Heat: An Alpha Male Criminal Romance (A Hotter Than Hell Novel Book 1) (26 page)

“Drop the keys and place your hands on your head.” My heavy breathing fills the car. “Moon wants you alive, but I won’t die because of a fucking puta.”

Even with my limited Spanish, I know what he called me. I do as he says. He grabs my hands and a large chunk of my hair at the same time. The gun barrel leaves my head and he speaks into a phone. “Got her. Where do you want her?”

My chest is pumping too much air in and out. I’m semi-hyperventilating, and I can’t hear who’s on the other end of the phone. The barrel of the gun comes back and he releases me. “Keep your hands up.” He leans between the seats and then across me to pop the lock on the door. “Get out slowly.”

A Cadillac pulls up beside us as I step out of the vehicle. The door opens and I expect Moon. I get Gomez. He grabs my arm and pushes me against the car. Like a police pro, he kicks my legs out and searches me. He pulls the Glock from my hip holster and hands it to the man who waited in the back of my car. He removes both cell phones and hands them over, finds my Sky Harbor parking ticket stub and hands that over as well, and then continues his search clear to the inside cuff of my socks.

He jerks me from the car and turns me slightly away from the man who caught me. “Put your gun away and place hers in the trunk,” he says in a clipped, unhappy voice.

Yea, Gomez likes me. I look like his sister and it won’t be easy to put a bullet in my brain. I have no doubt that this is my end game. I won’t give up without a fight. My eyes jump around looking for some small avenue of escape.

The man mumbles something in Spanish and spits at my feet. Gomez moves so fast I jump back and another man I wasn’t aware of wraps his fingers around my upper arm. Gomez strikes the man who spat at my feet and he goes down. I can’t understand what Gomez says to him, but the man pulls himself up, holsters his gun, walks around to the trunk of the car, and places my gun inside. He then slides behind the wheel of my rental and squeals the tires as he drives off. The man holding me releases my arm when Gomez turns back to us.

“Don’t say a fucking word and get in the car.” Unhappy has turned to furious.

So, even knowing my life hangs by a thread, call me stupid because I say, “Where are you taking me?”

Speaking against his orders doesn’t go over well. Gomez throws open the car door and pushes me inside roughly. My knees are scraped from my roll from the dumpster and flight from Moon’s men, so it doesn’t feel so good when they burn along the leather. I hope my fucking blood stains the shit out of the seats. Gomez follows me into the back as the other man opens the driver’s door and climbs in.

We pull away and I bide my time. Gomez’s head is turned toward me, but I can’t see his eyes. When we hit a more trafficked area, I can’t help glancing at the door lock. Gomez clasps my thigh and gives it an uncomfortable squeeze. My attention snaps to him and I receive the sharp shake of his head telling me not to be stupid. Yes, be good, lie down and die like a good little girl. Fuck that.

We travel in silence. It takes about forty-five minutes to reach Moon’s home. I’m seething and have no problem admitting that I’m scared shitless. With every second that passes my fate is looking worse. I witnessed a murder. They have no choice but to kill me. And as silly as it sounds, my heart breaks because I watched the man I slept with pull the trigger. I didn’t like Harry Dandridge, but he didn’t deserve to die. And Gomez, the man who will most likely kill me, methodically beat Harry to a bloody pulp. What kind of men do these things? I look down at Gomez’s hands. It’s too shadowed to see more than the black, fingerless weight lifting gloves that he had on while beating Harry. I don’t doubt they’re covered in Harry’s blood.

No, I won’t fucking cry.

We enter the gates of Moon’s home. I don’t see my rental car. The driver pulls around to the side of the house and rolls slowly to a large garage. A door lifts and we drive inside. Gomez gets out and puts his hand on my arm to assist me or pull me or whatever. I jerk away and hear his heavy sigh in return. I scramble out. The garage has three other cars in it. A red sports car, a black Hummer, and a black SUV. The other Cadillac isn’t here. The driver’s door opens, and the driver slides out and opens the door leading into the house. Gomez motions for me to enter first. Just because the other Caddy isn’t here does not mean that Moon isn’t. I don’t want to look into his eyes. I will never again see him as the man I spent one of the most incredible nights of my life with. He’s a killer.

Gomez leads me into a room off the kitchen. It’s a large laundry room. The other man disappears somewhere in the house. Gomez pulls off his suit jacket and removes his chest holster and gun. There’s a hook on the back of the door and he hangs the coat and holster strap from it. I’m about four feet away from the gun and know I can’t grab it and draw before he stops me. That doesn’t mean I don’t think about it. He removes his blood-spattered shirt next. Harry’s blood. I back closer to the side wall and Gomez ignores me. He tosses the shirt on the floor. There’s a utility sink beside the washer and dryer. He turns on the water and places his hands under the faucet, gloves and all. He pumps a generous amount of soap from a bottle and washes his hands. I’m not quite sure why he didn’t remove the gloves until it occurs to me that the blood was dry and most likely made the gloves stick to his hands. I’ve seen blood, violence, and death before. I’ve always remained stoic. Right now, I’m sick to my stomach. I can’t take my eyes off his hands as the water running down the drain turns pink. Gomez finally removes the gloves and tosses them on top of his shirt. He washes his hands again while I wait in silence. He doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to kill me.

He’s staring into the sink when he speaks. “I’m angry. It’s not a good time to have any type of discussion. I don’t think we have a choice, though.”

My temper spikes to its highest level and I can’t hold back. “You’re angry,” I yell. “I fucking saw you beat a man senseless and then watched Moon blow his fucking head off and
you’re
angry?”

