Badass: Jungle Fever (Complete): A Billionaire Military Romance Page 12

  Although he’s controlling me, he isn’t entirely in control himself. Breath heaves from his chest as he fights not to push too deep. I look into his eyes as he watches from above and see the strain on his face. The battle between taking what he wants and keeping me safe.

  Pulling away, I immediately miss the weight of him and cry out at the loss. I cry out again as he slides down my body, taking my nipple between his teeth. Fingers slide down my stomach and past my bare mound until one, then two, slip inside me.

  His mouth follows his finger’s path, his teeth nipping my skin as he moves lower and settles between my thighs. With his thumbs, he spreads me open and blows on the heated skin.

  “What do you want?” he asks me, but before I can answer, his head lowers and the feel of his mouth takes my breath. His hands grip my hips, holding me still as his tongue dives deep inside me. He laps at the wetness flooding from me and pulls my lips into his mouth. He sucks, and I arch into him, trying to get even closer.

  The flat of his tongue washes over my clit as his fingers move into me again. I moan when he twists them and his knuckles find that place. My fingers are in his hair, my nails digging into his scalp. He doesn’t stop, instead increases the intensity. The pressure. Everything. I writhe, torn between wanting him to stop and wanting more. I need him harder, deeper, crashing into me over and over. I need him to fill me up and complete me. Our bodies joined as one.

  Then he’s inside me. Stretching me with his heat. Hard and thick. The fire branding me, melting me to him.

  “What do you want?”

  The words are a growl, sending a shiver through my cells and everything deep inside me clenches around him. Desperately wanting. Desperately needing.

  Him.

  Only him.

  He strokes into me hard, so hard I lose my breath. When I open my mouth again, it’s only to capture his. My fingers fist into his hair, pulling him closer, deeper, seeking him with my tongue.

  Trying to know him.

  Trying to understand him.

  Trying to sear myself to him, so we can never part.

  The chuckle deep in his throat is wicked as he rolls us until I’m on top. His fingers are on my breasts, palming the flesh, pinching the nipples. He lifts his head and claims one with his mouth.

  He sucks and everything inside me keens with the sensation, even as I grind down hard on his massive cock. I lean forward, and grind down on him again, my clit coming alive under the friction.

  “What do you want?”

  I don’t answer, just ride him. Show him what I want. Answer his question without words. My fingers dig into his shoulders while our mouths connect again. Wet and hot, our tongues dance before he captures mine with his teeth.

  His head dips low, kissing a line of fire down my throat, to capture my other nipple. Then retraces its path and takes my mouth again. And still I ride him. Cling to him. Give to him, even as I take. My release coils tighter and tighter, flaring hot and needy, deep inside me. Begging for freedom. I close my eyes as the wave of pleasure hits me.

  When I open them, I’m in the water again.

  Floating.

  Alone.

  But I’m not alone. I’m nudged from beneath. The rubbery slide of skin connects with mine. Then another. Then another. They’re gliding into me from all directions.

  The sharp pain of teeth doesn’t surprise me. I knew it was coming, I just didn’t know when. The needles clamp into my shoulder and the water turns red with my blood. The animal shakes me like a doll, and water splashes over my face, even as I feel my arm disconnect from my body.

  “Camille!”

  It’s still shaking me, wanting more. The water from its splash blinds me, filling my mouth, capturing my scream.

  “Camille!”

  It shakes me again.

  My head twists to the side as my cheek blooms with fire.

  “Camille! Wake up! Camille!”

  I open my eyes and squint at the three faces looking down at me. I blink, hoping they’ll be gone this time. But they’re not. Because this time, the sharks are very real.

  Chapter Five – Tate

  “Duff! Fuck, man. Where’ve you been?”

  I can hear the chatter of kids in the background and Grace’s laughter over the phone. Shit. They’re having a good day and I’m about to absolutely ruin it.

  “Grace and I took the kids out to the river after visiting Papaw at the med center. Just now back in cell range. What’s going on? I missed a shit ton of calls.”

