Chapter Sixteen

Myla

It‘s the first day in fourteen months that I wake without a monster either in my bed or in my head. I blink awake to the first dawn of a new, better day, immediately aware of the heavy weight at my back, an arm draped over my waist, warmth filling me. Kyle. I smile with the memories of him carrying me to his room again last night, and of how I’d ended up in my current state of absolute nakedness. 

He’d set me down in front of the bed, dragging the shirt off of me, his shirt, his hands all over my body, his big, hard body pressing me into the mattress. His shirt had come off next, followed by his sweatpants. There had been kissing, licking, touching. But when he’d told me to turn over, I’d refused. I close my eyes now, reliving it.

“No,” I said. “Not this time. This time I get to do the touching. This time I get to kiss you.” My hand flattens on his chest. “Lay on your back.”

“No,” he says. “You-”

I lean up and silence him with a press of my lips to his, my hand on his cheek, lingering there several beats before I pull back and let him see the truth of my words in my eyes. “I have not touched anyone because I wanted to touch them in a very long time. And I want to touch you.”

His gaze darkens, his fingers flexing into my backside that he’s now cupping. “Myla,” he whispers, my name a hot rasp of pure heat and passion, and when his mouth closes over mine, his tongue stroking deeply, I taste the lust in him, and it is the most amazing feeling to have that arouse me, not repel me. With him, I am human again. I am a woman again. I am me again.

He rolls to his back, taking me with him and I do not hesitate to meld my naked breasts to his chest, nor does he hesitate to cup my breast, to pinch my nipple. I kiss his neck, his shoulders, his lips. I kiss my way down to that deliciously ripped stomach of his, loving the way his hand goes to my head, but doesn’t push, tangle or hurt. It’s about arousal, about need, not sharing, not taking. And when I slide lower and take his cock in my hand and lick that salty proof of his arousal at the tip, the way his body stiffens, the way he makes this low, almost growl, has me wet and achy in ways I have not ached in oh so long, if ever.

 “Good morning.” 

Kyle’s deep, gravelly voice at my ear snaps me back to the present, his hand flattening on my belly. “Morning,” I whisper, and he shifts my hips, his obviously hard cock settling in the crux below my backside, where I am already wet with my memories.

His hands slide lower, fingers resting just above my clit without moving. “Do you–”

“Yes please,” I say, sounding breathless, feeling breathless, his fingers sliding lower, stroking my sex, and the instant he feels how ready I am, he makes another of those low, hot sounds he makes.

He pulls my legs toward my belly, arching around me, dragging his shaft up and down my sex, back and forth until he is pressing inside me, so damn hard it almost hurts, but oh so good. And once he’s there, his hand cups my breast, his lips find my ear. “You make waking up really damn hot, sweetheart.” 

I don’t get to respond. I don’t know how I would if I could. Because he’s moving, stroking me with his cock in these long, slow, seductive moves, that steal away words and thoughts. There is just the two of us, our bodies joined, our breathing filling the air. And his hand travels my body, between my legs, teasing my clit, driving me wild. The hot burn in my belly gets hotter, my sex tighter, and I arch backwards into him, with the climb to that sweet spot that is on me in an instant. But what makes it even sweeter, is his low groan and the way we shudder and shake together. The way our bodies ease together. The way he slowly inches my legs downward so that they align with his, but doesn’t pull away.

 “I don’t even have words for how much I liked that,” he says. 

 “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Me too.”

“Yeah?”

I laugh. “Yeah.”

He brushes hair from my face and kisses my temple. “Don’t move,” he orders. “I’ll grab you a towel.” He pulls out of me, and I inhale, letting out a contented breath, my mind going back to last night and his worries about me feeling regrets over him and us. And my promise that I have none, which I didn’t think he quite believed. 

 Kyle rounds the bed, pulling the blanket off of me, his dark blond hair a sexy rumpled mess, his green eyes warm with amber as they travel my body. His touch is gentle as he presses the towel he holds between my legs. “Good morning again,” he says again, helping me sit.

“Good morning,” I say, my cheeks heating and I am suddenly, impossibly shy with this man, in ways that defy all the humiliating things I’ve been through that should make that impossible. 

“Are you hungry?”

“Yes,” I say. The idea of sharing breakfast with him is comfortable and right in ways that take me back to last night. “But first. Can we talk about regrets?” 

