Badass: Jungle Fever (Complete): A Billionaire Military Romance Page 4

  As I lay on the ground, I remember the sharp pain of them pulling Gran’s diamonds from my ears. How I begged them not to take them. How I cried.

  They’d laughed when one of the guys stuck them into his own lobes. Laughed when they’d taken my favorite thumb ring and placed it on the big guy’s pinky.

  I remember how they dragged me into a heavily wooded area, hundreds of yards into the thick foliage. The nasty hand over my mouth. The other hands on my breasts. The sound of my zipper being lowered.

  Then more voices. Janine’s high pitched voice calling my name. A man’s voice too.

  I tried to scream. I tried to kick them off me. Tried to call for help.

  Then a knife was pressed to my throat. I remember so clearly the look in the man’s eyes as he placed a finger to his lips. He was smiling as he whispered, “Shhhh, pretty lady.”

  It was that smile that should have broken me from the fear, the paralysis of dread. I wasn’t going to let those guys rape me. Kill me. Not without a fight.

  But those had only been thoughts. Big words that didn’t mean shit.

  Because I’d done nothing … absolutely nothing … to save myself.

  I’d taken self-defense classes before, and had kinda sorta listened to Link and Tate’s lectures and instructions on how to take care of myself in tricky situations like this. But I’d never taken it seriously. Never really thought I’d need to. I usually have security with me. I was supposed to have security with me now, but I’d changed the itinerary and got here a day earlier than the security crew was scheduled to arrive.

  Stupid.

  Silver Spoon Syndrome.

  Ha. I just diagnosed myself.

  Pushing myself up and out of the rolling desk chair, I pull the key for my room from my pocket. I look around for my purse. My phone. The action instinctive and habitual. Of course, neither are here. They’re now in the grimy hands of that man. Those men. The men who had pulled the one guy off me when the other voices had gotten closer.

  I had wanted to fight, but had been too afraid in the reality of the steel pressed to my jugular. I’d just laid there, waiting for him to do whatever he was going to do.

  I hate myself for that.

  I’d been so afraid.

  Such a coward.

  I hadn’t even tried to fight for my life in the cold light of day.

  Link would be so disappointed in me. So would Tate. So would everyone.

  I have the world believing I’m strong and independent, not afraid of anything. My parents believe I’ll die from my adventures at any moment.

  After all, I climb up mountains for the best angle on a photo. Yeah, with extra harnesses hooked up in all directions.

  I get up close to dangerous animals. Right, and stay hidden inside a steel vehicle.

  I go into unsafe areas. With bodyguards armed to the teeth.

  I’m a fraud.

  So scared. Always so scared of so much. Of making the wrong decision. Of being hurt. And then that hurt being broadcast on the covers of the gossip mags for the entire world to judge.

  Back in my suite, I step out onto the balcony overlooking the city and Lleras Park. I turn on the jets for the huge Jacuzzi tub, reminding myself I’m one of the luckiest women on the planet. Nothing I lost today can’t be replaced.

  Except Gran’s earrings.

  Or an entire freaking day’s worth of shots and video footage that the little assholes stole.

  Yes. Get mad. Mad is much better than the weepy little pity party I’ve been having with myself for the past couple hours. Pathetic.

  I need to pull it together before Link and Tate arrive in the morning. I can’t let them see me like this. I’m the fun sister. The cool girl. Crazy Camille.

  Opening a bottle of wine I find on the room’s Teppanyaki grill, I pour a glass and bring the bottle with me. I undress and slip into a tiny bikini before stepping back onto the balcony and the hot tub. I don’t dare get into the tub naked, not with it sitting in the open. Dad will kill me if another nude shows up on the internet. Mother will just sniff and give me ‘the look.’

  That wasn’t fair.

  Feeling like a petulant child, I sink into the water, the wine glass in my hand. My relationship with my mother has gotten better over the years, although she still ‘despairs’ for me way too often. My dad just shakes his head.