  “Daddy said shit!” I can’t tell which of the girls screamed that message out, but the others all dissolve into fits of laughter.

  “Ouch.” Came from Duff, and I can imagine Grace playfully punching him in the arm. They’re physical like that. Always touching each other. Teasing. Wrestling around. “I’ll be home in five minutes. Let me call you back when I’m able to think.”

  Five minutes. A reprieve for three hundred seconds. I’ll take them. “Alright, man. Talk in a few.”

  I immediately dial Deakins for a status report and learn the guys were right. Because of the angle and grainy image, they can’t process the van’s plate. Deakins did discover an interesting connection between Janine and the bodyguards that were hired…

  “Sir, Janine Scott and Antonio Sosa are brother and sister. Josiah Ruiz appears to be her lover, based on the emails, texts and other messages we’ve uncovered. I’ve attempted to trace the phones and devices used for those interactions, but they went cold twenty-four hours ago.”

  “So we can assume they’re using burners.”

  “Yes, sir. That would be my assumption. The devices, including the laptop, are all powered off. And sir…”

  My teeth threaten to break under the pressure of my jaw, but I’m able to grind out, “Yes.”

  “Based on correspondence between Miss Duffy and Miss Scott, Miss Scott was given permission to schedule the security detail. Miss Duffy trusted her to make all the arrangements for the Colombian trip.”

  I close my eyes.

  Focus.

  “In the hotel surveillance, I noticed that Janine Scott appears to be wearing a pair of Camille’s earrings that were stolen during the robbery,” I tell him. “I’ve emailed the screenshot, and need comparisons with a photo I’ve also sent off of the ones Camille wears regularly. I need to know with certainty that they are the same pair.”

  Deakins connects the dots immediately. “And if they are, we can assume the robbery was a setup, but why?”

  The million-dollar question.

  Obviously, her credit cards would have been canceled immediately, so there was little to gain but some cash, jewelry, and equipment. But what if…?

  “I need access to Camille’s bank accounts,” I tell him. “I need to know if there have been any withdrawals over the past twenty-four hours.” I look at my watch. “Especially over the past two. Name of bank, address, etc.”

  I hear Deakins speaking to someone as my phone beeps in my hand.

  “Deak, Duff’s calling me back. I’ll get that information through him. In the meantime, I need fifty thousand wired to me. And a street bike rental. A fast one. Text me details.”

  “Yes—”

  I cut him off before the “sir” comes out. I’ve asked him a million times to drop the damn formality.

  “Duff.”

  “Yep. Surrounded by blessed silence. What’s up? Please don’t tell me you’ve strangled my sister and you need me to come bail you out of Colombian prison.”

  There’s a little laugh at the end of the words, but I know it’s forced. He knows something is wrong.

  “Duff, Camille’s been taken.” I ignore the inhalation of breath and keep going, telling him everything I currently know. He listens intently, not interrupting. “I need to know if there’s been any financial transactions on any of her accounts.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I hear the clicking of keys.

  “Fuck. Three one hundred grand withdrawals within the past two hours.
I’m sending the timestamps and addresses to your phone.”

  I’m on my feet and heading out of the hotel. Finally, a clue I can follow.

  Thirty minutes later, I’m at the last bank on the list. I didn’t even bother with the first two. She was in this bank just about an hour ago. Someone would remember a customer of her description, especially one who withdrew such a large amount.

  Inside the door, I hand my bag to the security guard standing just inside. I flip open my wallet to show my concealed permit and the paperwork to prove I declared my weapon. At his nod, I bypass the bank of tellers and head straight toward a desk where a dark-haired lady is busy clicking on her computer keys.

  “Have you seen this woman?” I slap Camille’s picture down on the desk, causing the woman to jump and look up at me. She looks down and pulls the picture closer. Her eyes widen in recognition, and quickly shutter down.

  “I’m sorry, you must know I can’t give out—”

  I slam down a picture of Janine. “She might have been with this woman. Do you recognize her?”

