Hard Up: A Military Mafia Romance (13 page)

V
iola woke
the next day to an empty bed.

She sat up, wondering if this was to be her life. Waking up and finding Callum gone, worrying if he’d finally taken on a job too dangerous for him.

Of course, that would be assuming that Callum hadn’t decided to return her to the Valettis. He had declared his intention to do exactly that only yesterday.

Was she a fool to trust him?

Throwing back the covers, she got up and ordered room service. She showered, dressed, and when she was done the room service arrived. She thanked the attendant and tipped well, ushering him out of the room.

She put the cart near the table and flipped on the television.

When the phone rang, it confused her. She muted the TV, moving toward the room phone. But one step toward it, and she could tell that wasn’t the hotel phone ringing.

She turned back toward the room service tray. Shaking, she uncovered the tray.

Right there, next to her cheese omelette, she found a phone.

And it was ringing.

She had a sour taste in her mouth as she answered.

“Hello?”

“Viola,” came her father’s voice. “Don’t hang up, or the message will be delivered in a less pleasant way.”

Viola thought she was going to be sick. Her father was calling her, something she never saw happening… but should’ve foreseen from the moment she shot a stranger.

“I am very disappointed in you, Viola. Running around some redneck backwater, fucking who knows how many pieces of Cúram trash… There’s a first-class ticket waiting for you at the airport. You’ll be on a plane tomorrow, or I will order several people to hunt down your Irish boy and his friends.”

Viola couldn’t breathe.

“See you tomorrow, darling.”

The call ended, and Viola let the phone slip from her hands.

What the hell was she supposed to do?
It wasn’t like she could call the police, her father was too clever for that. He probably owned half the New York police force, anyway.

She got up and started pacing.

She went through a thousand different ideas.

She and Callum could run away together, just the two of them.

Fly up to New York, assassinate her dad herself.

Just plain don’t go!

Viola turned them over and over in her mind, but one by one she discarded them. In the end, it came down to the deal her father had offered her: her life for Callum’s.

Which was worth more?

Viola knew that answer without even asking herself. She couldn’t drag him into this, because she loved him.

She would be on that plane to New York tomorrow. She sat down and cried, really cried, mourning the loss of the relationship. Callum cared about her, but he would move on.

Guys like him always did.

When she was done, she dried her tears. Dusk approached already, and she needed to prepare.

She was going to give him the best sex
of his life
as his going-away present. Unquestionably, unforgettably good. Ruining other women for him eternally, that kind of good.

When he came home, she was wearing her silk teddy, which she was unable to part with. It would always remind her of him, especially after tonight.

She waited for him on the bed, watching his every move. He came in the door and stopped dead, surprised.

“Hey,” he said, taking off his jacket and shoes.

“Hey.” She cocked a finger at him, and he sunk down on the bed beside her. “I want you. All of you, filling me up.”

He kissed her fiercely, spearing his hands in her long blonde locks. She opened to him, taking control, pushing him onto his back.

His hands were everywhere, running down to touch her breasts, skimming around to touch her ass.

“I like this,” he said, pulling on the teddy. “I like this a lot.”

She smiled, kissing him. She unbuttoned his shirt, taking it off. Then she undid his belt, kissing down as she went. She got his pants and underwear off, got back on top of him, and fisted his cock.

It was magnificent, long and pink and veiny as hell. She salivated a little, looking at it.

When she ran her tongue from the base of his cock to the very tip, he made a sound of pent-up longing. She took him in her mouth, inch by inch, but it wasn’t enough.

He growled and pushed her head down a little, always needing to be the one in control. She’d show him otherwise.

She worked her way back to the top, using her tongue against the sensitive underside. Alternating between that and taking him deep, it was only minutes before he pulled her away.

At her protests, he merely shook his head. “There’s time for that later.”

Then he was rolling her onto her back, growling as he pushed the teddy up and off. Her breasts were freed, and she bit her lip as he palmed them.

