Bound: The Pentagon Group, Book 3 (11 page)

“I’m Manuel Sr., he said. “This is Oscar.” His companion was a younger man, but older than me. They refused to shake my hand because of the debris they’d been picking up along the beach. “My wife is Margarita. If you need anything fixed, I am at your service,” he said with a slight bow. “We will be on our way, and return to our work.” I smiled at them and bid them a good day.

I couldn’t understand how Brady liked this quiet. The beach was vacant, which in my opinion was contrary to the purpose of beach going. I enjoyed the liveliness of the beach goers; playing games, sun bathing, walking and talking as they scoured for beautiful people of the opposite sex; listening to several different songs coming from all angles of a very sandy towel. I stood up from my chair and walked toward the surf. I took off my sandals and left them on the dry sand, walking toward the water to dip my feet. The water was very warm. Lifting the skirt of my dress, I waded further in, tucking my toes in the sand. I had a momentary delusion, thinking I could just swim to Matt. The nonsensical thoughts were overwhelming. All I could think about was my misfortune when I had a rich life with Matt ahead of me.

The sound of my cellphone awoke me from my restless sleep. I felt like I had been to hell and back. Everything hurt, mostly my heart. I had an uneasy feeling all night, which agitated me to awaken periodically. I’d stir, feeling for her presence beside me, only to find she wasn’t there and hadn’t returned. I turned my wedding ring around my finger during my thoughts of her, recalling minor memories. I needed to find a connection to her kidnapping: something she said; a person she encountered; an enemy; or even a lover. I didn’t want to think there was someone out there who would take her from me for his own personal sexual gratification. The only person who kept popping up was Brady.

There was little information about who took Perla. Brady’s whereabouts were equally as mysterious. The only thing the team knew from the video was Perla didn’t put up a struggle. Once I saw the tape, I was able to determine the man she left with was Eric Pierce. Despite meeting him once, I could tell from his physical build in relation to Perla and the slight profile shot, which answered the unanswered question. Eric’s stance was uncomfortably close to her body, and I couldn’t help but tremor in anger.

The team planned to investigate him.

“Yeah,” I answered without reviewing who was calling.

“I have news,” Zipper started.

“Why do you have news?”

I expected my team to call me the moment they found something.

“They thought it was best for me to break this to you considering your inability to keep a cool head when your emotions are in the way.”

“Fuck you. She’s my wife.”

“We all know that, especially with you throwing it around every single time you hear something you don’t agree with.”

“Get to it,” I ordered.

“Eric Pierce, doesn’t exist.”

“What?” I sat up.

“We had to give authorization to review employee records, and his personnel record was completely erased. No information remained. The Network Investigators have searched every nook and cranny of the Pentagon computer system. If this guy is indeed a tech guy, he has scrubbed every presence of himself on the network. They can’t even find him on the internet. We don’t think he works alone. He may be financed by or finances a network of similarly skilled technicians to keep his identity secret,” he concluded. I digested all the information.

“Do we have any idea who he’s working with or for?”

“Nothing. There’s no trace of him,” he determined.

“So I’m to spend another day without any information of her whereabouts,” I concluded hopelessly.

“What about Brady?”

“We don’t know where he is?”

“Could he be in cahoots with Pierce—whatever his name is?”

“Matt, you’re picking at straws,” he said, exasperated.

“It’s great you still have faith in him, but I’m not so trusting.”

“The team is going to continue working through the connections. We’ll find the guy. It will take a while, but no one is stopping until we get her back.”

I wasn’t convinced.

“What if she’s dead by the time they figure out what happened?” I choked back. He sighed, pausing to compose his soothing words.

“Let’s make sure that doesn’t happen. I’ll check in a little later in the morning,” he said.

My answer was a one word grunt and we hung up.

I turned to look at her empty side of the bed, caressing her pillow, which remained untouched. I longed for a time when I would wake up in the middle of the night and pull her to me. She was so pliable and responsive. It took just a few rubs, squeezes, and tugs to awaken her desire for me. She’d whine and moan into my touch, straddling between sleep and wakefulness.

