The Devil's Orchard

“You couldn’t run forever.”

Derby Cain Casey had waited months to say those four simple words, and Juan Luis’s expression when she’d found him had been total disbelief. When she’d strapped him to a chair in the middle of her empty warehouse, any bravery he possessed disappeared as effectively as he had after she’d stopped him from attacking Emma.

Fat tears ran steadily down Juan’s face, and she hadn’t even touched him yet. “Did this day cross your mind when you tried to rape my wife?” He cried harder, proving what a coward he was. “You shot my friend and strapped Emma to a table. If that’d been all, I’d let Merrick shoot you in the head and be done with it. But you wanted my suffering to be complete, didn’t you? That’s why you picked that place. Your decision’s going to cost you.”

“I kill you if you no let me go,” Juan screamed, and snot flew from his nose. “My mama come for me.”

“That’s true, she will come for you, and I’ll hand you over a piece at a time.” As Lou cut his clothes from his body, she tuned out his begging. Juan could get as loud as he wanted but no one would hear him, and she wanted him in the same state of mind Emma had been in when he’d tied her down.

“Did it excite you when Emma cried out?” She stood and took the safety glasses Lou held out. “Did her tears hit you here first?” she asked, and landed a punch in the gut. “Did it make you hard to have her tied down like an animal?”

Juan shook his head, but it was too late for denials. “Fire it up, Lou.” He cranked the professional power washer and handed her the wand. The nozzle she’d picked could cut through wood, and the direction book warned not to aim at anyone since it could injure them. She was counting on it.

“No.” Juan screamed when she aimed the water at him and started to get closer. The laser-like stream cut through his abdomen as easily as a filet knife through soft bread. His scream was so loud it—

“Damn,” Cain said when she startled awake. Eventually the dream would be a reality, but so far Juan had proved elusive. The longer it took to find him, though, the more creative her imagination and dreamscape became. This dream had to have been caused by the painters they’d hired, since they were in the cleaning stage outside.

The bed was empty, so she got up, showered, and dressed to go find her partner. “Persistent,” she said as she descended the stairs, buttoning the monogramed cuff of her new shirt. It was a recent gift from Emma, who’d gotten back into a shopping groove. She was grateful since she hated the exercise, so she simply said thank you when Emma handed her the box with five more just like it. That act, along with a thousand other mundane things, reassured her their lives were getting back to normal.

The FBI was outside keeping up their constant surveillance, her shipments of liquor and cigarettes minus the proper seals were still arriving without fail, and her family was happy and safe. She never took any of those things for granted, but a few pieces were still not fitting into the puzzle of her life. “Damn persistent,” she said when she saw Special Agent Shelby Phillips sitting in her living room—again.

Shelby was on mandatory leave from her duties as the lead agent assigned to her family after both of her parents had been found murdered. The FBI couldn’t take the chance of allowing Shelby back into the field, given her current mental state, so with all her free time she’d taken up a new routine. Shelby would arrive every morning and ask to see her, and she in turn would ignore her. This was the start of month two.

“What are you going to do about her, mobster?” Emma asked as she entered her office at the back of the house. She sat behind Cain’s desk, borrowing the space for the project she was working on.

“When do you think she’ll give up?”

“I lost the pool after a month, so I can’t answer that question,” Emma said, signing a check and attaching it to something that appeared to be a contract. “If you finally give in today, Lou gets the twelve hundred up for grabs.”

“For a smart woman in law enforcement, surely she has a clue by now that I’m not giving in.” Cain sat in a chair intended for visitors and crossed her legs. In an hour, she had to meet with the European vendors her cousins Muriel Casey and Katlin Patrick had been vetting for months. “It’s not that I don’t understand what’s driving her. I do. But I’m not sympathetic enough to give her what she wants.” She looked at Emma, and any anger over the situation evaporated when her gaze landed on Emma’s swollen midsection. If she had the power to speed up time, she’d do it to see Emma holding their new baby.

“Considering you won’t even tell her you won’t meet with her, I thought she’d have given up by now, but she’s—”

“Persistent.” She laughed. “It’s like being trapped in a sinking ship and not being able to swim. That’s the best way I can describe Shelby’s mind-set. You have to either drown or ask a shark for help.”