He goes very still. “What about them?”

“I could die before this is over and-”

“You’re not going to die.” 

 “Don’t say that. I appreciate you trying to make me feel safe and you do. More than I have in a long time, but let’s just be real for a minute. As long as we’re here, inside this world, there is an active threat for both of us, but that wasn’t even my point. My point is that you were worried about me regretting us. I want to make sure you know that I really meant it, Kyle. You saved me from dying with the taste of that man on my lips.” 

His eyes soften, and he pulls me to him, brushing hair from my face. “Myla,” he breathes out, and there is emotion in his voice I can’t quite name…torment, maybe? I do not know but I want to find out, but I never get to try. It’s at that moment that my cellphone starts to ring, the sound ripping through me, a knife that bleeds reality, because it can only be one person. “No,” I whisper, my hands grabbing onto Kyle’s shoulders. “I don’t want to do this.” I push back from him. “I have to do this. I can. I will.”

“Deep breath,” Kyle says, reaching for my phone. “You can do this. You know how to do this.” He hands me the cellphone. 

“Don’t watch me,” I say. “It’ll make me think he knows you’re here.”

“Understood,” he says. “I’ll make us coffee.” He releases me, leaving me cold where I was just hot, pushing off the bed, naked and perfect. “Answer the call, Myla,” he says, grabbing his sweats to pull them on. 

“Right,” I say, inhaling and then I swipe to answer. “Good morning,” I greet Alvarez, turning to sit on the edge of the bed, and glancing at the clock by the bed that reads six am. “You’re very early this morning.”

 “I have a flight this morning,” he says, while Kyle exits into the hallway. “You took so long to answer,” he adds, “but you sound wide awake.”

“I am awake and excited to start my day,” I say, cheerfully. “I was in the kitchen making coffee. This place is huge, Michael. It was like going to the corner coffee shop. It’s at least as large as the apartment in Denver you took me to last month.”

“But is it acceptable? Does it please you?”

“It’s beautiful with an amazing city view,” I say, relishing his affection for the tiny bit of safety it represents. 

“But does it please you?”

“Of course, it pleases me. It’s just very empty. Are you able to join me sooner than next week?”

“Unfortunately, bella, I am not. I’m on a plane now actually, flying out today to an unexpected meeting for intense negotiations.” I do not miss how he leaves out the name of this “unexpected location”. “If it’s possible, I’ll fly you to me for the weekend, even if it’s only for a night.”

“Please try to come here,” I say, aware that my traveling to him would allow me to find out where he is, but should he get spooked, it might mean I disappear as well. 

“You do not wish to come to me?”

“I really want you to see the designs I’ve shown you on paper in realized form and I honestly don’t want to leave right before the launch. I want it to go perfectly.”

He is quiet several thoughtful beats, in which I know he is questioning me, but then, this too is nothing new. He questions everyone, even me, and I know this spurs his need to dominate me, even punish me. “I would like to see your designs,” he finally says. “Take pictures of yourself in the dresses today and send them to me.”

“Yes,” I say. “That would be fun.”

“And the lingerie you’re wearing beneath them. I’ll send a photographer to your office.” 

My throat almost closes and I delicately clear my throat. “I can’t do that at work,” I say and almost choking on the words, I add, “Can they come here this weekend? If you’re here, you can watch. If not, I can make you wish you’d come.” 

“Ah, bella,” he says. “I will not make it to see you this way until the weekend. You can do this. I will send the photographer. I’ll arrange it. Now, I must go.” He lowers his voice and says something absolutely raunchy and disgusting to me in Spanish, before the line goes dead. 

Grinding my teeth, I set the phone on the nightstand, my stupid hand trembling as I do, but I do not let myself sit here, where I will think and destroy myself. I stand up, the towel falling to the floor, the cold air rushing over my skin, and I am naked in so many ways right now that it’s impossible to comprehend. Suddenly, I just need a shirt to put on. I need Kyle’s shirt, and I twist around, noting the suitcase on the other side of the bed, by the living area rushing in that direction. Rolling it away from the couch, I lay it down, and settle on my knees, unzipping it and flipping open the lid, but instead of clothes, I find that arsenal of guns Kyle mentioned.