Heat suffused through her body, in two direct lines from her nipples to her pussy.

“Ah!” she cried.

“Such beauty,” he marveled as he bent down and took one nipple in his mouth. He sucked on it, making her back arch. When he released it in favor of the other, she called out his name.

“Please, Callum!”

“Please what?” he asked with a crocodile grin.

“Please…”

The brush of his fingers against her core was like a live wire. He bent to kiss her breast again, his fingers coaxing, opening her to his view.

She moaned when he kissed his way down to her pussy, discovering her with a series of slow licks that sent her sky high. He shifted himself, pressing one hand on the top of her sex, while the other explored.

Callum found her clit with his tongue, running lazy circles around it, driving her wild. One finger dipped inside her core, then brushed backward.

Is he—?

He chose that moment to focus on her clit, while sliding his finger around and around the tight balloon knot. She was crazed with the need to cum, and when he focused in on her clit again and pressed his finger there…

He slowed his pace, gave her a second to get used to the feeling of his finger in her ass, grinding in rhythm. She was ashamed to find she liked it, moaned every time he moved in her.

It was so
taboo
, so wrong…

He picked up the pace, his mouth moving faster. A second finger begged entrance, and she was so wet, so close…

She exploded, riding high on a wave of sensation that wouldn’t stop. She called his name as she came, a blessing or a curse, she didn’t know.

Before she even finished, she was on her hands and knees. Callum entered her in one brutal stroke, making them both cry out. He filled her completely, possessed her utterly, stole her very breath.

He did it again, and again. Over and over, he stroked into her with every bit of his strength. Her body shifted tracks, realized what was coming.

Every nerve ending cried out for fulfillment. She moved with him, strove with him until she couldn’t, until she saw the edge of the precipice from down below.

She came, shouting his name, even as he was granted his release. He stiffened and grabbed her hips hard, bruising her flesh as he pumped his cum into her.

They fell on the bed like that, all sweaty and tangled. Him rolling over and gathering her close, kissing her head.

Her heart swelled.
Wasn’t that the emotion she wanted him to feel? Love?

Any other girl would pray that he would feel love, find it in his heart to forgive her. But her?

She was hoping that he would move on. Even though the thought of another girl in his bed made her miserable, at least he would be alive.

She waited what felt like aeons, until she was really and truly sure he was asleep.

Then she got up like a thief in the night, dressing in clothes that she’d laid out earlier. She put out the note she’d painstakingly prepared, then picked up her bag.

She turned to look at Callum, sleeping peacefully.

She’d remember him like this, happy and relaxed. It was nice to know she’d had some influence on his life, however brief…

She forced herself to sneak out, waiting until she was in the taxi to let the tears come again.

Goodbye, Callum…

C
allum crumpled
the note in his palm.

“Take care,” he growled into a pint of whisky. “
You
take care.”

“Talking to yourself?” asked Cor, over the jukebox. They were at a bar with good music, that was all Callum knew. “Oi, stop reading that damned note. Give it to me.”

He reached for the note, but Callum was quick. He pulled it out of Cormac’s reach and stuck it in his pocket. “Fuck off.”

“Look, here’s the thing,” Cormac said. “Moping over Violet—”

“It’s Viola, you fucking—”

“Shhh, shhh. Listen to me. Moping over her is useless. Look around you. Everywhere you look, there’s a Grade A piece of ass. Which you can’t enjoy until you’re not halfway in the hole,” he said, sliding the pint of whisky away. “So you sober up.”

“I’m not interested in anyone else,” Callum said glumly.

“Look, she did you a favor. If she hadn’t left you, you’d be looking at the same girl for the rest of your life. The same girl, can you imagine?”

“Maybe that’s what I wanted!” Callum shouted, drawing attention from several bar patrons.

“You’re talking crazy,” Cor said, shaking his head. “You’re drunker than I thought.”