“So either way she’s screwed.”

“That’s right, lass. Lou will be out of luck today even if I was feeling generous. I’ve got that meeting at the office.”

Up to now her business had centered on illegal hard liquors and cigarettes, a trade her great-great-grandmother had started as an Irish immigrant, but Cain saw potential in high-quality wines. A small portion of their operations dealt with them already, and considering its huge profit margin, it was time to expand. Wine would never make as much as the city’s growing drug trade, but that wasn’t a palatable future for her children.

“Then she’ll be here tomorrow because you can give her what the FBI can’t.” Emma stood and lifted her hands over her head to stretch. “Either cave in or put the poor woman out of her misery.”

“You think I should help her?” She didn’t move when Emma walked toward the small leather couch with a gait that was slowly starting to change to accommodate the extra weight she carried.

“Look at all she’s had to endure basically alone,” Emma said with her hand out. “The thought of losing my parents like she did, or the kids having to live through that horror if something happened to us, makes me want to help her.”

Cain joined Emma, took her hand, and kissed her. “You’d be willing to risk what could happen if I do?”

“Don’t get crazy on me, baby. I didn’t say help. I said I understood
why
she’s here.” They sat and Emma turned so her abdomen pressed into her side. Cain put her hands on their growing child, knowing Baby Casey was most active in the mornings. “What do you think today?”

“What I think every moment of every day,” she said, and kissed Emma again. “This baby is another blessing to the miracle my life’s become.”

“We need to finish discussing this situation before you make any other romantic statements,” Emma said as she unbuttoned her shirt, tugging it from Cain’s pants when she couldn’t go any further. “Unfortunately for Shelby, I don’t trust her. Not with you, and certainly not with Muriel.”

“Is there something you want, lass?” she asked as she sat with her shirt open, and Emma unbuckled her belt.

“Don’t make fun of the big horny woman or I’ll buy myself one of those rabid-rabbit things we saw on television late last night and evict you from the bedroom.” Cain stood and her pants pooled around her ankles. Emma’s fingers stilled at the sides of her underwear as if the urge to be bold had burned itself out.

The same thing had happened during Emma’s pregnancy with their son Hayden, and if Emma hadn’t run from this life she was sure it would’ve happened before Hannah was born. The extra weight and growing waistline made Emma’s self-doubt about her attractiveness grow as well. Cain didn’t enjoy Emma questioning how she felt about her, but she did like reassuring her.

The dress Emma wore was new, and Cain guessed it was part of the problem. Emma loved trips to the mall and her favorite boutiques, but not because she needed a larger size. She loved being pregnant, but her expanding middle was murder on her self-esteem.

“Mrs. Casey,” she said as she dropped to her knees in between Emma’s legs. They’d made love that morning, but her desire flared again when Emma lifted her head and looked at her. “I’m not making fun.” She put her hands on Emma’s belly and massaged it as she moved down toward the hem of her dress. The anticipation of touching Emma made the blood rush to her head, and she could hear her own heartbeat.

“I know you’ve got people waiting, so we don’t have to,” Emma said as her legs spread wider.

“The world can wait, this can’t.” She lowered Emma’s panties, then stood to get out of her pants and shirt. Emma held her hand up again as a request for help off the couch, and Cain unzipped her dress as soon as she had her on her feet. She smiled when Emma groaned as their naked bodies pressed together.

“I need you to put your mouth on me,” Emma said, and sounded desperate. “I’ll do whatever you want, but I need you to do that right now.”

The way Emma rubbed herself against Cain made it hard to think, but she lowered Emma back down and positioned her butt at the edge of the seat. Being able to lie back a bit would make it easier for Emma to breathe. She swept her eyes down the compact body, and her hips bucked forward into empty space at the sight. She needed relief from her pounding clit, but not until she’d given it to Emma.

“Don’t torture me,” Emma said as she squeezed her own breasts. They were fuller than normal, and her nipples were slightly darker. Cain thought about them at the strangest times during her day. She’d found Emma desirable from the first time she saw her, but seeing her with the next generation of their family made her insatiable. Emma didn’t mind that her sex drive was over the top since she was at the point in the pregnancy where she craved sex.

