The problem with stealing beautiful women from their beautiful homes is that said homes are usually massive, and there are numerous places she could potentially be hiding.
“Go straight for the panic room. We’re running out of time.”
I grimace slightly. He’s not wrong; the alarm has been blaring for three minutes already, and it’s only a matter of time before reinforcements show up. Leon and his team will only be able to keep them distracted for so long.
“Copy that, boss,” I say as I shift gears and begin running in the opposite direction. Down a corridor, ducking out of sight of the sound of running footsteps and slipping into an extravagant office.
It’s a gamble, but at this point, it’s our best shot of finding her. Hopefully, the woman has enough self-preservation instincts to have come here the second the alarm went off.
“I’m here, Teo,” I bark into the second channel on my earpiece, scanning the far wall of the room where the blueprints had indicated…ah! There.
It’s a small divot in the bookcase, as cliche as they come. I tug on it, and the bookcase slides away to reveal a door with an access monitor stuck to the front. Not that I need to worry about that.
“Open sesame,” Teo murmurs sarcastically in my ear as the monitor beeps to life and the door groans open with an ominous thud.
“Have I ever told you how much I love and respect your craft? Tremendously underappreciated and constantly overlooked,” I tease Leon’s second and resident tech master as I step through the open door without issue.
“Head in the game, Grasso,” Teo scolds, but I know his tone well enough to know he’s smirking. “There’s a heat signature–”
Smack.
And here, perhaps, lies the second problem with stealing beautiful women from their beautiful homes.
Amos Rubio’s daughter, the princess of the Cartel, is really quite beautiful. A fact I knew before I started this mission, one that enticed me to take on this mission in the first place, in fact.
But in the flesh? She’s something else entirely.
She’s a goddess incarnate with olive skin and stunning curls that protrude wildly around her soft features. Dark hair and carameleyes that look like they could choke me out just by glaring alone (I would let her).
And I’m about ninety percent positive this momentary appreciation has nothing to do with being smacked around the head with what I think might be a drink tray.
“Stay the fuck away from me.”
She stands there a few feet away from the open panic-room door with the silver tray poised over her shoulder, ready to strike again without hesitation. She’s wild and angry and actually very distractingly… beautiful.
“Well, aren’t you just the prettiest thing in this whole place?”
Okay, maybe she did hit my head a little hard.
Carmen Rubio looks about ready to spit at me. “If you so much as touch me, I will snap off your dick.”
“Thinking about my dick are you?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
The second smack with the drink tray is probably well-earned.
But it does put her within reach. That one brave step forward to give me my just desserts is the opening I need to wrap a hand around her wrist and twist. She hisses, her fingers going slack on her makeshift weapon, and the tray drops to the floor with an unceremonious clatter.
I’m suddenly immensely glad of her warning when her other hand snaps out like a viper toward my crotch. I intercept it just in time.
“Usually, they buy me a drink first,” I say as I pin both her wrists with one hand. “But I can appreciate an eager woman when they look as beautiful as you.”
Carmen’s jaw sets in a murderous rage, and I can’t help but think she actually looks quite sweet.
“I’d rather die.”
Credit where credit’s due, her voice doesn’t waver. In fact, she stands taller, prouder. The scent of something sweet and floral wafts from her hair. Caramel eyes warm with anger. Pulse racing beneath my fingers. Distracting.
Very distracting.
