Branded: You Own Me & The Virgin's Night Out (20 page)

Usually weird things.

Almost always in the middle of the night when her body wanted to be sleeping, but the hunger pangs got in the way.

Ever since she’d moved back home, Tyler and Ellen had taken to fussing over her and the fridge was always stocked with the weird things she’d taken to craving. Horseradish pickles on a peanut butter sandwich was her current favorite and if she didn’t get one right now, she might go nuts.

Usually, at midnight, the big, sprawling house was quiet, but as she neared the kitchen, she heard voices.

And there was light.

A familiar voice, rough from a lifetime of smoking, said,

“He’s nowhere to be found, Tyler. I had my best looking and he’s just vanished.”

“He’s not dead.” Tyler’s voice was hard. “Boone is—”

Boone
!

She rushed into the kitchen and three sets of eyes turned toward her.

“Boone…” the word tripped out of her and she felt a sob building up.

“Honey.” Ellen rose from her chair.

Tyler turned away, swearing.

Hal Lenesco, her brother’s former boss—the man who’d stepped in to help raise them after her mother’s death—closed his eyes.

“What’s going on?” she demanded. The quaver in her own voice didn’t go unnoticed. She was two steps from crying.

Ellen flicked a look at Hal.

As Tyler turned around to study him, Hal sighed and then he nodded.

“Boone…” Tyler paused, sucking a hard breath. Then he finished. “Boone is missing. He was on a job and nobody has heard from him in weeks.”

“
Heard
from him? Are you waiting for a phone call?” she

demanded.

Under her hand, the baby fluttered.

The baby
…

Boone’s
baby
.

“Go find him!” she half-shouted, looking at Hal. “Send a team and go
find
him.”

“Sloane.” His voice was gentle. “We
have
looked.

We’ve been looking for three weeks. He’s just…”

No. She covered her ears with her hands and turned away.

The room started to spin around her as she wrapped her arms protectively around herself, covering the small, helpless life within.

Black dots swirled in front of her eyes and she staggered.

Tyler jumped to catch her.

But she never noticed.

She passed out.

“They cut you good this time, D.B.”

Brooding, the man stared ahead at the wall while the other stood behind him, cleaning the deep laceration that ran across D.B.’s left shoulder.

Somebody had tried to come at him from behind.

Again.

That somebody was now dead and D.B. was leaking blood all over the floor.

“You going to let me put stitches in this time?”

“No.” His voice was broken, rough and gravelly. He didn’t know if he’d always sounded that way, but he had a scar around his throat, fading now, so he suspected that injury—probably another attempt to kill him—was responsible for the harsh sound of his voice.

“One of these days, you will remember and tell me why you don’t like needles. You can take a knife to the gut and live, but no needles? Loco, my friend.”

D.B. had been called worse than crazy. In the past four months, he was pretty sure he’d had every insult imaginable hurled his way and some of the men watched him with fear when he wasn’t looking.

Some of them were the reason he had had to defend himself—with force—the first few months he’d been in the prison.

He didn’t know why he was there, barely remembered anything from his past, but his roommate, a skinny man by the name of Hector, said he hadn’t been in the prison long before he was injured.

That he’d survived was nothing short of a miracle.

He owed Hector his life—Hector, and the man’s boss.

D.B. was in Hector’s debt. That wouldn’t rub him raw, but the idea of owing Luis Mendez Castillo burned his ass. Castillo, although in prison, managed to run one monster-sized drug cartel. Mexico was lousy with them. Trying to them of all of them was enough to make D.B.’s head ache like a bitch.

Just like the idea of owing a drug lord was enough to make him

want to punch himself in the face—hard. Still, he had plans to stay

alive long enough to get out of this hellhole, to be in a place where the air was clean and fresh, to feel a woman’s body against his own.

There
was
a woman. He didn’t remember her name. It had taken him weeks to remember his own after the head injury that had nearly killed him. D.B. Cassidy. That was his name—he knew it was. But it felt strange, like he was putting on a shirt that didn’t quite fit right, one he’d outgrown.

The woman, though…everything about her felt right, even if he couldn’t quite remember her face, or even the look of her smile. He remembered the
feel
of her. The warmth of her smile. He knew if kissed her, he’d recognized her taste.