  It’s my siblings I adore tormenting. My oldest brother, who’s a world class asshole, barely tolerates me being in the same room. Since I declared my bisexuality, his wife seems to believe I’ve targeted her for a wild love affair. Um, no. I like my lovers warm and willing. That woman would be like making love to a three-day-old tuna that was freezer burned from sitting on an iceberg near the North Pole.

  I also have two older sisters; the haughtiest bitches you’ll ever see. Born with a billion dollars in the bank, that wasn’t enough. They married wealthy assholes and see themselves as American royalty. Their upper lips are just as stiff as any monarchy. I really feel sorry for their little cookie-cutter kids.

  Then there’s Link, my baby brother. The trouble maker turned Delta Force operator turned family man. With only a little more than a year between our ages, we’ve always been close. He’s the only person in the world I trust implicitly to love me without question. He never judges me. Let’s me cuddle up to him all I want. He might give me hell on occasion, but only because he loves me and well, that’s what baby brothers do.

  Taking a deep sip of the wine, I shudder at its dry taste. I secretly prefer cheap, sweet wines with a screw on cap. To me, the more expensive the wine, the worse it tastes and the bigger headache I have the day after. But I take another sip, hoping to drink enough to make sleep come easy.

  Make me stop thinking about today.

  Make me stop thinking about Tate.

  I can’t believe I asked him to marry me!

  I let my head fall back on the rim of the tub as I look up at the dark mass of sky. Okay, it was said as a joke and he’d taken it as a joke. Didn’t he? God, I hope so.

  After all, I couldn’t even imagine being married to anyone, let alone being married to him. He’s too bossy. Too controlling. He likes everything his own way. He’s too black and white. Too … honest. Which is horrible that I even see that as a negative. But really, everyone lies, at least a little. I mean, really, would it kill him to say I didn’t have morning breath? Would his nose grow if he said I looked cute in a floppy hat? That he liked my new lipstick color? That my new shoes didn’t look like something a pole dancer would wear?

  Besides, I couldn’t take him anywhere with me. The man practically ate with his fingers. Okay, that’s not true, but he doesn’t give a damn about manners. He doesn’t care what people think of him either. If something tastes bad, he sends it back and orders something else. If a waiter asks if everything is okay, he doesn’t say ‘yes’ if it isn’t.

  I smile as I remember the look on my mother’s face when Tate refused the caviar she tried to serve him. “If I wanted to eat snot, I’d eat snot,” he’d told her. She’d sniffed, but Mother didn’t offer him the snails. Instead, she dumped a bag of Doritos on his plate. I’m still not sure where she got those, but the look on Tate’s face had been priceless.

  I slide under the water, holding my breath until my lungs hurt before surfacing back into the warm Colombia evening air. The city is beautiful at night and I’m reminded that I don’t have my equipment to capture the magical lights on film.

  But I will tomorrow.

  Tomorrow I’ll go shopping and make everything okay.

  Thanks to Link. Thanks to Tate.

  Tate.

  I really wish I could spend some alone time with him. Alone, it doesn’t matter that his manners are horrendous. Alone, it’s totally okay that he’s in control. Because alone, he sets my body on fire. His stamina is endless. He pushes me past my boundaries. I often have trouble walking the next day.

  Pressing my thighs together, I relive him being on top of me. In me. That long, t
hick cock spreading me wide. Driving. Impaling. Over and over. Talking so dirty. Driving me wild with the words he growls in my ear. And he never lies. So I know that what he says to me during those moments are true.

  “So good, Camille,” he’d say as he slammed inside me. “So tight and wet. Your face is so sexy when I make you come.”

  I slide my hand down my stomach, under the bikini bottoms, imagining him sliding between my legs. “I love your taste,” he’d say. “How pretty and pink your pussy is.” Then he’d suck my clit into his mouth while his fingers sank deep inside of me, filling me completely.

  Once, when he had me against a wall, he said, “Listen to the sounds our bodies make together. This is our music. Only ours.” He was right. The pulse of flesh on flesh. Ours was unique. I can hear the rhythm of us even now.

  I touch myself as I remember the threesome we had not long after we first met. How he’d sat in the chair, a drink in his hand and watched the other woman go down on me. His eyes had grown so dark when he finally stood up and approached Katelyn from behind. He’d forced her up on her knees, keeping her face between my legs.