Inhaling, I reach for one of them, welcoming the cold, steel comfort a weapon will surely deliver. I choose a big one that requires two hands, one worthy of killing Michael Alvarez, the weight blissful in my hands, against my belly.

“Holy Mother of Jesus,” Kyle says from the doorway, setting the cups in his hands on the desk, his eyes wide. “This is one of the most confusing, erotic, disturbing – did I mention erotic? – sights I’ve ever seen.”

 Only then do I fully register the fact that I’m holding a gun with my naked breasts on full display, my teeth scraping my bottom lip. “I was looking for a shirt.”

 “Understood,” he says. “I always confuse shirts and guns, too. I’ll get you a shirt.” He walks to the closet to the right of the door, disappearing inside. 

I set the gun back down and shut the case, standing and crossing the room to meet Kyle as he returns, a shirt in hand that he helps me pull over my head. “Thanks,” I say. “I was cold and just…naked.”

His hands come down on my shoulders and he pulls me to him. “What happened, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice soft, soothing, but somehow just the right kind of strong.

“He’s at some kind of airport,” I say, trying not to think about the photo shoot, and how many ways he could use those photos against me. “He’s leaving Honduras for another meeting.”

“As in right now?”

“Yes. He said he was on a plane getting ready to leave, but he normally uses private airstrips.” 

“Is he coming here?”

“He said he wasn’t, but he could be,” I say. “There is no way to be sure with him.”

“Fuck,” he murmurs. “I had better make some calls and try to find out.” He kisses my forehead. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I lie, hoping I convince us both that I am. “Make the calls, Kyle. Do what you need to do.” 

He hesitates but releases me, already pulling his phone from his pocket, motioning toward two cups he’s set on the desk. “Don’t drink that. It’s insanely strong. I didn’t test it until I was walking back to the room.” 

“I can make more,” I say, welcoming something to do. “How do you like it?”

“Half cream and lots of sugar,” he says, and I start to walk away as he catches my arm. “I know you aren’t fine, so I’m not going to ask if you are.” 

“I am,” I insist. “Really.”

“No, you’re not,” he says, “but I’m going to fix that. I promise.” He releases me and I all but run into the hallway, not sure why I’m this rattled. Kyle is here and amazing. My sister is safe, and yet one phone call from Michael and I am unsteady, rattled to the core. I bypass the kitchen, choosing the bedroom instead, and the minute I see my neatly made bed, survival instincts kick in. I cross the room, tear away the blankets and then just for good measure, roll around in it a few times. Satisfied it looks slept in, I walk to the bathroom, brush my hair and teeth, but at no time do I look in the mirror, and I know why. The old me is surfacing, and I don’t want to see her. She can’t be here. She is too weak. She can’t survive. And I am going to survive. 

I start to exit the bathroom when memories assail me. Me tied to a bed for hours on end. Michael using me like I’m some sort of doll, jacking off over and over, sometimes on me. Fucking other women he let touch me. I hate him. I hate him so much. I blink and I’m staring at myself in the mirror and I’m right. The old me is here, but she isn’t weak. She is angry. She wants to kill him. I shove off the counter I’ve somehow leaned over. I am going to kill him before this is over.

***

Kyle

My first call when Myla leaves the room is to Royce, who needs to be ready for Alvarez to show up at any moment. My second is to Blake. “Tell me you have someone for me on Alvarez,” I say when he answers.

“Fuck no,” he says. “Kara and I’ve been up all night trying to find him. He’s a ghost and fucking Honduras makes that an easy thing to be.”

“He called Myla this morning. He’s on a plane moving to an undisclosed location. I need to know it’s not here.”

“Have you traced the call? It’s doubtful, but that might give us an originating point.” 

“Not yet,” I say, my eyes landing on her phone on the nightstand, “and Blake, man, if I give you the number, Kara cannot call her.”

“Give her some credit, man. She knows she’s operating like she’s undercover. She gets the psychology of it all.”

I grab the phone and look at the caller ID. “The number he called from was blocked, of course,” I say, “and I have no fucking clue why I haven’t asked her for his number.”

“He won’t have one,” Blake says, “but I have magic fingers. I can do a lot with her number. What’s her number?” I hesitate and he knows. “Give me the fucking number, Kyle, or I will come there, bring Kara, and get it myself.” 

Grimacing, I give him the number. “If he shows up here-”

“Kill him,” he says. “We have the locations where the women are now. We’ll get them out. You just keep him the hell away from Myla.”

