Spiders in the Grove (In the Company of Killers #7)(21)

“As I said,” she whispers onto my mouth and I can still taste myself on her, “you won’t have to worry about Callista. She’s weak—nothing like you.”

“Then why did Joaquin call you a liar?” I tug on her bottom lip with my teeth.

The heat of Joaquin’s body pressing against me from behind crowds me; one hand moves along my hip, the other brushes my hair away from my neck. “Callista doesn’t do anything herself; she has others do it for her,” he says, his breath on my neck.

When Joaquin’s hand slips between my legs, it triggers the plan to get out of this, that I never even knew I had. I turn on Joaquin like a captive lion turning on its trainer; my elbow spears his face, and he falls back against the sofa with me on top of him, my legs straddling his waist; my hands around his throat, my thumbs pressing against his windpipe; my face twisted with rage: teeth bared, eyes swirling with all the crazy I can summon.

“Lydia!” Cesara’s voice is like a whip; her hands grip my arms from behind, trying to pull me off of him. “Stop it! Stop it now! What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

I grip Joaquin’s throat tighter, and bear down into his strained face, but alas, he’s much bigger, much stronger than me, and I can feel the tables turning quickly.

Two seconds later, I’m flying across the short distance, and I hit the floor on my back with a thud!

“LYDIA!” Cesara shouts; before I notice Joaquin coming toward me, Cesara is between us, trying to hold him back. “Joaquin, wait! Just wait a fucking minute, all right!”

But he’s not listening, and he grabs Cesara’s arm and shoves her aside before bearing down on me like a towering, murderous shadow. Joaquin’s eyes…he’s going to kill me; my ‘brilliant’ plan was the worst plan I’ve ever come up with.

Nonetheless, I stay in character, rounding my chin defiantly, daring him to do his worst; a grin dances on my lips. “Do it,” I challenge. “Do it!”

“Please, Joaquin,” Cesara begs, coming up behind him. “At least let her explain herself—please!”

Is that real begging? She’s actually begging this man for my life. Interesting.

Without acknowledging her, Joaquin crouches in front of me, propping his arms atop his legs; he cocks his head to one side, and then the other, studying me, as though undecided whether I’m the most intriguing thing he’s ever encountered, or the stupidest.

“Is that what you want?” he taunts me. “To kill you?”

“I don’t care what you do,” I snap back, “just don’t touch me like that.”

A hint of a smile appears around his eyes.

“Joaquin—”

He puts up his hand and silences Cesara.

“I’m not going to kill her,” he says, and it surprises me. “Just like you didn’t kill her when you first brought her here—like you, Cesara, I see something in her worth studying. Like you, Cesara…” he grins at me, and slowly rises into a stand. “…I see something in her I want, something I’ll have before long.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” I ask, still sitting with my back pressed against the sofa; my legs spread open; an I-fucking-dare-you look on my face.

He spears his fingers through the top of his hair, and then adjusts his tie. “I like a woman hard to get,” he says. “But one who hates men this much, presents an even more intriguing challenge—and I never back down from a challenge.”

He turns to Cesara. “Take off your clothes,” he tells her, and she knows he means business; she knows this isn’t the time to stall, or argue, or play hard-to-get herself.

Cesara steps out of her red dress, letting it pool around her feet.

Joaquin grabs a fistful of the back of her hair and he turns her naked body around, bending her over the sofa arm.

He looks right at me as he shoves himself into her from behind. “I want you to watch me fuck the woman you’ve…”—he thrusts his hips—“…grown so attached to.”

My jaw tightens, grinding my teeth; my nostrils flare; my eyes shoot him with hatred and vengeance. But I don’t test his patience, knowing I’ve already not once, but twice now, kissed the mouth of Lady Luck and saved myself from certain death. But Lady Luck, like all ruthless bitches, rarely ever offers thirds.





Niklas


Jackie breathes heavily into the phone. “You should’ve seen it,” she says. “I knew stuff like this went on in the world, but…Niklas, it was awful—awful!”

“Calm down,” I tell her. “Remember what we talked about—you need to stay in character at all times, even when you think you’re alone—”

“I can’t!” she cuts me off. “I’m surprised I could hold it together while I was there; I almost lost it. You sent the wrong person, Nik—what the hell were you thinking, anyway?”

I’m starting to think she’s right—I shouldn’t have sent her; I should’ve sent someone experienced. But it’s too late to do anything about that now. I just need to keep her calm, and in character long enough to pull this off.

“Are you Ok, Jackie?” Is Izzy Ok? Was she even there? I really need to know what Jackie found out about Izabel, but right now Jackie is priority.