Come Fill Me (The Prophecy) (7 page)

“Are you?” His expression hardened. “I told you, your father’s safe. If you want to see him again, then get inside the damn van before I throw you in there.”

She wanted to argue, to question him as to where he had her father, how his men had rescued him. A spurt of approaching gunfire changed her mind on that. Liz scooted over the rough carpeting to the side facing the weapons. Sleek and deadly, their metal parts gleamed in the scant light.

Once inside, Zeke shut the doors, locking them. The vehicle’s motor rumbled to life, its tires swishing over the drive, taking them from the mansion’s lights. Given the van’s small windows, the moon’s glow did little to alleviate the darkness within.

Not yet adjusted to the gloom, Liz could no longer clearly see Zeke. However, she remained all too aware of his presence. Heat radiated from his big body. His skin smelled of sex. She heard his quiet respirations and then his sharp intake of breath.

“What happened?” she blurted, blinking rapidly in a futile attempt to see. Had he taken a bullet at the mansion that she hadn’t noticed? “Are you in pain?”

“Fuck yeah. Don’t you recall clawing me?”

He was whining about that when three bullets to his chest hadn’t gotten a rise out of him? Leaning back, Liz stated the obvious. “I wanted you to let me go.”

He breathed heavily again. “Not a chance.”

An internal alarm went off at the change in his voice. From a tone thick with aggravation to one laced with purpose and arousal. The van made a quick right. Liz dug her nails into the carpeting, then glanced at the moon spilling through the back windows, casting the interior in its silvery glow. When they stayed on this course and the light remained, she regarded Zeke.

He sat with one leg outstretched—his toes no more than an inch from her calf—his other leg bent at the knee, his forearm draped over it. He didn’t bother to cover his balls or cock that still glistened with come. He stared at her nudity, his expression unrepentant.

Liz’s nipples puckered, tightening to a point where they began to hurt.

As though Zeke approved of her response to his ruthless masculinity, he offered a smug smile.

Arrogant SOB. Resisting the urge to cover herself, Liz remained as she was. Her breasts quivered with each bounce of the van. Her parted legs revealed her cunt, damp with his ejaculate and her previous excitement.

He studied that part of her the longest.

She managed to speak without passion. “Where’s my father?”

Zeke perused her body at his leisure and with a right that said she now belonged to him.

“Safe.”

He sounded like Carreon, doling out cryptic answers that revealed nothing. Screw that shit. She wasn’t going to be put off that easily any longer. “Where, dammit?”

He ignored her.

She saw red—boiling, brutal red. Curling her fingers, Liz hurled herself at him, ready to draw blood.

“Oh no, you don’t.” He caught her wrists, using his hold to turn her around and trap her against him.

“Let go of me,” she snapped.

His grip tightened. Not enough to harm but to let her know he wasn’t about to give her what she wanted.

Liz rammed her back into his chest.

Muttering an oath, he wrapped her arms around her torso, confining her further. Liz slammed her heels into his shins. He didn’t budge. She dug her elbows into whatever part of him she could reach until she was breathless.

As she sucked in air, Zeke pressed his mouth to her ear. “Stop fighting me, or I’ll give you a fucking spanking you’ll never forget.”

“Not if I kick you in the balls first.”

He inhaled deeply, tempering his anger as he spoke. “Your father’s safe. No one’s going to hurt him. I give you my word on that.”

“Your word means nothing.”

“I’m not Carreon.”

“No, you’re worse.”

He released his breath in what sounded like a pissed sigh, then kissed her cheek.

Startled at his unexpected gentleness, Liz turned her face from him. “Stop it. I don’t want you touching me.”

“You did at Carreon’s mansion.” He brushed his lips over her shoulder, then again settled his mouth on her ear, his breath tickling it. “Don’t deny it. I saw what was in your eyes. I felt your body’s response.”

“Like hell,” she lied. “I—”

Her words stopped as Zeke released one of her hands and cupped her mound, his fingers dipping over its edge to touch her moist vaginal lips and erect clit.

He flicked the small nub with his thumb. On a wanting gasp, Liz lifted her buttocks.

“You want this,” he murmured.

No. She didn’t…couldn’t. He was the enemy. No better than Carreon. In time, Zeke would prove to be as brutal. She shook her head, her hair swishing over his chest.

He stroked her again. A surge of pleasure dashed from her pussy to her belly. He whispered, “Admit it.”

Liz bit back a whimper and spoke through her teeth. “Let me go.”

“No.”

“Damn you.” She closed her legs so he couldn’t continue.

Unfazed, he brought his hand to his face, inhaling deeply of her scent mingled with his.

Liz panted out her words. “If my father’s safe, then where is he? If you’re not going to kill me, then where are we going?”

His chest quivered as he spoke. “In time, you’ll see.”

“See what?” she argued, trying to pull away. His embrace tightened, not allowing it. Liz snapped, “Are you going to ransom me to Carreon? Is that it? Do you think he’d pay to get me back?”

“With money? No.”

His answer was so blunt, Liz stopped struggling and looked over. Moonlight played on the sharp angles of his face, his sable eyes glinting with it. “Then what? He has one of your men?” she asked. “You intend to trade me for him?”

Not giving him a chance to confirm or deny, she continued, “That’s why you were headed to my office. You intended to kidnap me all along so you could trade me for him.”

He studied her for a long moment as though buying time to frame his answer. “I have no intention of trading you for anyone or anything, Liz. It’s you I wanted and sought all along.”

“What?”

His lips curled up in a wolfish smile. “Not for me, though I might have changed my mind on that.”

Alarm returned, mingled with too much wayward lust. “What?”

“I came for you because of my brother Jacob.” Zeke pressed his face into her hair and inhaled deeply. “He’s the only family I have left. Carreon’s men attacked him tonight. You’re going to heal him.”