“If she would’ve given me a little more time, I would’ve told her that…”

Things started to go blurry.

“Callum… Callum!”

Cor’s voice was the last thing he heard.

C
allum woke
to a complete bulldozer of a headache.

“Ohhh…” he groaned.

He was in his apartment, on the couch. No idea how he’d gotten here, though.

That wasn’t a good sign. He didn’t blackout or pass out, not since his teenage years.

“We’re not going back to that, are we?” he asked himself.

He got to his feet gingerly and went to his bathroom, the long-ago memory of what it felt like to shower and shave with a hangover rising to the surface. He dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, since he’d been given the week off to
straighten up
.

Jesus
, he thought, sitting down on his bed.
She left me
.

It took him a minute of sitting there in terrible pain before he could get moving again.

Thinking,
will it ever feel better?

And then, worse:
what if it doesn’t?

He dragged his sorry ass into the kitchen, found Declan sitting there. He shot Dec a questioning look as he went to the fridge.

“I got you home last night. I stayed to make sure you weren’t going to vomit and asphyxiate in your sleep.”

Callum gave Dec an apologetic look as he pulled out the orange juice. “Sorry.”

He took a swig and immediately felt better. Then he realized that
she
brought the juice here, something about Vitamin C being a good way to start the day.

He put the cap on the orange juice, and sat it on the counter. Then he moved the juice to the counter beside the fridge and pulled one of the kitchen island seats around, so he wouldn’t have to look at it.

“What’d the juice ever do to you?” Declan asked.

“It’s complicated,” Callum sighed.

“Oh? I was kidding.”

Callum slumped a little in his seat. “Yeah, okay.”

“Dude, look at me.”

Callum peered his way.

“You’re gonna be okay. You know that? At least she’s still on this planet. At least she’s still breathing. If it gets too bad, go after her.”

“You’re forgetting, perhaps, that her father is Don Valetti?”

Dec shrugged. “And?”

“And if I so much as look at her the wrong way in front of him, I’m dead. Worse than dead, probably. I fucked the hell out of his daughter.”

“So find a private time to talk to her. We were SEALs, it’s not like we don’t know how.”

Callum stared at his friend.

“Are you suggesting I kidnap her?” Callum asked slowly.

“No, not exactly. Just invent a convenient reason for you two to be together.”

“And tell her what?”

“Tell her what? Dude, tell her everything that you’ve been saying to me and Cor the last three days.”

“What, that I’m a miserable bastard?”

Declan slammed his palms on the countertop.

“If that’s what it fucking takes, then so be it! Leave me and Cor high and dry, without a third, if that’s what you need!”

Callum sat back. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Well, you’re no use to us like this. So just think about that, will you?”

Declan got up to leave, shaking his head.

“Maybe I will!” Callum said as the door closed on his friend.

He got up and headed to the bedroom. He lied down on his bed, which still smelled of her. He closed his eyes, unable to resist taking a lungful of her sweet scent.

It was comforting, and heart-wrenching, all at once.

He drifted off, wondering if maybe he should try to contact her.

A
mortar shell
brought Callum out of his drowse, hitting the building next door. It was a frequent target because it had been a constabulary once, though it had been empty and bombed out for months.

Callum rose in the darkness, looking out the open window. He was sleeping on the second floor of an abandoned apartment building in Walakan, Afghanistan. Waiting for the United Arab Emirates convoy to roll through.

Callum picked up a bottle of water and took a sip. He couldn’t wait to be out of here, couldn’t wait to not feel sand between his teeth, under his nails, in his boots.

“Callum.”

He turned to find Azara behind him, and instantly felt guilty for wanting to leave. She was tiny for her age, sixteen, with her dark hair covered and her dark eyes gleaming.

“I was wondering where you were,” he said in fluent Pashto. “I thought you might not come.”

“Of course I came,” she said, looking around the room. “This is not a very nice place to sleep, Callum.”

