“Food?” Jacinta smoothed the pocket with the pills.
“Sim. The master hosts a banquet to celebrate your arrival.”
“Many guests?”
How many people? Who were they? Other drug lords?
“A dozen including the master, Senhora Tia, and two of his men. I must call her now, senhora. I have told you all I can.”
Jacinta clasped the woman’s hand to her cheek. “I will pray for the safety of your children and you. Go with God, Paola. And I thank you from my heart’s bottom.”
When Paola left, Jacinta kept busy. She folded the rest of the dresses and set them into a neat pile at the foot of the chair. Then she sat, arranging her position so that the folded garments shielded her boots should they peek out. She tugged at the skirt, pulling it down so the hem hit the rug on the floor, and sat, spine straight, hands resting loosely in her lap.
She hadn’t allowed her mind to wander, had forced all thought of Demon away, but the strain had become too much. Where was he? Had the men captured him too? No. Not possible. She had seen and heard only one boat. What of Satan? And all the other men? Lucia and Fredo?
A pulse in her temple throbbed.
The door opened. She leveled her chin, glanced up, and met her uncle’s piercing stare. Her insides shriveled.
“
Buenas noches
, Jacinta. It is my most decided pleasure to meet you. Had I known of your existence earlier, you would have been in my care immediately.” He smiled, and his perfect, even, snow-white teeth sparkled under the fluorescent stream of light flowing from the long, steel-encased bulb above the door.
Jacinta shuddered. And understood in that moment why the three words, the Smiling Killer, struck terror in the hearts of others.
Chapter Thirteen
Demon focused on the pristine white china plate in front of him. He’d wrestled his fury into a knotted ball coiled tight and low in his belly. It had been years since someone had managed to ambush him, but since landing here two different men had. His jaw ached, and he sported several blossoming bruises around his rib cage, shoulders, and back.
Pedro’d outdone himself.
He’d managed to assemble every enemy of his that still walked the planet for a fucking dinner. Demon’d been barely able to contain his shock at the assembled guests. Coming face-to-face with Emilio had tested Demon’s control of his inner rage. That the fucker was pale, injured, and present as a prisoner hadn’t tempered Demon’s wrath one whit.
Jose and Elvira Genro; Rafael Vilas; Pedro’s lieutenants, Hugo and Brio; and two nuns, one of whom must be Sister Helen—the younger one with the freckles, Demon guessed. The red-haired woman the maid called Señora Tia sitting across from him struck him as a vicious people-hating bitch, but she wouldn’t prove a threat if she downed a couple more glasses of champagne.
Demon kept his eyes on the porcelain even though he heard footsteps, even though the hairs standing at attention on his forearms told him that Pedro’d entered the dining room, even after that outdoorsy scent unique to Jacinta hit his nose. He had no weapons on him. Hugo and Brio had stripped him before their introductory beating. Then they’d thrown him the jeans and T-shirt he now wore.
He was barefoot, unarmed, and guarded by five mercenaries sporting multiple firepower: Uzis, pistols, daggers. One even had a machete strapped to his thigh.
How to even the staggering odds?
“A toast.”
Demon glanced at Pedro and had to grab the table’s edge.
Fucking shit.
What the hell is Jacinta wearing? Or not fucking wearing
. That halter top belonged in a bedroom. His bedroom. Her areolae were clearly visible, peeking out in mouthwatering temptation from the sides and top of a stupid blouse and shining like glowing chocolate circles through the thin ivory fabric.
Pedro had an arm around her waist.
Jacinta stood stiff in his embrace, her fear and discomfort evident by the tight set of her mouth, the one hand bunched into a tight fist, and the beads of sweat on her forehead. She flinched when he stroked her side.
Demon gritted his teeth when Pedro’s fingers lingered on the underside of her breasts. He grabbed the only cutlery surrounding the plate in front of him when Pedro cupped his palm around her breast—a blasted teaspoon—and took a deep inhale.
The second he met Pedro’s gaze, Demon’s contained anger went from simmer to boiling. When he spied Pedro’s arousal, a cold fury replaced the heat of his temper, and Pedro’s life became forfeit in that instant.
And a whole bunch of lightbulbs went off in a blinding mental illumination that had him reeling. Striving for control, Demon slanted surreptitious glances at Elvira, Emilio, and Jose, then stared at Pedro.
