Unmasked: Volume Three Read online

  I place my hand on her cheek and gaze into her eyes, one brown and one gray. There are two sides to every person: their true self and their false self, which is presented when they want something. As much as I love Alex, I’m not blinded by love. I know the real Alex wouldn’t beg anyone for anything. Well, except for the time she begged me to put my cock inside of her. But pleas made in the throes of passion excluded, Alex is not a begging woman.

  “You can’t possibly think I would believe that.”

  Her eyes squeeze shut again, pushing out the tears. “Can’t you see how painful this is for me? I don’t want to beg you. You killed my father.”

  “In self-defense.”

  “If it was self-defense, then let me go. I believe you. I just… I just need some time to think.”

  She is very good at this.

  “I underestimated you, Alex.” I brush the tears from her face, then I kiss her forehead and stand up. “But I won’t do that again. I’ll be right back.”

  Pulling my gun out of my waistband, I’m on high alert as I leave the cottage through the back door. I don’t know how much tranquilizer Crow gave Nicolas or when he gave it to him. All I know is that I can’t count on it to last more than twenty minutes. He could already be awake, which means I can’t leave through the front of Alex’s cottage. I have to go through the back of Ignacio’s house to the street then head back past Dolores Street, and approach Nicolas’s house from behind. All because I made the stupid mistake of trusting Crow as a partner on this mission. I should have gotten rid of him this afternoon. Then Ignacio and Noemia would still be alive, and I wouldn’t have to worry about getting attacked by Nicolas when I enter his home.

  I pass Crow’s body, but I don’t look at him. I’ll deal with him later. I find Ignacio and Noemia in their backyard and my stomach twists at the sight of her body draped facedown over his. She could be sleeping if it weren’t for the small bloody hole in the back of her head. Ignacio’s eyes stare straight up into the black starry sky, a bullet hole above his right socket. His mouth hangs open, revealing the three missing top teeth that gave his smile such character. I can’t leave them here. I don’t know if they planned on having company tonight.

  I heave Noemia’s plump body off of Ignacio’s, then I search his pockets for the key to his work shed. I’ve moved many dead bodies in my lifetime, but something about digging through his pockets while they’re still warm makes me slightly ill.

  Once I have the keys and the shed door is open, I drag them both inside. Every inch I drag their bodies feels as if it takes an eternity. I need to hurry so I can get to Nicolas before he wakes, but I can’t be sloppy. I lay Ignacio and Noemia next to each other on the dirt floor of the shed, then I lock the door and slip the keys into my pocket. The keys will be the only thing missing from the house. The authorities will think they were killed by someone close to them.

  I take one final look at the old shed and shake my head. Forgive me, Ignacio.

  Cutting through the back of the neighbor’s yard, I come out onto the street with the open-air market, which is closed down for the night. I nod at a few young men who are standing outside the corner market. Crossing Dolores Street, I glance at Nicolas’s house. The windows are dark. Either Crow turned the lights off after he drugged Nicolas or our little bounty hunter has awakened.

  I cross the street and cut through the backyard of the corner house then into Nicolas’s backyard. Keeping my gun flat against the outside of my right thigh, I scurry across the yard until I’m just outside the back door. I press my back flat against the wall, then I reach across with my left hand and slowly turn the knob.

  I let out my breath when I hear the soft click of the latch disengaging. Pushing the door inward, I keep my back pressed against the rear wall to stay covered. I hold my ground for a few seconds, then I raise my weapon and turn into the open doorway. The inside of the kitchen is dark, but I see no signs of movement.

  Inching my way into the darkened house, I find myself wishing I had Alex’s acute vision. If she weren’t tied to a bed and completely volatile right now, she’d make a much better partner in crime than Crow. I proceed into the living area, expecting to find Nicolas laid out on the wood floor or his limp body draped over the sofa cushions, but he’s nowhere. Maybe Crow caught him in the bedroom. I don’t want to see the bed where he slept with my Alex, but I have to neutralize him.

