Kincaid: Cerberus Mc Book 1 (12 page)

Just because you don’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not still going on.

I see Kid pull his phone from his pocket and give her a pointed look. She narrows her eyes but doesn’t say another word.

“Crazy bitch,” he mutters and turns back to me. “I was drunk,” he says like he owes me an explanation.

Ignoring him, I turn back toward the door. Confrontation, even with women, is not something I plan to do anytime soon. I’m on their territory, and she’s obviously marking it as hers. I want no part of it.

There is nothing worse than sharing a hotel room with another grown man and being surprised by a spontaneous erection. While on top of the blankets. While wearing nothing but boxers. That’s exactly what happened last night when Em admitted through her text message that she was thinking of me when she came yesterday morning. If I closed my eyes, I could hear her moans and soft gasp as she peaked.

All I could do last night was groan and roll over, hoping the pressure of the mattress against my stiff cock would be enough to make it go away. Did it work? Nope. Not a chance. Then Shadow laughed at me when I had to get up and walk in between him and the TV with my obvious erection to go rub one out in the bathroom. Note to self, take the bed closest to the bathroom from now on.

I’m thankful, after waking up from dreaming about her all night, Shadow is still passed out in his bed, and my walk of shame to the restroom is completed without judging eyes. The ache in my heavy balls taunts me as I shower, knowing it’s been over a month since they’ve been emptied by anything other than my own hand. The blowjob on my birthday was the most recent and it’s been so long that I can’t even remember the last time I sank into the tight heat of a woman.

I slam my left hand against the shower wall and grip my cock if only to ease the insistent throbbing in my balls. The last thing I need is to begin a new mission sexually frustrated. Emmalyn’s beautiful face comes to mind as I stroke my length. I groan, coming in seconds as I picture myself buried deep inside of her. The image in my mind, I know, will be nothing like what she’d feel like in the flesh; that’s if she ever lets me between those perfect thighs of hers.

I’m mentally telling myself I need to focus on the job ahead of us rather than the woman I can’t stop thinking about that’s back home. I step out of the bathroom and hear Shadow chuckle, clearly from the scowl on my face since I know I’ll never be able to get her out of my mind. Compartmentalization has never been an issue before now. Before Emmalyn. I shake my head in frustration and grab clothes out of my suitcase.

“What?” I ask harshly, looking over at Shadow and finding him just staring at me with a stupid smirk on his face.

“You’ve got it bad for that girl.”

His words ring true. Before I can deny what he’s said, I think about my ignorant behavior yesterday morning in the kitchen. I remember my childish behavior just to save face in front of my crew. I won’t make that mistake again, not even when it is only Shadow and me in this room.

“She’s different,” I admit but refuse to make eye contact with him, rather I busy myself with getting dressed.

“She’s beautiful.”

I snap my eyes up to him, readying myself to give another warning to him, but he’s watching my reaction. I can see that he’s simply stating a fact, a fact any man who looks at her would have to acknowledge; he’s not implying that he wants her on any level.

“She is, but it’s more than that. I feel,” I pause before speaking again, making sure I say the right words. “I feel connected to her somehow. I felt it the second our eyes met in Denver.”

Fuck. I’ve kissed her once and I pretty much just admitted to my oldest friend that she has my balls.

“Before you saw her old man hit her in the back hall?” I nod. “Fuck, Kincaid.”

“Yeah,” I say reaching for my boots.

He stands and walks toward the bathroom to shower. “They say when you know, you know.”

He leaves me with that. Alone, with nothing but my thoughts and the fact that I just admitted, out loud, the connection I feel to Emmalyn.

***

The trip from DC to Johannesburg, South Africa was uneventful. With one stop in Ghana to refuel, the second leg of the trip was spent in small bunks getting as much sleep as possible, gearing up for the countless number of days we have ahead of us as we search for twenty-three-year-old Constance Harrison, daughter of the always controversial Senator William Harrison of Georgia.

I flip through the file that was provided in Washington when we switched planes from the private jet we took from the small airstrip in New Mexico. The picture of the smiling girl paper clipped to the corner of the thick packet hardens my resolve to find her. We’ve done this type of recovery before, but it never gets easier. These trafficked girls go through hell the minute they’re snatched from their families. Constance has been gone for two weeks, and the woman we hope to bring home will, no doubt, not be the same person that was taken from her college campus thirteen days ago.

The agencies that have worked the case before we were called seem to think that the abduction was random. They have no reason to believe that Constance was targeted specifically or as a political maneuver against her father. There has been no ransom request; no letters delivered to the Senator; no disgusting videos of Constance being abused. No contact whatsoever taunting the Senator into some sort of forced action with the promise of his daughter’s safe return to them. These facts are unsettling because the abductors have no motivation to protect her. The fact that they consider her just another slave to serve their purposes doesn’t bode well at all.

I cut my eyes to Shadow, who finishes reading just about the same time I do. I shake my head slightly, and he nods knowingly. The last time we had a case this cold, the outcome was not what we’d hoped for. We’d found the girl we were looking for, but a body to return home to her family was not the way we ever wanted to end a mission. This case has much of the same feel as the case from last year.