She wanted to linger on the hard nipples, but Emma was dripping wet and tasted sweet when she put her mouth on her. Emma currently craved pineapple, so they had a number of containers of it in the refrigerator, and the amount she’d consumed had changed her taste. When Cain tasted Emma’s sex, she assumed this must be what crack addicts experienced when they finally got their fix. It left a lifelong craving, but unlike any drug addict, she had no interest in rehab to beat the habit.

Emma took a deep breath and held it when Cain placed her tongue under her clit and ran it slowly upward, swirling it around the hardness as she reached the top. “Fuck,” Emma said uncharacteristically, grabbing the sides of her head to pull hard on her hair. “Put your fingers in.”

Despite what Emma probably wanted, she entered her gently, not wanting her desire to hurt Emma or the baby. To compensate, she sucked hard as her fingers went all the way in, and Emma smiled down at her when she stroked her fingers out and in. Before long, Emma put her feet on her back so she could pump her hips easier and position herself so her fingers and mouth were in the right place.

Emma came so hard she ended up crying, but Cain didn’t have time to worry before Emma sat up and put her hand between her legs. “Come up here,” Emma said as she placed kisses down her jaw.

It didn’t matter that she would’ve gladly killed someone to have Emma’s mouth on her, but her body got what it wanted. Emma’s fingers slid across her hardness and she was helpless. She knelt there until Emma gave her the orgasm her body demanded.

“Do you think Muriel would be pissed if I don’t show up today?” Cain asked when she fell forward until her forehead rested on Emma’s chest. “We could go back to bed if you lie and tell me she wouldn’t be.”

“No lying to the boss today, my love, so come on.” Emma kissed the top of her head before she pushed her off. “The sooner you leave, the sooner you’ll get back here for the multiple orgasms I’ve got planned for later.”

“Mine or yours?”

“Yes, so move.”

*

“Jerome Rhodes,” Anthony Curtis said out loud as he stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. The name, his new identity, and the face he saw still unsettled him.

A year ago he’d been happy in the back of a van with his team of colleagues and friends, knowing where his life was headed. Only Special Agent Anthony Curtis didn’t exist anymore. He’d died or, more accurately, been erased under the skillful hands of the plastic surgeon Gracelia Luis Ortega had found. Now he appeared more Hispanic—his lips fuller, his cheekbones more pronounced—but his eyes were the same. They were his only anchor to his past and the only physical trait he shared with his mother.

“What’s wrong?” Gracelia asked as she dropped her robe and stood naked before him.

This was his savior; at least that’s what she said constantly. Gracelia was a beautiful woman and the best lover he’d had, but all that didn’t balance out her dark side. She was vicious, so much so that he realized everything her brother Rodolfo had done paled when compared to her actions. Rodolfo might’ve unwittingly been her teacher in that area, but she’d mastered her education so she could groom her son Juan to follow her. Her lessons had culminated with Juan strapping his uncle to a tree, coating him in honey, and unleashing ants on him. Juan had snapped before Rodolfo had suffered too much and shot him dead. They raised family dysfunction to new heights.

The elaborate death trap had been Gracelia’s vengeance for Armando Ortega, the love of her life and Juan’s father. When Rodolfo found out Armando had gotten Gracelia pregnant and then run, he’d handled the situation with a tree and ants. The thought of thousands of those little fuckers tearing off his dick made him cringe. Gracelia had never forgiven Rodolfo for the betrayal, so she’d taken everything from him, including his life and business.

“Nothing,” Anthony said, not in the mood for a fight or a long discussion. In their time together he found Gracelia much smarter than her son, but just as psychotic, so he tried his best to keep her calm. “I’m still trying to get used to all this.”

“Stop worrying and enjoy the time off before we have to return to the States to make sure everything is in order.”

They’d fled New Orleans after killing Rodolfo and returned to Gracelia’s home in Cabo San Lucas. From the reports of the men they’d left behind, things were starting to calm down and the police had moved Rodolfo’s case off their priority list. The only problem Gracelia didn’t want to acknowledge was Juan’s disappearance. She’d had no communication from him in two months, and he hoped the stupid fucker hadn’t gotten himself killed in a way that’d cause him a problem. A new identity wasn’t ideal, but it was saving him from a life sentence in jail or running from Cain Casey.