Because of her, and those memories, he ignored the prostitutes that Luis was able to get into the prison. In this section of the prison, it was more like a resort, a laughable mockery, considering what most of the men were in here for. This was where the power was—men with money could get just about anything and being in jail didn’t change anything. Money could make a jail stay a lavish vacation, whores brought in for your pleasure, top-end electronics so a man could keep up with his business and
cells
that looked more like
apartments
. It was no wonder the drug trade still thrived—and not just because people in the States wanted those drugs with a blind obsession—but being in jail didn’t do shit to shut down a cartel.

“He wants to see you.”

D.B. slanted a look over his shoulder at Hector.

There was no point in asking who
he
was.

It could only be Luis.

“Yeah?”

Hector, nervous now, nodded.

“He wanted me to let you know it’s time for you to return the favor.”

Fuck
. Morosely, D.B. stared at the floor.

Luis hadn’t saved his life out of mercy or as a magnanimous gesture. He’d done it because he’d decided D.B. might be useful. Looks like the boss was ready to collect.

The boss
—

Wiry gray hair. Penetrating green eyes and a hard jaw—

D.B. saw himself in a chair, heard a man speaking.

You sure you want to take this job?

Job…

The memory fell away and he shook his head.

A job.

He’d been working a job.

“He’s got a job for you, ghost.”

D.B. ignored the name. They’d called him the ghost for weeks.
Because you slip in and out of places and nobody sees you
.

“Any idea what it is?”

Hector shrugged. “I’m just his money man. He doesn’t share.”

There was a flicker in Hector’s gaze, though.

Something that spoke of nerves.

D.B. tended to handle Luis—and his men—with a modicum of caution and a hell of lot of suspicion. That faint glimmer of fear in his eyes did nothing to allay D.B. either.

“What’s up?” he asked softly.

A thin smile twisted Hector’s lips and he lifted one skinny shoulder. “Not your concern, my friend. Not your concern.”

• • •

D.B. found himself in Luis’
cell
—what a joke.

It wasn’t palatial or anything the man would choose outside this prison, of that, D.B. had no doubt. But there was a bar stocked with booze, a big screen T.V., a long, low sofa that looked like a custom piece and when D.B. entered, Luis was sharing a glass of wine with a woman so beautiful, she could make a man’s teeth—and cock—ache.

Looking away from her, he focused on Luis. “I heard you wanted to speak with me,” he said, automatically speaking Spanish.

Luis understood—and spoke—English, but he rarely spoke in it.

Because he understood the pecking order, D.B. did the smart thing.

“Yes, yes, my friend. Come. Sit.” He swatted the woman on the

thigh. “Give us some privacy.”

With a lazy smile, she rose, her eyes lingering on D.B. as she walked by.

“I think she likes you,” Luis said, lifting a black brow as the woman left, leaving Hector, D.B. and Luis alone. “Perhaps after our business is resolved, I can let you have her.”

“I’m good.” D.B. stood waiting, hands at his side. He knew he looked relaxed. In reality, he was tighter than a bowstring.

Luis didn’t look surprised. A smile curved his lips. Leaning back in his chair, he lifted his wine and took another sip. “I watch you, you know. Even before you…” Luis made a gesture toward his brow, indicating the fading red scar D.B. now carried. “You’re strong. Fast. Clever. You kill without hesitation but you only do it when you must.”

“I like breathing.” D.B. didn’t like the way this conversation was going.

With a low chuckle, Luis nodded. “A wise man.” He put down the wine glass and linked his hands over his flat belly. “You are aware that you live because of my men. After you were injured, you were brought to us and I was asked to allow you to be cared for.”

“Yes.”

“It is time you repay me for my kindness.” The words were delivered in a genial tone, but Luis’ eyes were hard.

“What did you have in mind?” D.B.’s gut was twisting hard and viciously now.

“Nothing a man of your skills can’t handle.” Luis waved a dismissive hand. “I’ve recently been made aware of a…mole? I believe that is the phrase you Americans would use. I have a mole among my people. Now…” he leaned forward. “I am used to having moles—I have moles among my competition. But this one…he has made me angry. He’s working for your government.”

As his blood turned to ice, D.B. fought—and won—the battle to keep his voice steady. “Sounds like a fool.”

“Yes.” Luis’ lids drooped. “A fool.”