Rather than causing a feeling of defeat, knowing how hopeless the case may be, it adds determination to the team. We give a hundred and fifty percent every time we go out on a mission, with hope to bring home the person we’re looking for alive. If that doesn’t happen, then a lot of closure can be found in being able to bury the body of a loved one, rather than wondering for the rest of their lives what happened.

I’m itching to jump into action the second I hear the rumble of the plane’s engines, informing me that we are beginning our final descent into South Africa. I close my eyes and ask for patience, strength, and a watchful eye on this mission. The request is two-fold. I need to return the Senator’s daughter, but I also need to get home to a woman that needs to be nurtured and healed from the abuse she’s suffered at the hands of the man she once believed loved her.

I have to kick Wrench’s leg to get him to wake up. He was right about being useless on this trip, but the way he was begging Kid to convince me to let him stay behind instead made my skin crawl. He normally backs off when I give the club a command. I don’t do it often, and everyone knows how serious I am when I do. This time, for some reason, he’s focused his energy on defying me, and an ominous feeling in my gut says he’ll continue to push me until I do something more drastic to make it stop.

Remembering a text message from Kid earlier makes me smile as we wait for the door of the plane to open. Emmalyn wants to get a job. I knew it was coming. I can’t ignore just how annoyed she’s been at my offering to buy her things and her insistence on paying me back. I know, without even admitting it out loud, that I’d buy her the world if she asked. I chuckle knowing she’d never utter those words.

I gave Kid strict instructions of where to take her to seek employment, not because I want to control her, but because I want to protect her. I know she’s going to want to get a waitressing job simply because it’s what she knows, but I don’t want her in an environment we can’t keep her safe in. This thought had me firing off another dozen or so instructions to him.

I pull back my smile at the thoughts of her and steel my mind to the mission ahead of my team as the door of the plane opens. Walking down the few steps of the jet, I stride toward the Senator’s other team. Hopefully, together we can bring Constance Williams home safe.

I wish I had something to focus on other than Bunny’s words as we drive into town. I opted for the back seat of the SUV even though Rose offered me the passenger seat. I wanted to avoid Kid’s eyes on the side of my face and Rose’s gaze on the back of my head. Instead, I get the steady stream of glances from Kid’s soft blue eyes in the rearview mirror.

Ten minutes of silence, it seems, is as long as Kid can handle before he feels the need to explain himself and, in turn, Diego.

“You’ll need to learn to ignore the club girls,” his reflection tells me in the mirror.

I cut my eyes to the line of trees flying by on the road outside of the vehicle. “So everyone keeps telling me.”

“She’s poison,” Rose says referring to Bunny.

“She’s marking her territory,” I say simply. “There’s no need for her to do that.”

“Kincaid isn’t with her, Emmalyn,” Kid says.

“He’s not with me either,” I mutter not pulling my gaze from the passing landscape.

“Isn’t he?” Kid prods. I look into the mirror. “So that little scene I had to turn away from in the hallway before they left last night didn’t happen?”

I look over at Rose and can see the grin in her profile. I narrow my eyes at Kid. “We kissed. That doesn’t make him mine. God knows how many women in that kitchen this morning have done more.”

“If he wanted the other women in the club he would’ve had them long before now. He doesn’t want them.” I get the feeling he’s going to say more but Rose places a hand on his arm, and he just continues the rest of the drive in silence.

Ten minutes later we pull up outside of a bar. The parking lot is empty except for a lone pickup truck parked near the front entrance. It’s midmorning, and most bars don’t open up until late in the afternoon unless they serve lunch.

I angle my head so I can read the sign above the door. “
Jake’s
” is all it reads. Seems simple enough, but it must be on the Diego approved list if we’re here. I open my door and Kid begins to open his also.

“What are you doing?” There’s no reason for him to go inside with me while I fill out an application.

“Going inside.” His response is flat as if he’d never consider doing anything else than following me inside.

“I’m capable of filling out applications without your supervision.” I watch in astonishment as he reaches for his phone. I sigh. “Fine.”

I’m seething as I walk toward the front door, and shy away by instinct as Kid’s hand reaches out from behind me and pulls open the heavy door before I can open it myself.

“Sorry,” he says genuinely. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

I just nod at him, upset at my response. How long will I cringe and respond protectively around every man who makes any motion toward me? I hope to one day feel safe enough that it’s no longer my first instinct.

“Thank you,” I tell him softly as I walk into the dimly lit bar.

I walk toward the man behind the bar. He’s got a clipboard in his hands, obviously taking inventory before his night begins. He turns and smiles when he sees us approaching. I grin at the tall, lanky, but undeniably handsome man as I approach.

“Coors?” he asks Kid.

Kid laughs. “Fuck no, man. It’s not even eleven.” He motions to me. “This is Emmalyn.”

I reach my hand out, and he shakes it. “I was hoping to get an application,” I tell him before Kid can speak for me.

He gives Kid a quick glance before he looks back to me. “I don’t have applications.”

I frown slightly. “Okay, well thank…”

He cuts me off. “Do you have bar experience?”

“I’ve waitressed for five years at a bar in…”

This time, it’s Kid who cuts me off. “She’s got experience.”

I turn my head and glare at him. I want to chastise him for speaking for me, but the man behind the bar pulls my attention away before I can speak.