  “Don’t stop, or I stop,” he told her.

  I’d arched into the other woman’s mouth as she plunged her tongue inside me in response to him plunging his cock inside of her. But his eyes were on me, even as he picked up the pace. The connection between us never broke, even as Katelyn began screaming through her orgasm.

  It was the only threesome we shared. After that, it was always only the two of us. We’d joke about adding a third, but we never did. We saw each other so seldom, I wanted to use that time to focus only on him. And for him to focus only on me.

  I sigh and pull my fingers from between my legs. I’m not in the mood for even self-release right now. I want him. His fingers. His tongue. His cock. Anything else just feels like a waste of time and energy.

  Frustrated, I drain the last of my wine and rise from the water before pouring a second, equally full. I down it, chugging the hundred-dollar liquid as I would a bottle of water. But maybe it will make me drowsy. Knock me into the blissful unconsciousness of sleep.

  Drying off, I pull the robe back on and step back into the suite.

  And stop.

  Freeze.

  I hear it before I see it. A rattle. The sound of a key card slipping into the slot. The little beep of denial. Another rattle. A soft curse immediately follows.

  Someone’s at my door, trying to get in. I listen hard and hear low voices. Two someones at least. Maybe more.

  Setting down my glass before my trembling fingers cause me to drop it, I tiptoe to the door, my pulse beating hard in my throat.

  Another rattle. I can see the handle vibrate from my side of the metal door.

  I step closer and raise to my tiptoes to peer through the little peep hole.

  Two figures are on the other side, one facing me, one looking down the hall. Dark hoodies cover their hair and most of their faces. I stare hard, trying to remember details. One of them laughs and looks up, the smile sliding from his face as he looks at the little hole, his eye seeming to bore into mine through the small circle of glass. My heart flutters as he steps closer, his eye coming closer to the peep hole.

  Bam. Bam. Bam.

  I jump back and cry out before my hands fly up to cover my mouth. My heart slams against my ribs and a fist knocks on the door twice more.

  “Maintenance,” the man calls out in broken English. “Electrical problem in room. Very dangerous. Please let us in.”

  Bam. Bam. Bam.

  “Very urgent,” the man continues. “We must come in.”

  I’m shivering as I reach for the hotel phone. Trembling as my finger punches the button for the front desk. I speak too fast when the kind voice answers. I have to repeat myself. “This is Camille Duffy in the Envy suite. Two men who say they are from maintenance are at my door. Can you please confirm?”

  “Un momento, Senorita Duffy.”

  Latin music plays as I’m put on hold. I’m tempted to call out to the men, let them know I’m calling to double check their story. But I don’t. If they are here to do me harm, I’d much prefer hotel security take them into custody and get them off the street.

  After another chorus of the music goes by, a male voice comes over the line. “Miss Duffy, this is Johan, the evening manager. Please stay in your room and ensure your security chain is engaged. Security is on their way up to assist you.”

  I blow out a breath.

  “Thank you,” I finally say and take the phone with me back to the door. I raise up on tiptoes and look through the glass. The hallway is empty. The men are gone.

  “They’ve—”

  The manager interrupts me. “I see them on camera. They are entering another room. Perhaps they knocked at the incorrect door. Apologies for the inconvenience, Miss Duffy. Can I assist in any other way?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Very well. Have a restful evening.”

  I hang up, feeling stupid.

  Restful. Okay. Sure. I’ll try to rest.

  Looking around, I locate a chair and drag it in front of the door. Then I change into some pajamas and wash my face, brush my teeth. Anything I can think of to feel normal.

  By the time I’ve climbed into bed, I feel better, but sleep won’t come.

  Morning will be different.

  The sun will be up.

  The day will be bright.

  I’ll go shopping and replace the things I need.

  Even better, Link and Tate will be here.

  With that thought, I settle further beneath the covers and allow my eyes to drift shut.

  Tomorrow, everything will be okay.