“We both know we can’t be sure we’ll save those women that way.”

“We will save them.”

“Just fucking find him, Blake,” I say, hanging up, my gaze lifting to the doorway where Myla now stands holding two cups of coffee, her expression unreadable. “I talked to Royce first,” I explain as if she’s asked, “but bottom line. He’s one of the best hackers in the world. We need him looking for Alvarez.” 

“I understand,” she says, crossing to hand me my coffee. “I promise.”

“He wants to know if you have a number you call Alvarez on,” I say, accepting the cup.

“No number.”

“Ever?”

“Ever,” she confirms.

“What comes up on your phone when he calls you?”

“It’s always blocked.” She changes the subject. “Is Kara with Blake?” 

 “She is and she’s trying to help.” I sip my coffee. “Perfect. Thank you.”

“Of course,” she says, her expression solemn. “Now I feel like I need to talk to Kara.”

“No,” I say. “You don’t.”

“No?” 

“No. Your instincts to say you shouldn’t see her now were right.”

“Why were they right?”

“You know that answer.”

“Because I’ll worry about her and I’ll get reconnected to a world I can’t quite have yet.”

“Exactly,” I say. “You can’t reconnect with the real you, or you’ll make mistakes. And Kara knows this. Blake just told me she does.”

“He did?”

“Almost Scout’s honor, sweetheart,” I joke. “Seriously though. He did. Kara’s fine, but I do want you to meet the people protecting you. You need to know who they are and feel good about them, and since we can’t risk an in-person meeting, Royce and I just had a quick conversation before I talked to Blake about doing a Skype. Are you okay with that?”

“I am. When?”

 I glance at my watch. “It’s only six-fifteen. When do you want to get to the office?”

“Nine.”

“Then let’s just do this now.” I motion to the desk where I have a monitor set up with Skype already.

We move in that direction, claiming side-by-side seats. “Who am I meeting with?” she asks, sipping her coffee, seemingly relaxed, but there is an edginess to her I can’t quite define. 

“Asher, Jacob, and Royce.” I send a Skype ping and the reply is almost instant, with Asher appearing on the screen, his long blond hair tied at the nape, his short sleeved t-shirt showcasing his brightly colored tattoo sleeves.

“Myla,” he greets, his tone friendly. “I’m Asher. How the hell are you?”

“I’m better now that I have help,” she says.  

“Everybody’s better with help unless that help sucks and we don’t suck.” 

“That is true,” she says, the sound of her laughter that follows is welcome in the aftermath of Alvarez’s call. 

“Myla,” Jacob says, moving into the screenshot, the contrast of his short buzzed hair and stoic personality to Asher hard to miss. “I’m Jacob. I just wanted to say that we’ve got your back.”

“Hi Jacob. Thank you. You both know Kara?” 

 “We do,” they both say.

“I’ve worked with her quite often,” Jacob offers. “I’d trust her with my life or anyone else’s.”

“Count me in on that one,” Asher agrees. “Your sister’s kick ass. Have you heard what she did to Kyle?”

I grimace at the memory I can’t escape. “No she has not,” I say, while Myla gives me a curious look.

“It’s nothing,” I say. “It was before-”

“She dropped him like a rock,” Asher supplies, “or more like a ten-foot tree.” He holds up his hand and mimics me falling as he adds, “He fell like a timberland.” 

“I wouldn’t know how I fell,” I snap, “since I was drugged and passed out.” 

Myla faces me. “Why’d she drug you?”

“Because I was trying to keep her from going after Blake, who was going after Alvarez.”

There are voices off-screen before Asher says, “Royce wants to talk to Myla.” Then giving her a nod he adds, “Myla, nice to meet you.” He firms his voice. “And all jokes aside. I have your back. You have my word.”

“Yes,” Jacob adds. “We have your back.” 

Both men disappear and Royce appears, his long, dark hair tied at the nape, his trademark hard stare and the hard set to his square jaw in place. But when he says, “Hello Myla,” his voice is gentle, and friendly. “I’m Royce. I’m sure you have questions. What do you want to know?”

He’s asking if she wants to know about Kara, testing her to see if she’s distracted by personal matters. “Did you check out the locations I gave you?” she asks, proving her focus is crystal clear. She wants to save those women. She wants to get Alvarez. 