I pulled her pillow toward me, hugging it as I inhaled her shampoo and light scent of pheromones, which lingered in the fabric. Her essence embedded in my senses. The feel of her body as it writhed in front of me. Her sweet and musky smell invaded my mind. The low sound of her moans echoed as I fingered her sweet, wet pussy. I loved watching her face contort as I licked and suckled her nipple. The taste of her saliva as I’d silence her cries with a fervent, deep kiss. I salivated just thinking of her taste and smell.

Perla was always ready for me, and I couldn’t contain the need to enter her. I’d slip her panties to the side, and lift her thigh slightly to glide into her from behind. Draping her thigh over mine, I’d pump every inch I could within her. Slowly adjusting myself within until I was slickened enough to go faster . . . deeper . . . harder.

After pressing her body into me, I wouldn’t know where to touch, pinch, or rub her most into orgasm. Everything I did was well received with her cries and moans, making me remain in the spot until she reached satisfaction. She loved my playing with her clit, rubbing until she’d try to stop me. To prevent the friction, she’d try to close her legs. I’d part her legs with my stronger leg, holding them wide apart as I went deeper and faster. The only time I’d slow my movements was to hear her beg. Whenever I heard her say, ‘please, babe,’ I’d grin, wanting to do something to mark her as mine. Since the beginning, I’ve stopped myself from the act I most wanted to do to her. She knew it too, telling me often not to mark her. I knew I would soon break. My mind needed to give her a physical symbol to remind her and tell everyone else that she’s my woman.

‘Babe, make me come,’ she’d plead. The words were like music to my ears. I would either make her come soft or hard, depending on the way she asked me. The huskiness with a tinge of thirst in her voice made me ram hard and fast. I’d pull her under me, take her legs within my angled arms, and thrust deep. Just to see her arousal, I’d pull out to my aching tip. With a circling of my hips before each pound, I’d feel her fingernails scrape my chest as she tried to hold onto a shred of lucidity.

When I knew I couldn’t take it anymore, I’d tell her to finger her clit. Watching her lick her delicate fingers to touch herself was enough to make me blow. With her head thrown back in ecstasy, I’d drive into her until I felt myself tingle from my balls, up my spine, to the top of my skull, feeling bursts from every inch of my flesh.

Similarly, when I’m soft and slow, she’d whimper sweetly, keeping me at a tempo. Prolonging the pleasure only each of us can truly give the other, I’d play with her until she’d inevitably move to take control. Perla resisted the prolonged love making. I sensed she was trying to keep herself disengaged. She’d turn her head away, but couldn’t hide an escaped tear. I’d wipe her tears and kiss her tenderly, letting her know of my love and devotion by my actions. Whenever she tried to take over, I’d press myself down into her. I knew she loved my weight on her. Often, she’d ask me to lay on her body. I’d allow her to stroke my back, lightly pressing me further into her, as I held my full weight at bay. My thrusts would slow to almost stilling within her.

Inevitably, Perla would grind upward, clenching her pussy lips around my dick. I would slow down to control my need to come, and to stop her from taking my pleasure before time. To stop her from moving, I’d press my pelvis down onto her. My kisses would be soft and deep. She loved when I cradled her head in my hands. I’d lightly pulled her into my kisses, licking, sucking, and pulling her lips as she gazed deeply into my eyes. I watched as the tears collected in the inner corner and to stop them from falling she squeeze them shut. In the moment, I knew.

I knew of her intense love for me. I didn’t need the words or any other actions. I could see it in her eyes, brimming to the surface and bursting with emotion. I could feel it in her elevated heartbeat. Her body quivering under me was the truth. Her clutch of my body to stay on hers was all the indication necessary of her devotion to me. I owned her.

Reminders of her created the same dull ache I felt when we broke up and I went to Spain to recover. They returned to nag me and the guilt for not putting more strict security demands in place. . This time the situation was dire because I’d physically lost her. I couldn’t save her. And quite frankly, I didn’t trust anyone and didn’t know who to turn to. I knew I should have taken her away.

