the kind of smug smile that made a man want to kiss the arrogance off her lips, taste the magnificence of her self-satisfaction.
Truth be told, I wanted to see that smile aimed my way when I fucked her.
Then and now, I wanted her with or without the smirk.
The bottom line of it was, nine months ago when I’d met her in Vegas, I’d needed to fight the pull of her.
I even went so far as to not be alone with her.
Our banter had turned flirtatious, and I hadn’t trusted myself not to take that further and see how she’d respond to openly filthy.
My guess? She’d give it back in spades, and she’d do it with this same smug smile. Thus started the fantasy of wanting to plant her astride me and watch that smile turn into awe.
Jesus fuck, less than thirty minutes in her presence and I was already back to mentally getting her naked. Technically, I hadn’t even clapped eyes on her in person before my palms started itching to touch her. That shit started when I caught her on CCTV bopping down Boulevard Morazán.
Then reality hit. She was taking a stroll in one of the deadliest cities in the world. And something else had kicked in—the need to get her safe. Not just safe, but under my protection.
I couldn’t deny I was a man with a strong need to protect and serve, skills I’d spent my adult life honing and fine-tuning.
However, that essential part of me had never extended to any one person—it had always been for the mission, for the greater good, for the men and women who served with me.
But there was something about Catarina that kicked those instincts into hyperdrive.
The thought of her being in danger sent my blood pressure skyrocketing to unreasonable heights.
And that was why she was off limits.
The woman loved putting herself in danger.
The fuck of it was, nine months ago, I’d fallen in love with her. Then in an effort to do the right thing, to allow her to be who she was without me dragging her down, I walked away.
I had a feeling the second time around was going to be even harder.