He glanced at the rubble-strewn room, then shrugged.

“It is what it is,” he said, shaking his head. “Did your father see you leave?”

Her mouth drew into a tight line. “He won’t tell anyone.”

Callum glanced away. They’d talked about this, her not telling her father that Americans might get her out in exchange for eyewitness testimony.

She moved closer, hugging her hijab closer to herself.

“He thinks if there is a chance for me to go to America, I must take it. I wish you could’ve met him, he is a good man.”

Callum hadn’t felt safe going into the village Azara was from to meet her father or her three sisters, though he’d heard much about them in the last three months. He had made the request to get her out once she’d testified, saying that she should be paid for her services.

“Pay her in afghanis,” his team leader had said. “Pay her like all the other informants. Don’t you think that everyone comes to me with requests like this?”

Callum had run it up the chain of command; still no ironclad answer. Something about if they had room on the chopper…

Callum noticed a dust trail, rising high into the night sky.

They were early. That was unusual.

“They’re coming,” he said. “Let’s go downstairs.”

Leaving his water bottles and protein bar wrappers on the floor, he picked up his AR-15 and his radio. As they went down to the main level, he called to Declan and Cormac.

“She’s here,” he said.

Silence. Then: “We see you coming down. Find a position out of the way.”

Callum and Azara hit the ground floor, working their way around pieces of broken concrete, an unfortunate fact of life in Walakan. It hid suicide bombs, protected lone gunmen.

Tonight, though, it would shield them from sight while Azara identified the Prince, who had killed her mother. Poor woman had seen too much, and the Prince had personally dispatched her.

That was Azara’s second form of payment, one Callum understood. She was willing to bleed, to die, as long as the Prince got his.

But it shouldn’t come to that. The unit was supposed to stop the convoy at a critical place, where they’d be pinned in, and remove them by force.

Azara would give Callum the nod from behind their secret hiding place, and Callum would give the go-ahead.

In theory, they were going to keep the Prince alive, but a theory was all it was.

“Convoy’s closing in,” crackled the radio.

Callum tensed, watching three silver SUVs drive into their midst. He glanced at Azara; she looked pale and sweaty, but determined.

“Countdown. One… two… three…” said the radio.

The cars slowed when they spotted the roadblocks, set up as removable rubble from one of the many bombings. They halted just where the SEALs expected them to.

The front passenger door opened, a guard ventured out. All according to plan…

And then everything went haywire. The SEAL team didn’t have time to release flashbangs, because there was an overwhelmingly bright white light and sound that filled the entire area, making Callum cover his ears and duck.

Callum dropped his radio as gunshots rang out, some so close he was sure he was sure he was going to die. Smoke filled the air, too thick for Callum to see.

“Azara!” he yelled. “Azara!”

The smoke started to dissipate, allowing Callum to move at last. He spotted his radio, picked it up. It squawked in his hand.

“Alive.” Cormac’s voice. “One injured.”

“Alive,” he called back.

The smoke faded away, and suddenly Callum saw Azara. She was slumped over a broken piece of rubble.

“Azara!” he cried, running for her.

He turned her over, saw the small trickle of blood from her mouth, and the glassy look in her eyes.

And the worst part was, her eyes were blue, twin pools of sapphire light…

C
allum sat up
, shaking and sweating. He threw off the covers, swinging his legs to the side of the bed, and put his head in his hands.

Breathe. Viola and Azara are not the same person. You cared about Azara, but you never loved her.

He went still. Did he love Viola? She fought him at every turn, and she seemed to hate the life he led… but still, for some reason, he felt that she was the only woman that really
knew
him.

Fuck
. He loved her.

That was why he couldn’t shake her off. Why he couldn’t just sleep on it, and get over her, the way he had with others in the past?

He slowly stood and went to the mirror, staring at his own face.

Now the question was, what was he going to do about it?