  I ease my way into the bedroom and my heart drops when I come around the other side of the bed. I search the bathroom and closets to make sure I’m right, and it only confirms my suspicions. Nicolas isn’t here.

  I race out of the house toward Alex’s cottage, gun at my side, hoping none of the nosy neighbors are watching from their windows. I don’t want to kill anyone else.

  I recklessly burst through the front door, giving Nicolas a clear shot at me if he were on the other side. But my adrenaline is peaking. I can’t stop now. I need to keep him from taking Alex.

  Rushing into the bedroom with my gun drawn, I kick the bed hard enough to send it sliding across the wooden floor until it slams into the wall.

  She’s gone.

  Chapter Three

  Alex

  As soon as Daimon leaves the bedroom, I begin devising ways to get myself out of these restraints. But I can’t use too much energy or I won’t be able to get away or fight him off if he comes back. Do I really want to fight him off?

  The muscles in my shoulders slacken as this question siphons the fight out of me. I’ve been pining for Daimon every second of every day since I arrived on this island. And now I’m trying to get away from him? Why?

  Because I don’t know if I can trust him. I don’t know if he’s telling me the truth about my father’s death. I may never know the truth. If I give in to Daimon, it will be because I’ve accepted that I’ll never know for sure whether he killed my father in self-defense. I don’t know if I can accept that explanation, much less believe it. I suppose it comes down to whether Daimon truly loves me. If he loves me, he wouldn’t lie to me about something so important.

  I writhe against the mattress, my emotional disquiet manifesting in my physical struggles. I yank my arms and legs in every direction, attempting to loosen the thin ropes that tether me to the bedposts, but it’s no use. I’m no match for Daimon’s military and law enforcement background. No doubt he knows at least a dozen ways to tie someone up.

  This thought makes my body flood with a warmth and longing for his touch. I shake my head, trying to clear away thoughts of Daimon pleasuring me while I lay immobilized. His tongue sliding over my flesh, searching for my clit. Oh, God. Just the thought of it has me on the brink of orgasm.

  I need to get out of here, away from Daimon, where I can think straight.

  “Alyssa!” I open my eyes and Nick is standing in the doorway. “Are you hurt?”

  I shake my head adamantly, thinking of how I was just imagining my captor giving me head. I’m definitely not hurt. At least, not physically. I can’t say as much for my mental health.

  “Please release me,” I plead, and he rushes to the bed to untie the ropes.

  “Did he hurt you?”

  “No,” I insist. “He just wanted to talk to me.” Why am I defending him?

  Once I’m released from the restraints, my heart begins to thrum painfully against my chest. I know we have no more than a minute or two before Daimon returns. Part of me wants to wait for him, but I don’t know if I’d rather punch him in the throat or leap into his arms and kiss him.

  “We have to get out of here,” I whisper frantically.

  Nick takes my hand. “I know where to go. Come.”

  I pause for a moment, staring at our hands clasped together. “Are you a bounty hunter?”

  “What?” His reply is high-pitched, but his mouth hangs open making him appear a bit dopey. “Why would you say that? Did he tell you I’m a bounty hunter?” He throws his head back and laughs. “That is very funny. A guy who makes sunglasses is a bounty hunter? He is de
sperate if he’s trying to convince you of something so ridiculous.”

  Looking into his shiny green eyes with the clock ticking down in the back of my mind, I try to figure out what I’m missing. Someone is hiding something from me. But I can’t decide if it’s Nick or Daimon. And I don’t have time to ponder this question.

  “Let’s go,” I reply with a nod.

  He nods back and pulls me out into the backyard where I spot the black man who followed me for days, dead in the overgrown grass. That’s Daimon’s associate, Crow? Why was he so dispensable to Daimon?

  I don’t have time to contemplate this question as Nick yanks me into my neighbors’ backyard. The neighbors Crow didn’t kill. Their yard is neatly manicured with stone pathways snaking through the space between their citrus and stone fruit trees. The air smells sweet and fruity. The warm humidity clings to my skin and fills my lungs, suffocating me.

  “Where are we going?” I whisper as we tiptoe toward the other side of the neighbor’s house.

