Still, before I could move – or rather, before I'd decided that I would move, sweep his legs out from under him and deposit him in the chair, Cole moved. Because the man was facing me, muscles all bunched, arms drawn in close to his chest and his fists bunched, Cole was able to round on him from behind.
He took the simple expediency of taking the guy by a handful of hair I don't think I could have brought myself to touch – it was thick and greasy and hadn't seen soap or comb in longer than I'd been alive – his other hand going to the man's shirt collar. He pushed him forward and banged the guy's head into the edge of the desk.
Hard enough to leave a pretty instant mark.
Not hard enough to draw blood.
That didn't mean my services weren't needed. Lots of people knew how to take care of themselves and they still needed more eyes and ears and protection.
But it both scared the crap out of me and impressed the shit out of me at the same time.
The minute Cole let go of him it was my turn. Because Cole just let go and stepped back. I don't know if he was certain that I had it from there, or if he was just finished. Maybe he'd never released somebody only to have them go on fighting.
If that was it, this would have been the first time for him. Because Greasy Hair wasn't finished.
When he came up, snarling with anger and pain, he made a move toward Cole.
He managed one step and only because if he had one foot in front of the other it would keep him from falling when I grabbed him.
I didn't want to touch him more than necessary.
I moved behind him, grabbed the arm that had started to swing back, and yanked it behind his back. He tried to swing toward me, in that direction since it was his dominant side, he over-balanced. As he started to topple, I grabbed his left arm, then braced myself. Not stopping him from falling. Just slowing it.
The instant he was down I knelt, one knee in the small of his back, the other outside a hip, my lower leg along his leg so he would have a harder time swinging it out for leverage. I had both of his fat wrists in flexicuffs because it was doubtful I'd have gotten handcuffs through an airport even with a private jet. At some point I'd have encountered security if I had handcuffs. That's just how it works.
Unless the handcuffs are covered in pink feathers or rhinestones. Then they're discovered because they're embarrassing.
I had neither. Flexicuffs I had and with his fat wrists, it was just as well.
I cuffed him, dropped him and stood.
"Where do you want him, sir?"
Cole had a decided smirk on his face. "There's fine," he said, and over the course of the next ten minutes he told the man he wasn't going to get a deal for his stretch of land. Which probably wasn't his anyway but if the man was guarding it, he'd now be guarding it for Cole who would have biologists and botanists and whatever those people who work with healing and hallucinogenic plants are called down there to collect.
If there was any problem they encountered, he added, taking out his phone and taking several photos of the man before emailing them to himself and his people, not only would the man's family not inherit anything from the land, they would end up inheriting whatever Number Eight was leaving them – and right then.
Was that clear enough?
Personally I thought it was somewhat veiled. I thought "If you fuck with us, we'll kill you" sent a more direct message. But apparently being assaulted by both of us and then met at the door by two goons of hired muscle holding weapons was enough for him. He settled, allowed the agreements to be read to him, was uncuffed, signed, and actually shook hands with Cole.
Who used copious amounts of Purell the minute the man left.
He grinned at me. "Great meeting."
I was smiling too hard to pretend to be a serious bodyguard. "Yes, sir."
He finished wiping his hands off. "You know what I've been thinking?" There was a gleam in his eye that told me I might have an idea.
"No, sir."
He advanced. "That you haven't had a maintenance spanking since we've been here."
I stuttered. I was standing at parade rest, a kind of spread legged, arms behind back stance. Now I shifted a little. Foot to foot. "A what, sir?"
There was a definite smirk on his face now. A cat who still has telltale evidence of cream on its whiskers. "Maintenance spanking. It's a domestic discipline thing. Keeps you in line."
"I'm already in line, sir," I said.
"Oh, you are, are you? What if I don't think so?" He was advancing. There wasn't much of anywhere I could go.
"As your head of security, sir, I must protest. It seems to me that my behavior has been exemplary and that – yipe!"
Because he had me, his fingers locked around my biceps, and he was hauling me over to the broad, gleaming desk, pressing me down on it and reaching around me to undo the snaps and zipper on my black jeans. "Keep your hands flat on the desk and your arms stretched out in front of you. There you go. Good girl. Good girl."
He yanked my pants and panties down to my knees, made a small mmm sound of appreciation, ran both hands over my ass cheeks, warm and soft and comforting.
Then he started to spank me. Slow at first, and picking up speed. My flesh warmed. All the way through. He spanked me for so long I lost count and so long I lost interest in counting and so long that when he dipped his fingers into me and spread my wetness around, then touched my bud, I came instantly.
And happily.
14
Annie
The rest of the trip, another day and a half in Rio, was pure vacation. I had no desire to run and nowhere to run to. Cole was like a sort of new boyfriend, if I'd ever met one of the high end dealers, maybe, instead of becoming the girlfriend of somebody riding in a gang. It was pleasant but unnerving to be with him and in some ways I wished the trip was already over. Then I could remember with pleasure that everything had gone well.
In the end, it did. With the guards in attendance, we looked like a weird convocation of bodybuilders out for a day and a half on the beaches. We ate and sunned and laughed together and played with a beach ball for a while and took a run as the sun set. Dinner was at a restaurant just off the beach and Cole didn't oversee what I ate so there was no fish, just steak, salad, baked potato and cheesecake for dessert. I was working, so even if I wasn't in recovery I wouldn't have had anything to drink. No one at our table drank, but since we were in a foreign country, we opted for bottled sodas.
When we got back to the hotel that night I wondered if Cole would insist on another maintenance spanking once we got back to the suite of rooms, and part of me that needed to get itself under control throbbed at the idea.
But when we were back he started going through his notes of the meetings he'd taken. He was stretched out on his bed, the laptop on his flat, hard six-pack abs, and incongruous pair of reading glasses on his nose. If I hadn't known eventually my ass would pay the price, I'd have told him he looked cute.
Instead I went back to studying the criminal justice course on my laptop, drinking tea made with bottled water. By the time I finished with half a dozen landmark cases on search and seizure (my favorite was Won Sun and the Fruit of the Poisonous Tree, in part because the name was fabulous and in part because the police kept rushing into the wrong addresses and arresting people who really were committing crimes, but not the people or the crimes they were looking for) he was asleep in the same position. After a moment's consideration I decided I'd rather get in trouble for presuming and being nice and also watching out for him than get in trouble for letting him fall asleep and roll over on a laptop and spear himself on his glasses. I tiptoed in, removed the glasses, took the laptop and put it on the far side of the bed, switched off the bedside lamp and, though it wasn't cold, pulled a light blanket from the closet and covered him with it.