  Chapter Five – Tate

  The moment we pull up to our private terminal, I’m unbuckled and out of my seat. I’m damn tired, but wired to the extreme. If I’m not sleeping, I have to be moving. I hate being rooted to one spot. It gives me too much time to think.

  For the past six hours, I’ve gone through a hundred applications for new positions I’m filling within my company. I have former soldiers vying to work under the Black Shield brand. Through my company, they get benefits for their families, insurance and 401k. They become my employee, not just a contractor sought to fulfill a mission and then move on to something else. I take care of my people and, hopefully, they’ll take care of me.

  Hopefully.

  I grit my teeth.

  Hope sucks as a strategy.

  Two years ago, I hired bad. I hired a man I knew lived on the brink of the law, but who was brilliant with a computer. A man I thought would lead the new cyber security branch I was creating. He got greedy, and while I was out of the country, took a bond to kill Link Duffy, the man sitting beside me now. In the end, that bond led to the fall of numerous government officials who were working both ends against the middle.

  War is profitable.

  War makes people afraid.

  Being afraid makes people malleable. It allows officials to lead them around like lambs. Maybe not to be slaughtered, but to fear the knife that could come down at any moment. It keeps the lambs quiet when gas prices increase. It keeps them quiet when food and energy bills increase too. It leads to tighter laws and fewer freedoms. That’s what world leaders want, after all. An iron fist that everyone follows without thinking.

  I shake my head, getting angry as my thoughts spiral around in my mind.

  A hundred top Special Force operators were sacrificed to stir up more war and keep the Russians from winning against ISIS. It hadn’t worked. The atrocities continued and the US military are still scrambling to train their forces. And the forces are getting sick of being used for target practice. Sick of their friends going home in body bags. Sick of having their hands tied behind their backs when this could all be over with already. Sick of it all.

  “Why do you look like you’ve got razors up your ass?” Duff asks as I pull my bag from the storage closet.

  I pull his out too, tossing it to him
. Then I grab both of our ‘go’ bags. I’ve not been in the military for years now, but habits die hard, especially the smart ones. I still and will probably always pack a bag that goes wherever I go. A bag I can grab at any moment. A bag that will help me escape most situations.

  Too bad they don’t give ‘go’ bags to kids.

  “Seriously, Tate. You okay?”

  I glance at Duff and force myself to relax the muscles in my shoulders. “Yeah, man. Sorry. Too much damn time to think.”

  “So you’re not pissed by our stop?”

  I glance at him again and realize he’s read my mood wrong. “No, this is good.” I grin at him, unable to resist. “It’ll be even better if you get lost for a couple hours.”

  Duff scowls and points a finger at me. “It’d be even better if you and Cam quit acting like little assholes and admit you’ve got something special going on.”

  It’s my turn to scowl. “You sound like Grace. I swear, you’re so damn whipped I bet you’re wearing panties by now. Red ones with lace. You know your sister is fucking her assistant on this trip, right? That Janine chick is her lover. Please tell me you know that. So don’t give me the ‘you’ve got something special going on’ speech. Save it for her.”

  The muscles in Duff’s jaw tightens. “Yeah, I saw that girl hanging all over Cam. A little possessive, don’t you think?”

  “Very. Hate women like that. Clingy and manipulative.”

  Duff holds up a hand. “We don’t need to go there again. I know you and Cam are like sandpaper rubbing against each other—”

  “Except in the sack,” I interrupt, the devil inside me laughing its ass off. “We get along very well between the sheets.”

  He curses me and I laugh, tossing the bag over my shoulder. “You suck.”

  I can’t help it. “Yeah, that’s what your sister says.”

  What is it about sex that turns grown men into teenage boys? That and farts has us laughing every time. Back in my boot camp days, one of the guys farted so loud and so long that he must have shitted his pants. The timing was terrible as we were in line for inspection. And, of course, even under those circumstances, even knowing we’d have to run until our balls fell off, half of us laughed while the other half’s lips twitched, barely able to hold it in. Okay, I was one of the laughers and I paid a mighty price for that bit of bathroom humor. Five miles broken up with a hundred push-ups between each one. And to this day, farts are still funny. Even the army can’t run that out of a man.