He didn’t—D.B. wracked his brain. He didn’t work for the government, did he? No, he didn’t think he did. He
had
—

Another flash of memory had him closing his eyes. A hot desert

wind, two men at his side, all of them laughing. The uniforms were dusty and their faces tanned dark by the relentless sun.

Yeah. Yeah he had worked for the government. He’d been a soldier.

“Ghost?”

D.B. shook the memories away. “I’m sorry…” he rubbed his temple. “Sometimes I remember bits and pieces.”

“What did you remember?” Luis looked intrigued.

Figuring that it would stupid to lie since these men might know more about him than
he
did. “Soldiers. The desert…” Something else worked free and he grimaced. “Camels.”

“Were you a soldier?”

D.B. scowled. “I think I was. You said government and that one bit is there. I can almost remember more, but it’s just not there yet.”

“Yes.” Luis nodded solemnly. “It must be difficult, to be here with no memory of why or how.”

“I’m dealing. What was it you wanted from me?”

“I want you to kill the mole,” Luis said gently. Head cocked, he continued his avid study of D.B. “This man has been reporting to the government and interfering with my business. And now it seems he’s reporting on…friends I have here.”

If D.B. hadn’t been so on edge, so aware of everything, he would have missed the subtle tensing of the man who had walked in with him. Hector didn’t flinch, didn’t freeze, didn’t even look up from the book he was reading. He carried the book everywhere and never seemed to finish it.

He might not get the chance now.

But D.B. wouldn’t kill him. “Who is—”

Hector sighed and rose.

Luis looked at him for the first time. “I was good to you, my friend. I paid you well and treated you as my brother. And you betray me.”

Breathe
. D.B. fought to keep his expression empty as he looked at Hector. Hector angled his body slightly, away from Luis. And then he

winked.

D.B. lunged but he didn’t reach him in time.

Hector’s book had a narrow space carved into the pages.

The knife inside was thin and sharp and Hector smiled as he shoved it into his throat.

It was a perfectly placed strike.

Hot blood pumped out of the man with each beat of his heart as D.B. caught him and eased him to the ground. “You stupid fuck,” he said.

He would have tried to figure a way out of this. He would have tried…

“…
rea…
”

“What?” He bent lower, listening to the weak voice—weak and getting weaker.

“
Be…ready…soon…
”

The words weren’t even words, just his lips moving. D.B. couldn’t even be sure that was what Hector had said.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the shiny shoes Luis liked to wear.

“That is unfortunate.” Luis crouched in front of him and there was an expression on his face—sadness, perhaps —but fleeting. “I need to know what he was telling, what he knew, who he looked for.”

“You don’t know?”

Luis shook his head.

D.B. ducked his head and under the guise of studying Hector, he closed his eyes.

Be ready
.

Son of a bitch.

• • •

“Shhhh….”

Sloane rushed to the side of the crib, already making hushing sounds. The squalling little infant’s cries only got louder when she bent over the crib.

A small, angry face peered up at her.

With a smile, Sloane scooped her up. As she turned, she caught

sight of the clock—a silly cow served as the minute hand, with a moon counted down the hours. The numbers were stylized forks and spoons. “Well, Dani, you slept a solid four hours there.” She pressed a kiss the baby’s soft cheek. “Mama appreciates that, dollbaby.”

The baby continued to scream her distress.

She was wet and she was hungry and she wasn’t happy with the situation.

Sloane continued to make soothing noises under her breath as she changed her daughter. It took just a moment—she’d fumbled her way through the first few diaper changes, but with Danielle staring down the final weeks of her second month, Sloane considered herself an old pro at this.

Still cradling the baby, she moved to the rocker and sat down. A few quick adjustments and then she guided Danielle’s mouth to her breast. The hungry infant latched on and Sloane closed her eyes, her head on the padded back of the rocking chair.

Drowsy, she sat there rocking. Normally, she enjoyed the soft, quiet sounds of the night when she woke to feed the baby. But the peace she often found seemed to elude her.

Low murmurs drifted to her and she knew she wasn’t the only one awake.

Danielle drifted back to sleep and she gave herself another moment to cuddle before putting the baby down in her crib.

She didn’t go to her room, though, connected to the nursery by a long, skinny bathroom. Instead, she ducked outside and stood at the railing, staring down in the darkness of the first floor.