Then there’s the shirt, which has ridden up just enough to show off a cusp of ass, outlined by white panties, which somehow makes it more tantalizing. Her legs are also parted just enough to reveal a nice outline of everything my mouth savored not five minutes ago.
Definitely not angel material.
At least it’s keeping me awake. Just thinking about the way she squirmed underneath my tongue, the way her voice sounded when she cried out in pleasure, it’s enough to send continuous jolts of adrenaline through my system. Then there was the way her pussy clenched around my fingers. Even now, my dick gets hard as I imagine invading that space, piercing the veil of Catholicism she claims to hold onto.
I smirk and turn to stare out at the clear blue waters of the Mediterranean visible from our room. No wonder this room cost so much, not that money is an issue for me. Constantin was quite a generous victim, and he wasn’t even our biggest target.
That thought brings me back to our present predicament. I’m in a chair in between the bed and the door, holding my broken bottle in my hand. I have a full view of the front door to the suite and the balcony outside the window.
If these people do come for us, I doubt we’d have much of a shot at making it. Considering they had enough people to cover both my apartment and my boat, they are well-manned.
I’m ninety percent sure it’s me they are after. Which means that the other four men on my team are probably targets as well.
Unless they are in on it.
By design, we make it a point to have no means of communication outside of the jobs we do. It’s a safety precaution, in case one of us gets caught. No traceable phones, numbers, email addresses, or anything of the like. I know their first names, and in some cases, countries of origin, but that’s it. Even the idea of some kind of alert system if one of us was discovered was nixed, the thought being that it could be traced or some kind of a trap. The consensus was that we all just use extreme precaution in our daily lives outside of the jobs.
In other words, no ties whatsoever.
I get in touch via a special cell phone with about ten different levels of protection. It’s hidden well away, obviously not with me currently. A single text message sent with a code word that gives the coordinates and a specific time and date to meet so we can plot out the next heist on the list of targets I have.
The list is based on the information that fell into my hands several years ago. It was a list of all the people for whom my father had helped launder money via several banks in Luxembourg. It included the exact amounts each individual had laundered and where the money was located. The rest was up to me. I still have no idea who sent it, but it only proved the suspicions I had about Richard Coleman. My father. My mother’s killer. Soon to be dead man.
Once again, I take a moment to imagine the day I face him in that New York penthouse of his. First, I’ll get him to confess to the murder of my mother. Then, I’ll reveal who I am—right before I put a bullet in his head. I’ve never killed a man, but the thought of taking him out gives me absolutely no pause whatsoever.
I still have a few months left to take care of that. For now, I’ll focus on whoever is after me. How did they find me here on the island? The apartment is leased by an LLC with no obvious connection to me. I check my boat for any trackers before each trip to the island where Santa María de Atlántica Convento is located. I’m a familiar face in this part of Ibiza, considering how often I visit, but no one here knows what my day job is.
Except one person.
Ulrich is supposedly still here on the island. He’s no doubt making the most of the time between now and his planned night at the club with his two companions. Unless he’s also been targeted.
I don’t know which would be worse, finding out that he has betrayed me, or discovering these men got to him already.
Right now, he’s not my problem.
I stare down at Leira, feeling a tiny swell of something dangerously akin to affection. The last thing I need is emotion getting in the way of this. In retrospect, I probably shouldn’t have done what I did back on the couch. She might be developing feelings for me, as well.
My eyes scan the shapely legs splayed across the bed.
It was worth it.
Still, there’s something perfectly innocent about her that I have to be careful of. In some ways, she’s so damned naïve. In other ways, she’s sly as a fox. Not too many women would have remained silent for so long under similar circumstances.
Which makes me wonder what it is she’s holding back.
That can come later.
I look at the clock. In ten minutes, we trade places.
Until then, I stand watch.
Chapter Twenty-Four Leira
I feel the firm hand on my shoulder, forcing me out of my slumber. I groan in protest, and I sink my face into the soft pillow. My head is pounding, ordering me back into the relief of blackness. I’ve heard enough about hangovers to know I’m seriously suffering one.
That damn sangria.
“I don’t think so, Sleeping Beauty,” Enrique’s voice says through the fog of sleep.
“Just ten more minutes.”
I sense him leaning in so that his mouth is only a whisper away from my ear. “Or I can wake you from your slumber the same way Prince Charming did. Of course, I’m no Prince Charming as you well know, so It’ll be something far more than a simple kiss from me.”
My eyes snap open,
