I'm still inside my wife, touching her and breathing her in. I can't seem to stop. My head dips to her neck, lips trailing over the tender flesh. How did she know I needed her tonight? Why does she come to me like she needs this too?
Already, I can feel myself hardening inside her again. Perhaps it is just her and this cloyingly sweet intoxication I seem to find myself indulging in far too often. Or perhaps it is because I know this could be the night I finally claim her in the most primal of ways.
"You've been here for three months now," I murmur against her skin. "Did you know that?"
She stills beneath me, her palms flattening against my back.
"I have?"
"I did some digging in Chambers’ practice," I tell her. "Scoured through his drug inventory. On the day of your visit with him, there was only one injectable used. That shot you had was a progesterone shot. It was only effective for eight weeks."
When I pause to look down at her, Ivy curls her fingers against me, her expression soft, eyes wild.
I brush the hair away from her face, staring into her eyes so deeply it feels as though we are tethered together by some unbreakable cord.
"You could be pregnant right now." My hand comes to rest possessively on her belly. "Any day now, you could have my child inside you."
She sucks in a sharp breath, and I swallow her exhale when my lips crash against hers. Logically, I’m aware that fucking her all night won't increase our chances, but it doesn't change the fact that I want to try regardless.
My phone rings as I grope her breast in my palm, and she arches into my touch with a moan. I swallow that sound, desperate for more, only to be interrupted by the phone again.
A feral growl leaves my lips as I yank back, glancing at the ID, torn between answering it and testing how long Ivy can withstand my obsession tonight before she collapses from exhaustion.
"Santiago," she pleads beneath me, reaching up to cup my face. "Please don't stop."
I grunt and pivot my hips inside her, just enough to let her feel what she does to me. The glazed softness in her eyes has me leaning in her favor. Fucking wins out over every other priority. But when I pull back to thrust into her once more, the phone rings again.
I know it's Marco, and as pleased as I am to be inside my wife, I can't quell the quiet dread creeping up my spine.
Reaching across the desk, I grab the phone and bring it to my ear, rolling my hips against Ivy as she stifles a groan.
"Yes?"
"Boss?" Marco replies, half breathless like he's been running.
"What is it?"
"I think Mercedes found who she was looking for," he tells me. "She's been on the trail of some woman who left Abel's house tonight. Followed her to a shitty apartment building in the 7th Ward and forced her way inside. I've been trying to let you know."
"Is she still inside?" I swallow, pausing as Ivy looks up at me.
"She's been in there for twenty minutes and hasn't come out. I thought I heard a scream. I asked you if you wanted me to break in."
"Fuck." I pull my cock out of my wife and tuck it back into my pants as she leans up on her elbows.
"What do you want me to do, boss?" Marco asks, his voice tinged with the same uneasiness I feel.
"Go in after her," I say. "Make sure she's safe, and don't let either of them leave. Send me the location. I'm on my way."
"Will do."
The phone disconnects, and I reach out to stroke Ivy's face one last time. "We'll have to continue this another time. I need to leave now."
"Is everything okay?" She sits up, squeezing her thighs together.
"It will be. Get yourself cleaned up and go to sleep. I'll check in on you when I get home."
I pull away, prepared to leave, but Ivy reaches for my hand and tugs me back. When I glance down at her in question, she leans up and gives me one last gentle kiss to take with me.
"Be safe, Santi."
Be safe.
Her words echo through my mind as I navigate the dark streets to the 7th Ward. Wondering what Ivy meant by that request is the only thing keeping my thoughts from drifting to darker territory.
During the drive, Marco called to update me that he's inside the apartment, and Mercedes is safe. But he requested that I get there right away, and something in his voice alarmed me. It was an urgency I seldom hear from him.
It takes me thirty minutes to reach this part of the city. The part that isn't safe for anyone really, let alone girls like Mercedes. These apartments are a high crime area, and almost everyone will turn a blind eye for a bit of cash. There's a level of paranoia in this district that separates the residents from the outsiders. Anyone who isn't local is a threat, and it isn't uncommon for lost tourists to wander into these areas only to get stabbed or mugged.
If the mystery woman Mercedes is following lives here, it's because the apartments are cheap, and she can pay cash. The neighbors won't talk, and it's a good place to hide. Without even seeing her yet, I can take a stab that she is the same woman from the gala. The question is, why is Mercedes chasing after her?
I still don't want to accept the correlation. Not until I see it for myself. But the evidence is stacking up against her. She's been avoiding my calls and hasn't returned to the house. The updates I've received from Marco indicate that she's been staking out the Moreno house, which means this has something to do with Abel.
I can't believe Mercedes would ever lower herself to the level of Abel Moreno as a companion or even a participant in her schemes. But the connection can't be denied.
I pull up onto the street in one of my guard's cars, something inconspicuous with a fake plate. The second I shift the car into park, my phone chimes with another message from Marco with instructions on where to enter.
I follow his directions to the back of the building, where he's waiting for me at an exit door that's riddled with bullet holes and large dents from previous break-ins. So far, the gloomy state of this place isn't inspiring any faith that I'm going to like what I find inside.
Marco gestures for me to follow him silently, opening the door and leading me down the hall. When we reach the apartment door, he glances over his shoulders, checking for prying eyes before we enter.
His large frame blocks my view at first, but almost immediately, my shoes are stepping over the debris of broken furniture and glass. And then Marco steps aside, unveiling a scene from a horror movie. That's the only way to describe it.
Lying in a gory heap on the floor is a woman I don't recognize, but even if I knew her, I doubt I could recognize her. Her hair is matted with blood, clothing torn, and pieces of what I think are a lamp shattered around her.
"Is she—"
"She's dead," Marco answers quietly. "I already checked."
Glass crunches under the weight of someone's shoes in the hall, and a second later, Mercedes appears. Her hair is a tangled mess, blood spattered across her face, a large gash down her cheek. She's visibly shaking, wobbling in her heels as if she's on the verge of collapse, and when her eyes collide with mine, a mournful sob bursts from her lips.
"I didn't mean to, Santi." Tears splash against her cheeks as she shakes her head violently. "I was going to bring her to you so you could do it."
Fragments of sentences eject between her ragged breaths. "She wouldn't listen to me! She just kept fighting me. I had no choice. She was going to kill me. She tried to kill you."
On this last sentence, she breaks down entirely, dropping to her knees and hiding beneath her hair as she dips her head. "Oh God, what have I done? What have I done?"
For a few long moments, I can't even speak. I can't bring myself to move or think. I'm paralyzed by her confession. This is the woman who tried to kill me. Somehow, Mercedes knows that, and right now, I don't know if I want to strangle her or comfort her.
"We need to handle this, boss." Marco gives me a gentle nudge in the right direction. "Perhaps you should take your sister home, and I can call for a body removal."
"Yes." My voice cracks as I nod. "We should probably do that."