Chapter 9: Luis

As a male member of the Ramirez family, I have a patent disregard for women. It was nurtured from birth. Women are either sluts, or angels to be worshipped. There is no in-between. The sluts are for fucking, the angels for marrying. It's that simple in my world. Except it's not. Because some of the wives are smarter than their husbands, some are crazy, some are competitive and all of them want power. Even my mother, who had more of everything than most women.

She died in a car accident when I was eight. That was the story I was told back then. Now I know that my father had her killed. His angel became a slut. Tired of my father and his treatment of her, she thought to betray him. One beating too many was the story most often told, so she sought out his enemy, offered herself and her information. It worked for a while, but deception is not something that can be sustained. Too many lies, too easy to get caught with an inconsistency. Something forgotten.

Now it's my father's death that occupies my thoughts. I wonder how Arturo tracked us to the warehouse so quickly. It was minutes between our arrival, seconds after Manuel's execution when Arturo was suddenly looming over me. At the time, I was so happy to see him, so relieved that I didn't question anything. My men securing the place, Arturo securing Lena. The grief over the loss of my father. I don't suspect Arturo. He's a good man, loyal. My blood. But I have to ask him, I have to understand.

I'm thinking all of this as Lena finishes her shower. Taking too long. Maybe postponing the inevitable. I'm leaning against the wall next to the bathroom door so she can't see me until she exits. The water shuts off, I hear her drying herself. So quiet. But she doesn't immediately step out. I don't know what I'm going to do when she does.

I'm becoming invested in her for some fucking reason. She never fucked my father. As if I should care, but I do. I asked the question. She's smart, she'd know that it mattered. She could have lied about it, but I believe her. Lying about it wouldn't change anything, telling me she fucked my father wouldn't put me off her. But knowing that she didn't makes my lust for her more pronounced.

She steps out of the bathroom, gazes around, a flicker of confusion, then relief, then as she catches me in the corner of her eye, despair. She's got the towel wrapped around her body, holding it like it's a bullet-proof vest. But she's clean, her wet hair plastered against her neck and shoulders. A mass of tangled curls that speaks directly to my cock.

"I want to fuck you, Lena," I tell her boldly.

She stills, like a deer, like if she doesn't move, I'll forget she's there. I wonder what she'll do. Fight me, give in, or pretend to give in. Those are her options. If she fights me, she gets hurt. She has strong mental fortitude, can take a few hits and come back swinging, but she's weak. And smart, so I think she won't fight. It'll show her hand and I'll be able to easily overcome her.

If she opts to give in, then what? Nothing. I get an easy fuck. But option three. That's the one I think she'll decide on. She'll let me think she's not going to resist until I'm vulnerable, then she'll wreck me and run. I reach for her, so suddenly, she has no time to react. I slam her front first against the wall, twisting her head at the last minute so her face doesn't hit, holding her arms behind her back, high and tight, my hand secured tightly around her wrists. She grunts from the pain, tries to kick me, but I shove an elbow hard into her back, and she settles.

"Fuck, Luis!" She's seething and her anger fires through me.

"Yeah, Lena, that's what I like." I'm pressing her now, into the wall, kicking her feet open with mine, forcing her legs wide. "Keep talking dirty to me." I take my free hand and run it down her back, over her ass to her pussy. Seeking out her vulnerability. She's wet. Not a lot, but enough to provide some lube as I work her. I shove a finger into her, not gently.

"Fuck," she snarls again. She's responding to me. I feel her getting wetter, my fingers gliding easily into her snug cunt. I push another finger into her and she begins to struggle in earnest, desperate to get away.

"Stop fighting me," I growl into her ear.

I think she might be crying, but I can't be sure. My muscles are tense, my senses on high alert, ready to stop any attempt she might make to fight back. My thumb rakes her clit as I curl my fingers inside her. I know I've found her g-spot, because she jolts and gasps. I have her now. I bring my face closer to hers so I can see her. Her eyes are closed, her face is tense, tears trickling slowly down her cheeks. So sad, but so fucking beautiful.