  “To the marina.”

  We creep along the north side of the property and stop at the front corner. Nick inches his head forward to peer into the street. His eyes widen as the sound of frantic footsteps fall on my ears. It must be Daimon racing away from Nick’s house toward my cottage. We wait a couple more seconds, then he yanks me forward and we dart toward the steps leading down to the harbor.

  My whole body aches with every step I take as if every cell of my being wants nothing more than to reject this path I’m taking. Go back, my body is screaming. Go home to the one man who truly loves you.

  We reach the dock and find a gentleman who’s tying up his speedboat for the evening. My heart screeches to a halt when Nick pulls a Glock 22 and points it at the man.

  “Suelta la cuerda!” Nick shouts at him. The man’s wrinkled eyes widen as he drops the length of rope and slowly raises both hands in the air. Nick waves the gun toward the boat. “Metate en el barco!”

  The man scurries into the boat and Nick keeps the gun trained on him as he climbs in behind him. Nick reaches up, offering his free hand to me.

  “Alyssa, we have to go!”

  I inch forward until the toes of my sandals hang over the edge of the dock. I gaze into the dark water, glistening with moonlight.

  “Alyssa!” Nick barks at me.

  I reject his offer of help and climb into the boat myself. At once, he wraps his free arm around my waist and pulls me close to him.

  “Maneja!” Nick shouts as the man sits in the drivers’ seat.

  The man steers the boat away from the dock and punches the gas pedal. The inertia pulls Nick and me backward, and we fall back onto a cushioned bench seat in the rear of the speedboat. Nick continues to bark orders at the man and I’m almost positive he just told him to take us to Tenerife, a neighboring island with a large international airport.

  I look over my shoulder and my stomach clenches when I see him. Daimon races along the dock, frantically searching for something. Nick looks over his shoulder just as Daimon disappears behind a mid-sized sailboat, as if he jumped into the water. My heart pounds and worried thoughts race through my mind. Seconds later, another speedboat roars out from behind the sailboat and heads straight for us.

  Nick shouts at the man again and our boat shoots forward, flying over the rippling seas. I sense I’m being torn in two. My body is here in this boat, sitting next to Nick. But my heart is behind us with Daimon.

  I glance over my shoulder a few times, half-hoping I will see his boat gaining on us, but he seems to be falling behind. This boat must be more powerful than the boat he’s driving. At this speed, we’ll reach Tenerife in thirty minutes, at least ten minutes before Daimon. Plenty of time to get a head start and get to the airport. I can’t help feeling disappointed.

  I don’t love Nick. In fact, the only thing Nick has going for him is the fact that he didn’t kill my father.

  “Why do you have a gun?” I shout over the roaring squeal of the boat’s engine.

  “I brought it from my house after they drugged me,” Nick replies, his eyes locked on the driver as he keeps his gun pointed at him.

  “Why did you have a gun in your house?”

  “For protection, of course!” he shouts impatiently.

  Is it normal for a man who manufactures sunglasses to apply for a gun permit? It’s not as easy to get a gun in Spain as it is in America. I know. I looked it up before I booked my flight to La Palma. You need to be able to prove a legitimate reason: hunting, target shooting, collection, personal protection. Protection from what?

  Maybe Nick works in law enforcement. Or, as a bounty hunter.

  I have to think this through. I begin by listing the facts as I know them:

  Daimon killed my father.

  Daimon shot someone in a gold Mercedes right in front of me.

  My parents kept me locked in a basement for eighteen years.

  My parents needed to protect me to make sure they didn’t lose their annual hush-money payment from the princess.

  My father never let me out of his sight.

  My father knew the princess would send someone to get rid of her dirty secret.

  I haven’t spoken to my mother in months.

  Daimon has been holding her hostage in the same basement where my parents raised me.

  Daimon saved my life by referring me to Highland medical clinic.

  Daimon arranged the attack so that he could save my life and gain my trust.

  Nick showed up on the island at the same time as me and he carries a gun.

  Nick is a bounty hunter.