The fucker smiled. His dentally enhanced, perfect teeth white, even, and doomed to be plucked from his mouth, one tooth at a time. It was the same smile that he’d worn when the orphanage burned.
Full circle.
Demon let go of the spoon, and his gaze strayed to the stout woman entering the room. She carried a tray bearing twelve flutes. Champagne. He followed the tiny bubbles in one crystal glass before sliding a glance at the open window opposite.
A quick assessment of the view revealed a wooden jetty illuminated by two lanterns on either end. Curls of cigarette smoke from the three hulking warriors conversing on the porch drifted in on a slight breeze. Another surreptitious look to the left showed the men were armed but relaxed and carried their machine guns loosely.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spied a shadowy form moving along the river’s edge. Seconds later the form crept in the direction of the first lantern.
Satan?
He couldn’t count on that. What he needed now was a big-time diversion.
The redhead opposite, Tia, spewed a string of foul curses and fixed her gaze on Pedro’s hand cupping Jacinta’s breast. Her hand curled around the knife to the right of the china plate.
She picked up the champagne flute and downed the liquid in one go. Nostrils flaring, Tia flung the crystal at the opposite wall.
Demon ducked and repressed a grin. His diversion. Risking a quick look, he took in her anger, obvious inebriation, and venom-filled hate in seconds. A little prodding would go a long way.
“Looks like o Assassino Sorridente has your replacement ready for fucking.” He kept his voice low.
But Tia heard him and reacted quicker than Demon expected, considering her lack of sobriety.
She leaped to her feet. Shoved the chair aside. Plucked the knife from the table and threw it. “She’s a fat bitch. A fucking nun!”
“Jump left, Jacinta! Now!” Demon held his breath, gripped the table, and tensed every muscle.
The serrated steak knife flew straight and accurate, heading right for Jacinta’s heart.
Jacinta did one better than jump. She ducked.
Pedro stumbled to one side.
The knife landed in the wood panel right behind where Pedro’d been standing not three seconds before.
For a moment no one reacted, save Demon.
He dived backward, kicked the chair high and right, and tackled the mercenary behind him.
The chaos Demon counted on erupted. Shouts, screams, bellows. The chair acted as a weapon, raking cutlery and crystal in wide arcs.
The mercenary had been well trained.
Demon caught him around the thighs and took him down.
The soldier jammed his Uzi into Demon’s temple.
He grabbed for the weapon’s barrel, anticipating a shot in the head.
Two fuckers jumped on his back.
He fought like the demon he was, but when the two other fuckers joined their comrades, he let them subdue him. It had been worth a try, but Demon hadn’t expected more than a disruption of Pedro’s carefully staged dinner. The Pedro he remembered would be riding the edge of his temper now.
Two mercenaries held guns to Demon’s jaw. Blood dripped from a wound on his temple. Demon grinned when he glimpsed Pedro.
No longer smiling. No longer holding Jacinta.
Demon met her gaze. “You holding up, kitten?”
A tremulous smile crept across her beautiful lips. “I am holding up perfect now that I know you’re here. From my heart’s bottom, I love you, Demon mina.”
“Fucking bitch.” Emilio shot Demon a sneer. “I should’ve cut off your cock instead of letting you fuck her.”
“Love you right back, Jacinta.” The occupants of the room faded for that moment they stared into each other’s eyes.
“You. Fucked. My. Daughter.” Pedro hissed each word. His black eyes held the glint of insanity.
“Daughter?” Jacinta had lost all color. Her eyes ate up her face. “No. No. No.”
“Jacinta, remember your training!” the freckled nun shouted.
For a second, Jacinta didn’t react; then she bent over and came back up with the compact derringer in her hand. Aimed the gun right at Pedro’s heart.
Behind Jacinta, the mercenaries on the other side of the room raised their Uzis and aimed at her head.
“I had not planned to kill you for some time, daughter.”
Pedro’s deep voice masked the faint tinkle of glass breaking. Demon shot a quick glance at the window. The jetty lights were out.
The whole operation went down like it had been planned and rehearsed forever.
Demon couldn’t have executed it better.
The electricity died. The lights went out. A flurry of flash bangs and stings exploded in the room. Demon’d expected the pounding noise and the blinding lights. He dived under the tablecloth, dragging cutlery and plates and glasses with him, compounding the utter chaos that would’ve sent everyone into dazed disorientation. He crawled across the diagonal, jumped out from under the table, and downed Jacinta to the floor with his weight. He spread out and covered her head to toe, knowing Satan and his men would be flooding the room with more flash bangs and stings.
