When We Met

CH 20 Logan

I nursed the glass of whiskey, letting the harsh burn ground me as regret churned in my gut. Despite the bravado I'd put forth in front of my brother and father, the reality was that Roalisne had thoroughly humbled me in that cell.

Her martial prowess alone would have been enough to give me pause. But it was the way she moved, all lithe grace and coiled power like a beautiful wildcat poised to strike. The fleeting moments where our bodies strained together in that heated grapple, the undeniable aura of feral desire and dominance that seemed to radiate from her very being...it had disarmed me in a way no opponent ever had before.

I took another swig, trying to drown the unbidden memories of how impossibly aroused I'd become when she slammed me against that wall. Of how her musky scent and ragged breaths had fanned the flames of lust raging within me until everything else fell away save for the primal need to possess her, consequences be damned.

Shaking my head in frustration, I set the tumbler aside, scrubbing a hand over my face. What the hell was wrong with me? This woman was the enemy - an operative sent to undermine everything my family had built. I'd faced off against dozens of beautiful, deadly adversaries before without a second thought. So why did the mere recollection of Rosaline's touch make my blood burn with searing hunger and undeniable...possession?

I was still wrestling with those tumultuous thoughts when the heavy oak door of my private office swung open to admit my father's imposing form. Though Charles Walsh cut an intimidating presence, I refused to be cowed meeting his penetrating stare head-on.

"What is it, father?" I asked tiredly, not in the mood for another dressing down about my failure. "I'm very tired."

"Well, boy, I'm the leader and I'm talking to you," he growled in a tone that made it clear insubordination would not be tolerated. "Word's already gone around that your punk ass couldn't even beat the girl. You couldn't even fight her."

White-hot anger blazed through me at his scornful words, burning away the lingering tendrils of regret. I spun to face him fully, defiance etched into every hard line of my expression.

"It was a draw," I countered, keeping my tone even through sheer force of will. "We both won."

My attempt at humour was met with a withering glare that could have curdled milk. "This isn't a joking matter, boy. We need to break her. We need to know where the heirs are if it's not her. And I believe it is."

I opened my mouth to refute his assumption, but Charles barrelled ahead before I could get a word in edgewise.

"Our men may not have found the royal tattoo when they searched her, but we can never be too careful. We need to keep an eye on her."

He waved a dismissive hand, clearly not interested in debating the matter further. "Regardless, Hector will be sending a more refined description of his niece soon. That should help clarify things."

The name hung heavy between us, dredging up fractured memories and whispers of the Fernendes cartel's brutal legacy. I frowned, suddenly uneasy.

"Hector...that name rings a bell. Is he your new intel source?"

A grim smile twisted my father's lips as he moved to pour himself a generous helping of the whiskey I'd neglected.

"He's the one who first told us about the Fernandes's expansion into London to begin with. The man who killed his brother's family and now needs the girl alive."

He took a long pull from the glass, seemingly savouring the burn.

"I imagine he'll want to turn her over to us once she's secured so we can gain a foothold in the South American cartel trade. Help expand the Walsh Corporation's reach."

I stared at him, aghast as the full implications set in. "Are you telling me Hector is the Fernandes don's brother? The one who caused the Fernandes Massacre?"

Shadows seemed to gather in the corners of the room as the weight of Antonio's words took hold. The Maracaibo Massacre - a brutal event that had seen the formerly ironclad Fernandes leadership violently upended from within a decade ago. Hector, the disgraced black sheep, had returned to butcher his own flesh and blood in a bid to seize power. Only the intervention of his brother's most ferociously loyal capos had prevented him from taking control of the entire Venezuelan operation.

In the wake of that abortive coup, the Fernandez had accidentally created their own worst nightmare - the heirs. Raising their brightest

proteges to one day reunite the splintered factions and return the cartel to its former glory.

If Hector truly meant to capture one of those heirs, it could only mean one thing - he intended to hold her hostage and torture her into compliance. A sadistic ploy to bend the rest of her powerful family to his will so he could seize the reins of power once and for all.

I could scarcely process the depravity of it all. Working with psychopaths like Hector went against every shred of criminal principle I still clung to. But I knew better than to voice such misgivings to my father. Instead, I threw back the last of my whiskey, letting it blaze a path down my throat.

"So we're to be Hector's catspaws then?" I rasped, mouth twisting with distaste. "Doing his dirty work of abduction and torture just for a hollow promise of profit?"

A muscle ticked in Antonio's jaw, but his gaze remained unreadable. "Don't question me on this, Logan. The deal is struck. Once the heir is acquired, she's to be delivered intact and...unharmed. At least initially."

The way he let those final words hang heavy between us made it clear there would be no negotiating on the matter. Perhaps sensing my mounting disquiet, he rose from his chair and moved to grip my shoulder with surprising gentleness for a man of his brutal reputation.

"Have faith, son. This is a game of chess against snakes. But snakes can be decapitated as easily as checkmated if you strike first and without mercy." His obsidian eyes bored into mine with solemn promise. "When the time comes, I expect your full cooperation and commitment. No matter what depravity we must indulge to come out on top."

With those parting words, Antonio brushed past me and took his leave. But his lingering implication seemed to reverberate endlessly through my mind's eye, crystallising into visions of Rosaline once again - broken, battered, and at the mercy of that sadistic uncle's depraved torments.

Fury roared to life inside me like an inferno, an alien rage I'd never experienced before searing through my veins. No matter what the cost, no matter how high the stakes or my father's ominous promises...I would never allow such a fate to befall her. The very idea was unacceptable, distressing me on a primal level I couldn't quite grasp.

Rosaline belonged to no one. She was a force of nature unto herself, not some helpless victim to be exploited. And if keeping her safe from such horrors meant putting myself in Hector's crosshairs...then so be it. I would weather that storm when it arrived, consequences be damned.

Because at that moment, watching the shadows gather and feeling the weight of my family's latest Faustian bargain closing in around me...the only thought that brought me any semblance of solace was the inevitability of crossing paths with that fierce, intoxicating wildcat once more.

Next time, I would be ready to confront whatever unholy alchemy had transpired between us. To battle her mind, body and soul until only one indomitable will remain - or we both combusted into a maelstrom of violence and passion.

Either way, I knew one certainty would remain - nothing would ever be the same once our paths collided again. And strangely, despite the dangers that certainty brought with it...I couldn't keep a shudder of dark anticipation from cascading down my spine.