Gomez lifts his head and turns to face me. He has no problem yelling back, “You have no fucking idea what’s going on. You live in some fantasy world where there is a line between good and evil.” He steps closer, too close, and he grabs my forearms with wet hands. “Moon is out there without me because of you. Fixing a fucking problem that you made worse. Harry Dandridge’s days were numbered and that’s on him.” Gomez is a pool of boiling energy and he keeps yelling. “Dandridge gave Kennedy the information to find his wife. Then he wanted the gift of killing his own fucking wife because he couldn’t stand that she got the best of him. Dandridge forced her to set you up knowing he was going to kill her anyway and that both of you would die.” My head is jerking back and forth as Gomez shakes me. “He beat her to death. If I had my way, I would have beat the motherfucker to death. Her body was a bloody mess and her hands were tied. He used his fucking broken casted hands to beat her. She couldn’t even fight back. A woman. His fucking wife.” Gomez’s eyes are desolate, and I have no doubt that he wanted to beat Harry to death. He’s not finished yelling. “The minute Kennedy went after you and used Harry to put you on that road, they both signed their death warrants. No one messes with one of ours, and whether you want it or not, you belong to Moon.”

That’s when I lose it.

I kick out and swing my elbow striking Gomez in the gut. I raise my other hand in a perfect palm strike to his chin. He blocks it. I can’t win this fight, but I’ll be damned if I make it easy on him. I rake his face with my fingernails, bite his arm, and slam my elbow into his thick skull. He takes me down and rolls over on me. His weight presses down and I can’t breathe. His arms hold mine into the cool tile and he traps my legs beneath his.

I’m out of breath, exhausted, and there’s no fight left in me.

Between ragged breaths, he asks, “You done?”

I refuse to answer. He slowly stands and leaves me on the floor. I curl into a ball. It’s sinking in that Gomez has no intention of killing me. I can no longer hold back tears. My useless fucking female tears.

“Come on, we’ll wait for Moon in the library.” He touches my shoulder.

I flinch away and continue crying. He finally pushes a damp washcloth into my hand. I use it to cover my eyes.

“You need to clean those scratches, p
equeña
.” The tenderness in his voice doesn’t help. His fingers close around mine and he pulls me up. I feel like a rag doll, and my brain is shutting down. Gomez has a trail of bloody scratches down his face. I did that and I feel nothing. I turn to the sink and saturate the cloth I’m holding. I dab it on my elbows and knees, completely ignoring Gomez.

I’m in a fucked up mess, and controlling my emotions is what I need to concentrate on.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

WE’RE IN THE LIBRARY
and I’m sitting in one of two stuffed chairs staring at a wall of books. Gomez hands me a shot glass after filling two.

“Tequila, drink it.”

I down the glass without a second thought and he downs his. There’s no lime to disguise the taste or help the burn and I can’t stop from doing the funny twist thing with my mouth. He ignores this, takes the glass out of my fingers, and refills both. We drink another shot together.

“You’ve made a real fucking mess,
pequeña.”

My head feels decidedly fuzzy. “I swear if you’re calling me ‘little sister,’ I’ll bite you again.”

A chuckle escapes him. “It means ‘little one.’ You fucking fight like a wildcat, though.”

“What good did it do me? I’m still here,” I pout.
He refills my glass, we drink, and he walks over to the house phone.

“Philip, bring us some chips.” I’m relieved because I need something in my stomach. My head is spinning and my belly rolling. He hangs up the phone and turns to me. “You’re safe here. Moon shouldn’t have let you walk away, and I know he’s regretting that now.”

“So essentially, I’ve been kidnapped?”

There’s a knock on the door that saves Gomez from answering. He opens it, grabs a bag of tortilla chips, and closes the door on Philip. At least I’m guessing it was Philip. He opens the bag of chips, walks over, and tips it in my direction. I grab a handful. For some reason I find it funny that we’re eating out of the bag in Moon’s ostentatious home. How completely unrefined of us.

“I like you,
pequeña.
For your information, you are nothing like my sister. You may look similar, but the resemblance stops as soon as you open your mouth.”

“Moon loved her.” Where in the hell did that come from?

My comment elicits a rumbling laugh from Gomez. “He still loves her, but not in the way you think. Moon needs fire in a woman. That’s what I saw in you that day in the garage. You weren’t afraid of Dandridge and you weren’t afraid of me or my men.”

I munch on a few chips, and Gomez sits down in the other chair holding the bag in one hand and then grabs a few of his own. I’m dehydrated, and the salty chips taste wonderful. Who needs water when you can have chips and tequila?

“What do you plan to do with me? You know I’ll go straight to the police.” Stupid, stupid, stupid!

“Yea, I know. Truthfully, I have no idea what to do with you.”

The tequila is sitting on a small table between us and he pours us each another shot. I don’t throw this one back. I eat a few chips and wait.

Gomez eventually speaks. “Do you know how Moon’s parents died?”

I know I don’t need to know anything that makes me feel sympathy for Moon. “Yea, a little about his father’s death,” is what I say.

“What you’ve heard or did you get it from Moon?”

Moon mentioned his mother and she’s been in the back of my mind. Again, I don’t need to know anything that diminishes my anger at Moon. “He told me nothing.” This comes out snippy and that’s too damn bad.

He ignores my attitude, downs his shot and looks at me. “It’s not a pretty story, and I would suggest you take that shot.”

Fuck it. Curiosity is killing me. I toss it back and it doesn’t even burn.

After a short pause, Gomez begins the story. “A drug cartel killed Moon’s mother and father. Not many people know about his mother. As a Mexican citizen, she wasn’t newsworthy as far as the U.S. media was concerned. His father, on the other hand, made national news because of his humanitarian work.”

Gomez’s voice is so full of pain that I stop him from continuing. “Maybe it would be better if you didn’t tell me Moon’s secrets.”