A dense spray of tiny rubber balls exploded throughout the room. Ignoring the screams, the staccato spray of the Uzis, the smoke, the blinding flashes, and the thundering pops designed to disorient senses and impair vision, he spoke in a quick burst, “Tear gas next. Close your eyes and hold your breath.”
He dug his toes into the floor and rolled them under a sideboard. The distinctive sound of blank-firing impact grenades detonating changed his defensive position a tad. He curled tighter around Jacinta, forcing her into a fetal position against the wall, and shielded the woman he loved with his entire body.
The second he heard Satan give the order to clear the room, Demon crawl-walked to the doorway with Jacinta tucked under one arm. He bounded to his feet, tossed her over his shoulder, and ran for the jetty, knowing Satan would’ve secured the area before attacking. He spied Xavier seated in one of five LCACs floating on either side of the pier, and grinned like a fool.
Where in fuck Satan had scrounged up five SEAL Landing Craft Air Cushions? He scanned the armed-and-loaded-to-the-max crafts. Enough weapons, flash bangs, stingers, and BFIGs to take down a small country. Sliding Jacinta down his body, he gave her a quick once-over and asked, “Any injuries?”
She stared at him, her eyes glazed.
He recognized her shock, checked her quickly, found no open wounds or scratches, and noted no flinches or winces. He signaled Xavier. “Toss me a blanket.”
LCACs were always stocked with waterproof blankets.
Xavier waved his hands in a where-do-I-find-one motion.
“It’ll be in the far starboard compartment.” Demon turned his attention back to Jacinta. “Listen to me, kitten. You’re in shock. I need to get back into action. I’m leaving you here with Xavier.”
Xavier, good man that he was, had hopped onto the jetty and handed Demon the blanket.
Demon accepted the warm cloth, wrapped Jacinta in it the way he would a swaddled baby, and lifted her into Xavier’s arms. He kissed her temple. “I’ll be back in a flash.”
He wouldn’t, but for the next while, time wouldn’t matter to her, not until the shock wore off. Demon sprinted to the house. Screeched to a halt on the balcony. His feet squeaked on the wooden floor, and he bent down to grab the Uzi lying next to a downed tango. Nothing gave a SEAL a warm-and-fuzzy like a rapid-fire weapon tucked and primed for action.
Smoke poured out of the entrance to the house. The lights came back on. Demon edged to the open window on the porch and peered inside. A cloud of smoke shrouded the room. Not a single movement. Empty. The room had been trashed. The dining table was broken, and cutlery and shattered china shards lay everywhere. Dense rubber balls once packed into the center of a dozen or more stings carpeted the wooden floor.
He edged to the doorway, peeked in, and relaxed his search-and-ready stance when he spotted Satan talking to one of his men at the foot of the stairs.
“All clear.” Satan waved him inside. “The Genros and Vilas are on their way back home. Nuns, Emilo, and the she-cat redhead are in holding. Brio and Julio are dead, and so are the rest of Pedro’s men. I left Nunez for you.”
“Did you hear what he said?” Demon should’ve been swamped with satisfaction, should’ve been elated, should’ve been filled with the jubilation that always followed a successful mission. Instead bitterness coiled his guts and dread had his throat scratchy and dry.
“Yeah. It’s going to be rough for her.”
“She’s in shock. I left her with Xavier. I figured it out moments before the smug fucker announced it to everyone. He screwed his sister.” Demon scuffed his hair.
“The nun knew. The one with the freckles. I watched her expression before we launched. You might want to spend some time with her. What do you want to do with the rest? We have all the others save Pedro and Emilio holding in separate rooms off the kitchen.”
“I need to get Jacinta out of here. I want to send her back to the resort with the nuns, but I have to debrief Sister Helen first. Pedro can wait.” Demon had a hunch that the nun wouldn’t be cooperative.
“She’s in a small room off the kitchen. Good luck. She fought being separated from the other nun like a tiger. Not a happy camper. Impressive right hook.” Satan fingered his swollen lip.
“Send a couple of guys to the boat. Once the shock wears off, Jacinta’s not going to be easy to contain.”