I wonder when she was last fucked. I wonder if she's ever been fucked without violence. I thumb her clit harder as I wrestle with this thought, feel her getting wetter, feel her ass gyrating against my groin, making me harder. I wonder if she knows she's doing this. She can't fight me now because I'm taking her where she doesn't want to go, especially under my hand.

And then she screams, a low, breathless cry as her pussy contracts around my fingers, as she spasms. I milk it until her awareness comes back, until I feel her stiffen, until she starts struggling harder, heedless of her position, of the fact that I could break her arm with just a little more pressure.

"You fucking sonofabitch," she yells. She's angry, murderous, humiliated. It's glorious to see, the way her cool bravado falls away to reveal the passion beneath.

"Stop struggling, Lena." My voice is low, cool, contrasting with her yells of anger.

I don't let go even though she's wild now, stronger than I would have credited her. I wonder what the hell was in the toast she ate as I do everything I can to hang on to her. I have to keep her subdued, but I don't feel like strong-arming her right now. I want her last thought of me tonight to be how I made her come. She starts to tire, and I wait a minute, trying to judge whether she's playing me or if she's truly spent. I shift her around, still gripping her tight. The towel falls, but that's irrelevant. I have all the time in the world to peruse her body when she's come down from her rage, when she's in better shape.

I release her and step back, holding myself ready in case she attacks.

She spins around, her fiery gaze meeting mine, her lips twisted in anger. "Don't you ever fucking do that again," she spits.

"Or what, Lena? The way I see it, you got yours tonight. The next time I see you, it'll be my turn." I keep my eyes on her face as I reach down and gather up the towel, a potential noose, the empty plate, a potential knife. I leave the water jug, aware that I'm giving her a weapon, but she needs to be hydrated. The next time I come in, I'll make sure my gun is drawn. I don't turn my back on her as I walk out of the cell and slam the door shut.

"I hate you!" she shouts after me as I make my way upstairs.

I still have a raging erection, my balls are tight, but I am incongruently satisfied. Little bodyguard is hot, and she responds like a wet dream. She needs a good fucking, maybe calm her down. I take those thoughts to my bedroom, to my shower. Under the hot stream, I spit into my hand and grab my cock, jacking myself. It doesn't take long, with her image in my mind, moaning as I fuck her with my fingers, her ass thrusting back against my hand, the warm gush of fluid as her orgasm hits. Her anger, sweet anger, at me, at herself for succumbing. I feel the pressure rise up, my balls tighten, and it hits, my semen spurting out. This isn't the first time I've thought of her as I've jacked myself, but better this time than ever before. I've had the real thing in my arms and fuck, it was all I thought it would be and more. Soft, passionate, responsive.

After I've dried, I crawl naked into my bed. It's suddenly bigger and lonelier than it used to be. Built for two. My mind flits to Lena, then to my father. Grief wells up in me. I'm old enough, experienced enough to take the reins of the family business. Hell, I've already held most of the responsibility. But Manuel... he was solid, a rock. Cool and distant, but reliable, always there when I needed him. It's been three days now and I have to move on with the funeral. It'll be a big one, well attended. The killer might be there. Well, not the killer. He's buried so deep, no one will find him. But whoever ordered the execution.

I wonder what Lena thinks, then want to kick myself for thinking that. A fucking woman. But not just any woman. Beautiful, lethal, smart. Did I make her hate me more tonight? Or respect me? She got the better end of the deal, but I don't think she'll see it that way. Sleep is a long time coming. I keep wanting to go to her. Maybe to fuck her, maybe to talk to her. Maybe to give her some clothes, invite her upstairs to help me plan my revenge.

Lena would be utterly stunning, painted red, the blood of my enemies splattered across that glorious body.