'Why hasn't anyone invented bulletproof boxers in Kevlar?' Becca pulled him closer, snuggling into the warmth of his arms.
'Good idea. Maybe Victoria should have a new secret.' He lowered his lips to hers, those same full lips she'd eyed all night.
Sensitive to everything Diego, Becca felt his hands on her body and craved more. She filled her senses with him, the aroma of his warm skin, the sweet taste of his lips tinged with wine. This time, she gave in to him, body and soul. Nothing ever felt so right.
Brogan watched as one of his men hauled the Japanese girl away, still crying and barely able to walk. He'd left his mark, as sure as if he had branded her with a hot iron. She wouldn't likely forget him. Wearing only a grin, Brogan walked over to a utility sink and washed up. The musk of sex and fear were heavy in the air.
His men kept a respectful distance until he buttoned his shirt and zipped his pants. He'd done what he came to do.
'Nickels called while you were ... busy. I answered the call.' McPhee reported, handing over Brogan's cell phone. 'He said the Mex was on the move, but the cop stayed put. Nickels is still with her.'
'That damned Mex is a pain in my ass, but not for long.' Brogan clenched his teeth and headed for his car.
'Anything you need me to do, boss?' His man followed.
'Be on the alert until you hear from me. No coming or going tonight, McPhee. Lock this place down tight, you hear me?'
'Yeah, boss. Consider it done.'
Brogan hated the idea of Diego on the loose without one of his men keeping track of the bastard, but Cavanaugh had a plan. Brogan would get his time with Diego Galvan soon enough. He got to the Mercedes and started it. The squeal of wheels echoed in the garage. Once he got out into the night air, his cell phone rang. Without checking the display, he punched the button to talk.
'Yeah, Nickels, is that you?'
'No, honey. It's me.'
Brogan gripped the steering wheel, his eyes narrowed. It took him a while before he recognized the woman's voice. When it finally registered who was on the line, he almost ended the call.
'I never figured you for bein' this stupid. You got a lotta nerve callin' my cell.'
'Don't hang up, Matt. Not until you hear what I got to say. I have to talk to you in the flesh. You remember what that feels like, don't you, baby?' She slathered sex into her voice like warm lubricant. 'You name the time and place, and I'm there.'
As spent as he was, Brogan still felt his body react. He hated her for that. She knew how to punch his buttons, even ones he didn't know he had.
Holding the phone to his ear, he stared into the night, his jaw rigid. He drove out the gate with his mind working double time. The psycho bitch had always been crazed. Brogan heaved a sigh and made her wait while he figured out what to do. He had no intention of picking up where they left off years ago, but the urgency in her voice made him reconsider meeting with her.
'I'm all ears, Sonja. But this better be good.'
CHAPTER10
A sleazy motel off Guadalupe Street suited Brogan's purpose. It rented by the hour.
But the place had gone downhill since the last time he saw it, though it was hard to imagine the dump getting any worse. No doubt the beds made a fertile training ground for a forensics team, a real cesspool of DNA. It had been years since he and Sonja met there, but Brogan's choice had nothing to do with sentimentality—and everything to do with coercion. If she dared to meet him, Brogan would make her pay for such stupidity. She had a lot of nerve contacting him after so many years, especially the way he ended it. Who would take such abuse and beg for more?
He rented the room for an hour. Brogan slouched in a chair, smoking a cigarette and imagining all he could do to Sonja in sixty minutes. A box of condoms sat on the nightstand, with a few packets tossed onto the bed. He wanted her to know this meet had its price. One lamp lit the room, a necessity he wished he could do without. No other way to look at this rathole except in the dark.
Cigarette smoke coiled through the air like a writhing snake and disappeared in the shadows. He preferred to watch the trail of smoke. It kept his mind off the huge roach scurrying across the shag carpet. Brogan made no effort to kill it. He figured the critter had more right to be here than he did.
After a soft knock, he slid his gaze from the roach to the door.
'Baby, it's me,' she called out.
Brogan recognized Sonja's voice, but didn't answer.
She tried again. 'You in there, Matt?' Another knock.
Still, he didn't say a word.
Eventually, the bitch opened the door. It creaked on rusty hinges. A rush of night air and traffic noise intruded from outside. In the doorway and backlit in neon lights, Sonja stood in silhouette. She wore a black spandex dress. The clingy material hugged her body like a second skin, her nipples wearing party hats. She smelled of stale cigarettes and wore the same cheap cologne he always remembered, her dark eyes smeared by too much makeup. Without warning, the past came to stay. His body hardened, straining against his pants.
She shut the door behind her, a strange mix of fear and lust in her eyes. Brogan didn't move at first, never gave her a word of greeting. His eyes strafed her body, inch by inch. He put out his cigarette in an ashtray and stood. Slow and easy, he walked toward her. Sonja backed up a step, but stopped and held her ground.
'You're gonna hurt me, aren't you, baby?' she whispered when he got close. Her lips trembled, and she forced a weak smile.
But before Brogan answered, Sonja reached for his aching crotch, adding fuel to his fire. Greedily, she rubbed the length of him while pretending to be a dewy-eyed virgin. Reverting to one of her old games, she manipulated him with practiced innocence. Sonja was quite the little actress.
'Punish me, baby . . . like you used to.'
With her slut switch turned on, Sonja got to her knees, brushing her nipples against his legs as she worked. Her eyes fixed on his, she unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants, letting them fall to the floor. She teased him with her tongue and made him rock-hard, her fingers groping the rest of him. The warm wetness of her mouth drove him insane. Brogan clutched at her, his fingers thrust into her hair. He gasped with urgency, his skin raging hot as he yanked the bitch to her feet.
Losing control, Brogan tore at her dress and yanked it over her head, ripping it. His mouth clamped on hers, his tongue down her throat. In a fevered rush, Sonja clawed at him, her nails digging into his back. Her breathless panting blended with his. When she ripped open his shirt, buttons flew. His pants pooled at his ankles, and he kicked them off, along with his shoes, not caring where they landed.
Once again, memories of Sonja assaulted his brain, mingling with the present. Brogan grappled her to his chest, clenching soft mounds of her flesh in his hands, rubbing them with force. Her skin flushed with his brutal brand of foreplay.
'Oh, God . . . easy baby. That's it,' she coaxed. 'Aarrgh. So good.'
When they were both naked, he threw her onto the bed and smothered her with his body. Brogan bit her nipples and made her cry out in a strange combination of pain and ecstasy. He wielded his mouth like a weapon, using his tongue and his hands to subdue her. Every move a skirmish, Sonja writhed under him, her body resonating with moans of pleasure and torment. He knew she liked it rough, but Sonja had only one speed—full throttle.
'No, please. Yes. Oh, yes,' she cried out, shuddering under the influence of her first orgasm. 'Oh, God . . . feels so . . . Yesss.'
The word 'easy' had been created for Sonja. The woman could come with a flick of his tongue in her ear. But tonight, Brogan made up his mind Sonja wouldn't have it so easy. Without asking, he flipped her onto her stomach,
