Fever by Autumn Archer

14

Five years ago

“I want you to meet someone.”

“Oh yeah?”

“A guy.” My sister twists a lock of hair threaded with sunny highlights.

“What fucking guy? You’re seeing someone?” My voice strains an octave higher with surprise.

She pouts, idling up beside me. “Stop it, Dante. I knew you’d overreact. Look, he’s a good guy, and he wants to meet the main man in my life.”

“Fuck, Gabriela, it’s my job to keep you safe. How the hell can I do that if you’re seeing guys behind my back.”

“You’re my brother. That doesn’t mean you have to be a cock blocker.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I’ll pretend you didn’t say that. Who is he?”

Her beautiful face lights up, and silver-blue eyes twinkle. “He’s called Miguel.” She practically sighs out the loser's name as she sits.

“How long has this been going on—without my consent?”

She giggles, and I smile at the sound. My little sister's laugh is infectious. It’s been just the two of us since our parents were gunned down in a shootout. Wrong place. Wrong time. I’ve more or less raised her, which is probably why she’s my only priority. Gabriela has a thriving future ahead of her. Where I focused on bringing in the money, she studied hard for a decent education. As my business has grown financially, I’ve had the pleasure of funding her new venture—a flower shop that opened a few months ago. I've never been prouder of anyone or anything in my life.

We’ve struggled for years. Lived in the favelas. Foraged for basic rations. Now we live in a modest home surrounded by middle-class workers, lying low until I’m able to move us the fuck out of Rio.

One day she’ll start living her life without my interference. Until then, I’m the guy to steer her down the right path and apparently cock block her boyfriends.

“Oh, that doesn’t matter.”

“How long?” I narrow my eyes with suspicion.

“Six weeks.”

“Six fucking weeks?” I growl.

“You’re like a big moody parrot with ruffled feathers. I wouldn’t bring just any guy home. I’ve held off until I knew for sure.”

“Knew what for sure?”

“That you’d like him, silly. He’s gorgeous and charming, but most of all, he’s dying to meet you. So how about I invite him over for dinner this week?”

My head shakes. “No way. He’s not coming here. This is our home. It’s private. I don’t want a stranger sniffing about my office or my sister.”

Gabriela jumps up, her floral dress swooshes as her foot stomps. “Dante, that’s not fair. How come Maria can waltz in and out whenever you want a blow job. And don't pretend you guys only hug. I have ears, you know.”

She has a valid point. At the start, I kept Maria on the periphery of my life. Over the last few weeks, she’s shimmied her tight ass and bouncy tits into my space. It’s not love, far from it. The woman likes to fuck, and I’m happy to give it to her, my way. Our temporary arrangement works for now. I’m really strict about my personal space. No one, except Gabriela, gains access to my office. There’s confidential information and too many hints to reveal my financial talents. I clean money for the smaller cartels. Covertly moving cash from A to B and creaming a chunk off the top for my professional discretion. I’m a cyber magician.

“Sorry.” I grab her hand and kiss her knuckles. “I’ll put an end to the overnight visits. She followed me home one night and stripped at the front door. What could I say?”

“Ugh! Dante. Too much.” Her lashes flutter slowly, purposefully. “So . . . can I bring him home to meet my loving, overprotective, darling brother, please?” She presses her palms together in a prayer position and smiles sweetly. “I bet you guys will be best friends by the end of the evening.”

In reality, I’d do anything for her. If this makes her happy, then I'll back down. It’s not my intention to trap my sister or force her into a life of celibacy. “And if I think he’s an asshole?”

“Then I’ll break his heart and walk away. I promise.”

* * *

Present Day

There’sa bottled ruckus inside of me—a tempest squall absorbing volts of lightning and earth-quaking thunderclaps. Savage energy refusing confinement. The sensual woman with supple skin whiter than delicate orchids and onyx eyes so dark and deceiving has unleashed a violent turmoil.

Under the influence of my truth cocktail, she shared a secret. A wicked revelation. An admission that tipped my balance of decorum.

Iris admitted an inner craving so wrong. So fucking unbelievable. She senses the insane connection pulsating between us. An unwarranted desire for her unworthy keeper. Her dirty little truth flipped the switch of no return. The hours I spent observing my caged beija flor only fueled a kindling fire. But hearing that sexy brogue weave around such a confession. Fuck, she basically led me out of the shadows, helped me to shirk off my disturbed stalker fantasy, and granted access to ravage and devastate her body. I was privy to important knowledge. And I drugged her. Mentally forcing her to slip from her podium of mystery.