  The woman swallows hard and looks down, pulling the new picture closer. She swallows again. “I’m sorry, I’m unable to—”

  “That first picture is Camille Duffy, an American heiress and celebrity visiting Colombia on a very public photography assignment.” I slap down a screenshot of last night’s headline as proof. Then I point to Janine. “That woman has drugged and kidnapped her.” I toss the security guard’s photos onto the desk next to the screenshot. “These two men are her accomplices. I have proof that an incapacitated woman made a hundred thousand dollar withdrawal from your bank today. Do I need to say anything else?”

  The woman stands and looks around, her fingers fidgeting in front of her. Then she reaches for a phone. She speaks Spanish to the person who answers, and essentially says, “Help me, there’s an asshole out here causing problems.”

  I play dumb and wait until she hangs up and says, “Please come with me.”

  Gathering the photographs, I’m on her tail in an instant. A member of the bank’s security meets us at a manager’s door. I nod, but he doesn’t.

  A quick knock later and we’re all inside. I ignore the manager’s outstretched hand and stuff the photographs in it instead. I repeat what I told the woman and watch the blood drain from the older man’s face. He sinks down in his overstuffed chair and looks at the woman. “Who authorized this transaction?” he asks her in Spanish.

  Her eyes lower to her hands. “I did.”

  Turning to her, I speak in her native tongue. “Tell me everything.”

  She’s frozen to the spot, her chin quivering in fear.

  I force my face to relax. “You’re not in trouble. I simply need to know every detail that happened.” When she still says nothing, I add, “Now.”

  She glances at her manager and I catch a peripheral view of his nod, then she proceeds to tell me everything. Camille being sick. The story of the food poisoning. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea that it wasn’t what it appeared. She did look sick.” A tear glides down her cheek. “They even showed me the police report from when they were robbed. Which was why they needed so much money, to replace camera equipment.”

  A police report?

  Another piece of the puzzle slides into place. Very clever. Seems Janine Scott thought of everything.

  “Did you hear them speaking to each other? Any indication of where they might have gone next?”

  “The hospital. The dark-haired woman said she was taking her to the hospital.”

  I shake my head. They would dump her before seeking public care.

  Looking at the security guard, I say, “I need to see the outside camera feed for that timestamp. Maybe I can get a tag this time.” I look at the woman. “I have fifty thousand being wired to me.” I repeat the number for the wire transfer Deakins texted and she jots it down. She’s up and out of the office in record speed, desperate to make some type of amends.

  But I can’t blame her. From what I understand, this drug makes for convincing puppets. She had no reason to believe the food poisoning story wasn’t true. The police report sealed the deal. Again, Janine thought of everything. Or her brother. Or her lover.

  Damn.

  Five minutes later, I’m once again sitting in front of a bank of monitors. And I’m once again cursing. I watch Camille and Janine come up the sidewalk, but there isn’t a black van in sight. Not when they enter the bank, Camille walking docilely beside her. And not when Janine is practically carrying the smaller woman out.

  I pick up my phone. “Deak, I need you to have someone contact every bank in Colombia, warning them of the situation. Did Duff provide you account numbers so you can track?”

  “Yes, sir. He’s leased a jet and is scheduled for take-off in an hour. He’ll be there tonight.”

  “Good. Do me another favor.” I look at the guard sitting a couple of seats down from me. “I need you to access external cameras around this location. I need the plate of that van.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Dammit, Deak. Stop calling me sir. You’re driving me nuts.”

  “Yes, sir.” There’s mumbling in the background, then he adds, “Wait a moment, sir.” There’s more murmurs, a voice saying something I can’t quite understand. I press the phone closer to my ear, but still can’t hear shit.

  “Miss Duffy’s iPad location has shifted,” he tells me, his voice urgent. “Sir, it’s in your location. In the bank.”

  I’m on my feet in an instant, slamming out of the door and into the lobby. I look around, moving to offices, glancing quickly inside each one of them.