  I am pregnant with Daimon’s child.

  Daimon risked his life to save me when I came out of the clinic yesterday.

  Daimon loves me.

  I love Daimon.

  Everything Daimon told me adheres to the truth as I know it. Then it must stand to reason that he told the truth when he said he killed my father in self-defense. And it must also be true that Nick is a bounty hunter.

  “We should arrive at Tenerife in fifteen minutes,” Nick shouts at me.

  I stare at him in silence as I try to formulate a response that will pacify him. He can’t know that I’m onto him. But I’m just so angry; at him and at myself.

  “Did you hear me?” he shouts as I continue to glare at him.

  How could I be so stupid? Because Nick had me convinced that he accepted me as I was, discoloration and all? He preyed on me at a time when I was vulnerable. Still reeling from Daimon’s possible death, I was prime for him to sweep in with his sword and shining armor and rescue me.

  I am not a damsel in distress.

  “Alex!” He shouts my name and it takes him a few seconds before his eyes widen when he realizes his blunder.

  He’s not supposed to know my real name.

  Chapter Four

  Alex

  Nick narrows his eyes at me and I keep my gaze locked on his gun, bracing myself for him to make a move. As soon as his arm twitches, I land a lightning fast jab to his bicep, sending his Glock whizzing through the air and into the ocean. I throw another jab at his left cheek and he dodges it.

  “You bitch!” he roars as he grabs my right arm.

  I kick my knee up toward his crotch and he jumps sideways so the blow lands on his hip. He attempts to retrieve a set of handcuffs from his pocket, but I karate chop his forearm and he drops the cuffs onto the floor of the boat.

  I twist my arm around until he’s behind me and I attempt to elbow him with my left arm, but he’s standing too far to the right for me to reach him. I stomp on his right foot then throw my head back to headbutt him just as he doubles over from the pain in his foot. The blow to his head dazes me for a moment. Just long enough for him to tackle me.

  He lands on my back as I’m laid out halfway across the bench seat, the other half of my torso hanging over the back railing of the boat. I reach back, trying to get a grip on his nostrils or poke him in the eyes, but his head is flailing. He grunts as he squirms
on top of me, trying to push me farther over the railing. At least, I think that’s what he’s trying to do until I hear the sound of his shoe scraping around the floor of the boat. He’s trying to get the cuffs.

  My left arm is pinned between the railing and my abdomen. He has a firm grip on my right wrist. My only leverage here is to attempt to roll over, so his back is pinned against the railing. Or, if I can wrench my wrist free, I can try to throw him overboard.

  “You don’t need to do this, Nick!” I shout. “I’ll go with you freely! If you just tell me where you’re taking me!”

  His laughter shrieks in my ear. “You think I’m going to fall for that? Aha!” he exclaims as the soft clink of handcuffs breaks through the roaring airstream.

  I have to headbutt him again, even if it means I may knock myself out. I bow my face forward and throw my head back. This time I hear an audible crunch when the back of my skull makes contact with his nose.

  He releases me immediately and I flip over onto my back. My hands grasp the railing for support as I lift my leg and land a hard blow to his crotch with the bottom of my foot. He flies backward, landing on top of the driver. The boat swerves wildly to the left and I hold on for dear life as I watch Nick nearly get thrown overboard.

  The driver shouts at us as he gains control of the boat. Nick’s nose pours blood as he gazes into the water, then at his empty hand. He lost the handcuffs. I stand up straight to face him and his hand disappears behind his back.

  Disarm. Disable. Disengage.

  Those are the three tenets of combat my father pounded into me. The only way to disengage on a speedboat is to throw your opponent overboard… or kill them.

  Sorry, Nick.

  “You’re going down!” I shout as he pulls his hand out from behind his back brandishing a shiny knife.

  I kick my leg out to disarm him, but he’s quick. He lunges toward me and I feel the knife go into my side. The same side where I was stabbed just a few weeks ago. The pain is beyond excruciating. But I maintain enough wits to grab his wrist, twist his arm around, and bring my elbow crashing down on his elbow.