As soon as we visited with her dying friend Alice and her husband Ross, I should have called my flight crew and set a flight for Europe. Even a quick trip to our new resort in Miami would have foiled her kidnapping. We should have been on a honeymoon: reacquainting ourselves; putting our separation in the past; and working toward our future. Perla wanted to go to work. She was excited about touring the active construction site for the first time. At the very least, I should have taken the tour with her. Being a twenty percent owner of the project gave me the right. However, she refused. She wanted to see the efforts made on her redesign without my presence confirming she slept her way to power. I didn’t want to interfere with her newfound career. It had taken her years to make her way into an executive position, angered because I was at my expense. In the grand scheme of things, it was well deserved.

The phone rang again, looking at the ID, it was Ken. “Tell me something.”

“We received information of Feather’s safety. Late in the night, a message was sent to Pentagon’s Press Department. One of the assistants received the fax. The message stated she will return on Friday in the late evening. There will be no way to communicate with her, but she’s safe and unharmed. We also got word from the police, who received the same information.”

“Who sent the message?”

“Sender unknown. It was wired through an unidentifiable fax number. It could have been sent from a fake ISP to Pentagon’s actual fax. There was no identifying information or location. We’ve contacted the fax line provider to see if we can get a hit on origin.”

“I need proof she’s actually alive and safe, Ken. They could be claiming she’s safe, but she could be getting tortured.”

“Yes, sir. We’re not giving up. The leads appear to have hit dead ends, but we will make sure to continue following the breadcrumbs,” He concluded.

“Call me at the first moment . . .”

“Without hesitation, sir,” he said. I grunted a response and hung up the phone.

Despite my fatigue, I couldn’t remain in bed, waiting for a call or sign of her. I thought of remaining in her apartment, hoping she would just show up. However, I would go out of my mind with all of her things reminding me of her every second. I felt the anxiety and rage building within me. After exploding off the bed, I went to the bathroom and took a shower. I decided not to shave. She loved my beard, letting it grow in would welcome her home, if she actually returned to me. I felt gutted at my doomsday feelings.

*****

My mission was to drive to my home up North. My parents had arrived from Florida. They’d been expecting me to visit since returning from Spain. I was too busy trying to win Perla back to greet them. They had no idea of the actions which transpired in the last few days. It was best to learn from me of my marriage to a woman they’d never met or may never meet. When I pulled into the round driveway, I spotted my dad working on the hydrangeas planted in the front. He was cutting a bunch of the blue and purplish flowers, no doubt my mother asked him to cut for a flower arrangement.

Much like Perla, my mother was quick to give directions and lists of things to do. Since retiring from their medical practice, my parents have spent their time traveling together. They have enjoyed consulting at local health care centers as social causes dear to them. My mother decided she could no longer practice when the arthritis ailed her fingers. Surgeries as an obstetrics and gynecology doctor limited her practice. My father was an amazing Family Practice and Pediatric practitioner. When they sold their full service practice, they decided to sell me one of their homes, which I split ownership with my sister, Stella. They live in our Maine home for most of the summer, but were expected to stay in my house to be closer to little Leona, my niece.

“We have people for that,” I told my father. He laughed.

“Some things, you have to do for yourself, son,” he replied with a broad smile.

I looked very little like him. His fair skin peppered with freckles. His once light brown hair was now completely gray. His dark blue eyes seemed to lighten with age. He remained tall and strong, but I’ve noticed diminishing of muscle tone. Dad had always been a hero to me. He was one of the reasons I went into medicine. However, I didn’t have the interpersonal skills with people and children, which I clearly didn’t inherit. Dad always told jokes and laughed heartily. There was never a room he didn’t feel comfortable in. I’ve always tried to emulate him. And when I’ve succeeded, I was left mentally and emotionally exhausted, vowing to never involve myself again.

After a quick hug, I asked, “Is mom inside?”

“Yes, she’s puttering around in there,” he informed.

“Can you come inside? I’ve got some things to discuss with you.”

“I’ll be right in son,” he looked at me intensely. Analyzing me as he always did since I was a young boy.

I know what he thinks of me, but no one ever wanted to label me. My ability to flip my personality on a dime had them confused all my life. My parents know I’m competent in my profession; I make millions for my medical practice; and my side job makes me millions. I’ve attempted to keep them more than comfortable, setting them up with a revocable living trust. I purchased them a townhome by the water in Palm Beach. They have access to homes in multiple places in the Northeast.