  “Come on, baby. Where are you?” I mutter.

  I check the bathrooms, ignoring the squeal of a woman, then rush out to the sidewalk. Nothing. I go back inside and ask security to do another check. “Deak, what the hell?” I yell into my phone. “Double check the coordinates.”

  Then it clicks.

  Clicks so hard I almost hear it in my brain.

  Camille rushing downstairs this morning, an iPad in her hand. It falling to the ground. Me not finding her device in her room.

  I drop to my knee and open my bag, unzipping my iPad case. It’s hers. Which means she has mine.

  “Change of plans, Deak,” I say into the phone, and head to the dark-haired woman’s desk. “I need that street bike. I’m getting the money now. Camille has my iPad and I need you to track it.”

  I hear him give instructions to someone and I’m signing the papers for the wire transfer when he tells me, “I’m sorry, sir. Your iPad is powered off.”

  I grin. For the first time in hours, I grin.

  “I know. I tagged the case, Deak. Run the tag I’m sending.”

  I press send on my phone and the secure email is gone. My knee bounces up and down while I wait. The woman rushes off to gather my money and I stare at the wall, willing my iPad to be with Camille.

  Be with her.

  Please be with her.

  “Sir, we have it. It’s activated and is currently traveling southeast on Western Trunk, National Route 25. We’re linking the signal to your phone now.”

  I let my face fall into my hands, covering the burn that is building behind my eyes, choking down the emotion seizing my throat.

  I can track her.

  Thank God, I can track her.

  And if I can track her, I will get her back. Or die trying.

  Chapter Six – Camille

  “Follow me, Camille.”

  I step out of the van and am immediately wet, as the rain pours down onto my head. It’s getting dark and I’m cold, chilled to the core. A dozen men stand on the porch and whistle when I walk by them. Six more are in the kitchen, eating soup.

  A towel is thrown at my face, but it hits the ground before I can catch it. “Pick it up.”

  I do what I’m told.

  “Change into this.” Janine points at a stack of clothes she’s pulled from my suitcase. When I simply stare at her, confusion swirlin
g through my brain, she picks the clothes up and thrusts them into my hands.

  “I thought it would be more fun, telling her what to do,” Janine complains, “but it’s like trying to manipulate a spastic plastic doll.”

  Her face softens, as a man who seems familiar comes up behind her and nuzzles his face into her neck, his long hair falling over his dark eyes. “Bet you could still get her to eat you out,” he says to her. “Then she could suck my dick.”

  The men around the kitchen table laugh. “Do we all get a turn?” one of them asks, and stands up, moving his zipper up and down.

  Janine shrugs away from the man holding her and steps in front of me, grabbing my jaw, forcing me to look into her eyes. “What do you think, Camille? Is the princess up for a gang bang tonight?”

  Am I?

  I stare at her and her mouth turns up. “Tell me that you want a gang bang.”

  “I want a gang bang.”

  The men cheer so loud, I barely hear Janine say, “Let’s see if daddy’s money can save you now.”

  The long-haired man stands beside her again, placing an arm around her shoulder. “Do you think it would be good, or like a robot trying to get you off?”

  Janine shrugs. “Pussy. Mouth. Hand. Robot. Hell, Josiah, when did it ever matter to a man?”

  There are murmurs and nods of agreement around the table. She suddenly steps closer, takes my nipples between her fingers and twists so hard, pain spears through me, and I sink to my knees.

  She laughs. “Look, the princess is begging.” She yanks my head back by my hair. “I think I like you this way.”

  I can’t breathe when she buries my face between her legs, the seam of her shorts scratching my skin.

  “Knock it off!”

  Janine is still laughing as she steps away from me and I take a big gulp of air. “Oh, come on, Antonio, let me have a little fun.”

  I’m hauled to my feet and I sway to the side, but a strong arm holds me upright. “Stick to the plan, Janine,” Antonio says. “Don’t be stupid. You almost killed her once. We won’t get the money if we send her back abused and molested. Or dead.”