Chapter Four

While the battle played out, Carreon waited in a room hidden within the stronghold’s bowels. The area was reachable through a series of corridors, accessible only to those he summoned.

It was within this space that he’d trapped his father, who’d been foolish enough to let down his guard. At the sound of his son’s footfalls that night, the older man had lifted his head from the breast of a woman who was decades younger. Her areola was cocoa-colored, tight, glistening from his tongue. His other mistress, equally youthful, had been behind him at the time, sucking his neck, her tapered nails stroking his cock.

Carreon recalled his father’s look of irritation at the interruption of pleasure. His expression soon turned to confusion and finally shock at the men who rushed inside. His final transformation to pure fear took no more than a few seconds. By then, it was over. The ceilings and walls sprayed with blood, the stink of gunpowder masking the women’s delicate perfumes and the odor of sex, the weapons’ reports still ringing in Carreon’s ears.

The stench of death and merciless noise disturbed him, but he’d waited to leave, making certain his father was beyond healing, which left him to rule the clan. He was the oldest son. His male siblings, all products of different mothers, had gone into hiding upon hearing what happened. They knew what their fate would be if they remained.

They’d learned that night what his father had not. Never trust family, especially a son who wanted it all for himself—his clan’s territory and Neekoma’s, along with the man’s ability to see the future. What riches and power that would bring when nurtured in the right hands.

A matter Carreon couldn’t dwell on right now.

Tonight’s gunfire had stopped minutes before, the shouting and moans turning to an uneasy quiet.

In no hurry to investigate, Carreon remained in front of the fireplace, its conical shape Southwestern in design, its beige façade flawless, the blood washed away, the bullet holes patched and painted, the air sweetened by lush plants and flowers that graced the arched niches or flowed down elevated platforms that were nearly as high as the ceiling. Over the door hung a monitor, its power source independent of the rest of the security system, the camera showing him what was on the other side.

Minutes before, he’d used a two-way radio to summon his men. Three of them now came down the brightly lit hall, their strides purposeful, obedient to his wishes.

“Remove your weapons,” Carreon ordered.

The youngest of the trio, Willy, jerked slightly even though he held no rifle or pistol. He glanced around as though to see where his boss’s voice had come from. The other two men lowered their submachine guns to the floor, after which they removed the spare Glocks they carried in their waistbands and around their ankles. The metal detector and full-body scanner prior to the door assured no one entered the safe room armed in any way. A matter Carreon had seen to after his father’s death.

Once the men had straightened, he regarded them. Thomas, the one on the left, was brawny from bodybuilding, his gray shirt and thick neck spattered with blood. Dark splotches also stained Hector’s clothes that draped his lean, muscled frame. He and Thomas looked straight ahead at the door, not at the camera. Willy shifted from foot to foot, much as a little boy would when he has to pee or as a man does when he has something to fear.

His shirt and slacks bore no trace of blood. They were too pristine.

Carreon pressed a button on the control panel to his side. With a muffled whoosh, the reinforced steel door opened. Hector and Thomas stepped in first, followed by Willy. Carreon pressed another button. Willy glanced over as the door closed on its own, the sound of its harsh metal lock reverberating through the room.

“Why haven’t you brought me Neekoma’s men?” Carreon asked.

At his mild tone, Willy stared, bewilderment and dread obvious on his twentysomething face.

Carreon ignored the man, concentrating on the others. “Did you let them escape as Neekoma did?”

“We captured one,” Thomas offered. The room’s subdued lighting sparkled off the sweat glistening on his forehead and upper lip. His rich complexion was darker than usual, blood rushing to his face. He was a trusted lieutenant, firing upon Carreon’s father as ordered, not questioning the assassination in the least.

“One,” Carreon repeated.

Again, Willy shifted his weight. Thomas and Hector seemed incapable of movement, their attention remaining on Carreon’s face, not his hands still at his sides, posing no danger.

“What of the others?” he asked.

Hector frowned. “The fucking cowards ran into the desert. Our men followed but lost sight of them. It’s as though they vanished.”

Or more likely escaped into a tunnel. One of a vast network Carreon sensed Zeke’s people had constructed to hide where they’d built their stronghold, keeping their clan safe from attack.

“Where’s the man you caught?” Carreon asked. Without him, he had no hope of finding where Zeke was hiding or where he’d taken Liz. From within the walls, Carreon had listened to her fighting Zeke, trying to get free. “Why didn’t you bring him in here?” He reached inside his silk jacket.

Thomas’s wiry brows lifted slightly in what seemed to be alarm or dismay as though he knew Carreon was going for his weapon. However, he made no other move, even forgetting to breathe. Flight at this point was useless.

Carreon pulled out a linen handkerchief, wiping his hands with it.

Hector let out an audible sigh, then blurted, “When we cornered him, he refused to put down his gun.”

“Before we could stop him, he used it on himself,” Thomas said.

Carreon balled the handkerchief in his fist. So, the man had sacrificed his life rather than face torture, the possibility of revealing the location of his clan’s stronghold, its weaknesses. Did he or anyone else honestly believe that would stop Carreon from capturing Zeke again, after which he’d force him to divulge what the future held? Of course, that should have happened already, shouldn’t it?

He fought the urge to drive his fist through the wall or bury it in each of these men’s guts and listen to their startled huffs, appeased by their groans. “How many men did I lose tonight—those that can’t be healed?”

Hector and Thomas exchanged a glance. Willy shrank back, leaving them to come up with an answer.

“Ten,” Hector said.

A growl rose to the base of Carreon’s throat. He pushed it back. Even one loss would have been far too many, and all because Zeke’s men had outwitted them. They’d discovered the stronghold simply by following Carreon’s lieutenants when they’d brought Zeke here.