There is just a flicker of surprise in Royce’s eyes that he quickly replaces with hard focus. “We’ve been up all night working on it. In every location we have trusted contractors, we confirmed active locations. In most of the others, we’ve found missing person trends that support a location in the city.”

“Then what’s the plan to get them out?” she asks. 

 “At this point,” I say, “we want to put together a mass raid that happens at all locations at the same time we extract you, which will be at the moment Alvarez appears.”

“That’s going to require manpower and support,” Royce adds, “which means we need to call in the FBI.”

“If you hand this over to them and they delay to act or make even a small mistake,” she says, “those locations will be gone. And if anything happens to him, and they’re not already under your control, they’ll be gone. He’s taken precautions for everything.”

“Without the FBI involved,” Royce says, “we’ll be delayed. With them we’ll have the resources to monitor, prepare, and raid those locations.”

“In other words,” I offer. “Even if the location is moved, we’ll have eyes on it, and move with it.” 

“We’re on this, Myla,” Royce says. “And thanks to you, we’re going to finally get this bastard, and all his minions. But if you don’t mind, can I have a word with Kyle alone?” 

My jaw clenches at the request sure to stir discomfort in Myla, though her reply is quick and cordial. “Of course. And thank you for your help.”

“Thank me in person when you are no longer in prison.” 

She gives a nod and without looking at me, rounds the chair and heads to the door, exiting and shutting it. 

“Whatever this is,” I begin, only to be cut off with, “Holy hell, Kyle,” Royce snaps. “Is she fucking wearing your shirt? She’s Kara’s fucking sister.”

My irritation is instant, and while I would gamble he’s guessing on the shirt, I don’t even try to deny it. “I seem to remember Lauren ending up in your t-shirt when you were guarding her.”

“She wasn’t traumatized by a madman,” he bites out. “And she wasn’t Kara’s sister. And yes. You are right. Lauren’s my wife. She wasn’t just a fuck and a conquest on an undercover job.” 

Now he’s pissing me off. “Myla isn’t just a fuck and conquest.” 

“You just met her.”

“I’ve been looking for her for a year.”

“You look for a lot of people. You don’t take them to your bed.”

“Exactly the fucking point. Back off, Royce. And now, unless you have something other than a lecture, I’m going to open the door before I end up losing the trust I want from her.”

“If you hurt her-”

“If I don’t die saving her life, feel free to finish that sentence.” I end the connection, scrubbing my now heavily stubbled jaw, then do the same of the now longish layers of my hair that need a cut as bad as I need a shave. Inhaling, I walk to the bathroom, brush my teeth, and then stare into the mirror. I wait for the self-flagellation to start, for regrets over Myla to follow, but it doesn’t happen. I don’t regret touching her any more than I question why she’s important to me, beyond the obvious family connection. She just is. And I damn sure don’t regret the year of looking for her that created this connection I feel to her in the first place, because I found her, and I’m going to take her home. 

Pushing off the sink, I cross the room, exit to the hallway, and seek out Myla, finding her standing in the kitchen, leaning on the counter, where she seems to stare at the wall. Seeming to sense my arrival, she turns to face me. “I heard what he said to you. I stayed by the door and I listened and I shouldn’t have, but I did. The man thinks I’m a loose cannon. And how dare he decide who can be in my bed, after all I’ve dealt with. How dare he-” 

I’m in front of her before she finishes the sentence, my hands on her shoulders, my lips on her lips, my tongue doing a deep slide before she sighs and says, “You taste like spearmint,” telling me that I’ve successfully brought her mood down at least one notch.

“That was just to make sure you know where we stand, but he was just being protective. He cares. And I told you. He’s gruff around the edges but a good man, Myla.”

“I get that,” she says. “I do. I just don’t need anyone doubting me right now. I can handle this. I am handling it.”

“Like a champion,” I say, “Now. Let’s take a shower together. Yes?”

“Yes,” she says, and she’s barely spoken the word before I’ve scooped her up and started walking toward the bedroom, my action meant to tell her that I’m here to carry her if she needs me. And she will. Maybe not now, but later, because what I don’t say to her, what I can’t tell her now, but I know all too well, is that once touched by a monster, that beast stays with you forever. All I can do is make sure he doesn’t get the chance to add to her scars.