I attempted to destroy the scrap of temptation festering like a disease. Tasting her was agonizingly erotic. Silky flesh, heat, and a sacred flavor of forbidden. Yet the magnified delirium of tight inner walls sucking in my fingers––fuck. It's been too long. In fact, that level of intensity has never been felt. The compelling need to ram my dick inside was a battle I wasn’t prepared to fight against, and nonetheless, I won the war. As the serum filtered through her blood and ushered her into a slumber, I rolled off her sleepy, warm body and fisted my dick instead.

That’s not what I set out to do. The plan was to discover answers, to hunt the truth once and for all. Not compromise my composure and offer a part of myself, when there is nothing left to give.

While she dreamt of life outside of the Amazon, I sank into her bed without a glass wall, without a disguise, and without a degree of discretion. She was oblivious to my cataclysmic release and how fucking perplexing it felt at the time. With her scent clinging to my nostrils and undulating dips of pearly skin all within reach––it overwhelmed me with a notion to lock her away forever.

The contempt she harbors for me will never expire. There's not a chance in hell the woman will forgive me for creeping into her mind, nor will she forget how I worshipped her body before she passed out. I lay on my back while she slept, mulling over this unusual predicament of mine until the pastel pink flush from an orgasm deserted her cheeks. Kissing her wasn’t an option when all I was trying to do was scratch the itch. To draw a line in the sand. Crimson lips murmured as she slipped deeper into an illusion of freedom. The mending gash spoiling her tender skin, still red and raw, appeared tight and uncomfortable. There was a vulnerability in her silence. A notch of trust.

“Jackson,” I bark into the walkie-talkie. “Is everything arranged? When will you operate?”

His posh voice begins with a cough. “Yeah. He’s asked for a lot of facial reconstruction. I’m taking my time with this guy. I should get him done in one go. If I don’t, I’ll complete everything by the end of this week.”

“Fine. I’ve got a few questions to ask him. Call me when you’ve administered the truth serum.”

The drug that rapes the psyche. To tease out classified information. It was a last resort for Iris. I’d already uncovered her birth town, calculated her age as twenty-three. I knew what University she graduated from and what her parents do for a living. Plus, I found out her kid sister won an award for transforming waste plastic into rainwater storage. There was zero intel to brand the late Iris Kitson as a traitor.

“What did this guy do to end up in the oasis?” Jackson asks, knowing I selected him for a particular reason.

“He’s on the run from the cartel for skimming grams of cocaine from the outward shipments for personal use. And he beat up a whore and left her for dead. The fucker messed her face up so badly that she can’t work. She has a young kid to feed.”

Jackson mutters under his breath, “And you're giving him a second chance?”

“I’m using the asshole.”

“Do you think he knows Miguel?”

My palms fist at the sound of that name. “He knows him all right. And I’ll extract every detail. This will be the last nail in Miguel’s coffin before I put a bounty on his head. I might even do it myself just to see the shock on his smug, murdering face. Maria is an open book. All the intelligence I have on her is straightforward. A poor woman from the favelas with no way to escape. Even if she was doing it for the money, the bitch knew all along she was betraying me. It was her choice to get involved with those men and weave herself into my life.” A flash of her false smile stings my chest. I fucking hate her. “Low-lifes like Miguel are the puppets. I want the puppeteer. I’ll finally be able to trace the fucker who ratted me out.”

“And the whore he beat up? I’m guessing you’ve already taken care of her.”

I shrug. “Yeah. I’ll fly her in when all this is over. You can fix her broken nose and reset her jaw. They’re in a safe house outside of Rio.”

“Fuck, I hate this guy.”

“Easy, Jackson. You know I need this asshole alive. Once our guest returns to the city, I’ll monitor his new life. If any shady shit goes down, I’ll press delete. He’ll be on the streets in seconds. A worthless nobody. Destitute and desperate.” And if I feel like it, I’ll put a price tag on his head too.

“What about your Scottish guest? How’s that working out for you?” Jackson smirks.

Beija flor.“I’ve tasked Sal to manage her. She’s still a threat. The woman will run to the feds at any opportunity.”

“What do you expect when you wiped out her life?”

A tidal wave of guilt crushes into my lungs. My paranoia took over. I was protecting myself against frauds and murderers. It was essential to discover the truth. And now that I’ve tasted intimacy with this woman, I’ll never grant her permission to leave.