Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Ollie

I hate this. All of it.

Being in such close proximity to Renata Carerra, all five foot, one hundred pounds of dynamite, sitting next to me. She'll be my wife. And while I know exactly why my brother and his wife decided this was the best move, I'd rather marry a total fucking stranger than this woman.

Before her betrayal… this would've seemed like the best gift, all neatly tied up in a bow. But now that she can't be trusted, I've just been given the world's worst assignment: Keep a close watch on a woman who gives you a reason to breathe. Make sure she doesn't betray us. Oh, and also, have sex with her, but you'd better not goddamn enjoy it because that will only make you weaker. Deal with her in your bed, in your thoughts, in your fucking dreams, but make sure you don't fall in love with her.

Sure thing, guys. I'm fucking on it.

I take our bags and jerk my chin at the plane. "Go," I snap. The air is fucking tense.

"What did you take with you?" Her voice is a challenge, a test of her will against mine. She wants control, answers, but I'm the one that gives orders around here.

"Does it fucking matter? Get on the plane." The sooner we get to The Cove, and the more distance we put between Renata Carerra and her homeland, the better.

"I want to know what they packed," she says, standing on the tarmac with her arms crossed on her chest.

Is she fucking kidding me right now? "And I want you on that plane before I count to three, or I'll drag you on that plane, and you'll be in big trouble."

Yeah. Good one, Ollie.

She narrows her eyes at me. "Just because you're going to be my husband doesn't give you the right to boss me around."

I kick up my foot and dust her ass with it. "Fucking go. And yes, it does."

"You just kicked me!"

"I didn't kick you. I encouraged you to move your ass before I blister it." I'll fucking take her pants down right here if she keeps this up.

The sound of tires screeching on pavement is our only warning. I toss the bags to the side and dive into her, knocking her to the ground just as the sound of gunshots explodes around us. My first thought is to keep her safe, to shield her. If anything fucking happens to her, the world will burn.

My men snap into position. Gunshots ring as we scramble for cover.

One, two, three men are on the attack.

I'm gonna guess Carlos got the word.

The first man goes straight for the jugular, his gun aimed in my direction. My shot hits him straight between the eyes. As he falls to the ground, I nail a second. The third is a fighter though. He manages to dive beneath the oncoming fire and lunges straight at Renata. I roll to him and pull the trigger, but someone grabs me from behind, and my shot goes wide.

I try to keep my gaze on Renata, but whoever's got me won't let me go. I elbow their ribcage and hear them scream in frustration, but I can't get out from under them in time.

Renata's scream rents the night air. She's fighting like a rabid cat, scratching and clawing. Finally, I get a grip on the man who's got me. I roll over on him and deck him, and my gun skitters to the side. I hit him again and again, blood spurting onto the ground. His eyes are swollen shut, and his lip is bloodied. I lift his head and slam it onto the concrete.

I quickly look around us. Everyone's down. Renata's bleeding heavily from a slashed cut on her arm. I bend, lift my gun, and shoot the passed-out asshole between the eyes once, twice, three times.

"I think he might be dead," Renata deadpans, her lips pursed. She's holding a hand to her bleeding arm, blood seeping through her fingers.

"You never know. You alright?"

She rolls her eyes. "Got a little paper cut, but I'm otherwise fine. Sorry about that. I suspected someone would attack us, so I wanted to delay. If they attacked when we were hitting the air, we'd never get out of here."

I gawk at her before responding. "You did that shit because you thought someone was coming?"

She frowns. "Yeah. You have a Band-Aid?"

I blink and stare at her arm. "Jesus, woman. Put your hand down." I kneel in front of her and assess her arm. "Are you insane?" My voice is harsher than I intend, but she doesn't flinch. If anything, she stands taller, daring me to do something about it. And fuck, I want to. I want to bend her over my knee and show her just how fragile that defiance is.

"Why?" she asks, looking down.

"Because you referred to this gaping wound as a paper cut and asked for a Band-Aid."

"It's not that bad. And can I have a sense of humor, or no?"

I growl in response.

"Please translate that into English. Or Spanish."

"I'll translate that," I say wryly. "My wife is going to learn to behave herself. And if she doesn't, I'll make sure she does."

A smile plays on her lips.

"Hold still. It's not deep, but it needs to be cleaned. We need to get to the plane now."

"Aw, handsome, I'm so glad you're with me. I never would've known what to do next."

I narrow my eyes. "Ahhh, I get it now," I say as I get to my feet and lift her up.

"Get what?" she asks. God, she's a mess, but even now, she's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.

"You're taunting me. I see right through your little fucking games. You want to push me, see how far you can go. But be careful, Renata. Push too hard, and you'll find out the hard way exactly how far I'm willing to take this."

Her jaw drops open.

"I see where this is going, how you're going to act the brat and defy me, so I turn you over my knee." I nod as we step onto the plane. "Fair, fair. But really, honey, you didn't have to play me. You could've just asked."

I love the way her cheeks flame pink. "I do not! And you will not !"

I snort to myself. "Now who's lying? On the plane. We need to clean you up." I don't need any lie-detection skills to read her this time.

With a quick, haunted look around her, her eyes dart every which way before she moves, looking as if she expects an army to attack us before we leave. It makes me uneasy myself, so I take another minute, weapon drawn, to scout the area. But we're clear.

This attack seemed spontaneous.

The sooner we get out of here, the better.

And we won't come back until I personally stare into the lifeless eyes of Carlos Carerra.

"I'm dripping blood everywhere," she says, her voice choked. I can't help it—the sound of her vulnerability undoes the knot in my chest.

"Here," I say, more softly than I intend. I reach for her hand and help her into the seat. I know she's more than capable, but I can't help but want to protect her. What if she is telling the truth? What if she is innocent in all of this?

Unfortunately, I'm not the one with built-in lie detector senses.

I get a first aid kit from the flight attendant, who's as unruffled with my request after an attack as he would be if I asked for a bottle of water. It's not the first time my family suffered an attack trying to leave this country, and it won't be the last.

I kneel in front of her and press folded gauze to her arm. The feel of her skin sends a jolt through me. Crimson quickly saturates the pad. I look more closely at the wound and press harder. She hisses in a breath but doesn't move. She's bleeding, in pain, but all I can think about is how close she is, how easy it would be to make her mine.

"Hurts like a motherfucker," I mutter. "Doesn't it?"

"Mmm," she hums.

I signal to the flight attendant, an older gentleman with short gray hair and a trim frame. "Sir?"

"Give me a shot. Anything. Something hard and strong." I hold another square of gauze to the wound while we wait for him.

It takes effort not to look into her eyes, but I feel them burning into me. Even now, with blood seeping through the makeshift bandage, Renata Carerra is the most beautiful woman I've ever known. Her long, dark hair hangs down her shoulders in crazy waves, making her look like a half-wild woman. Her skin, sun-kissed and dark, contrasts sharply with the white gauze.

Her eyes, a deep blend of hazel and brown, are filled with a mixture of pain and determination. I'm not so sure that the pain is from her wound. When she was my prisoner back at The Cove, we spent day and night with each other. I feel as if I knew her, and now I question which Renata is the real one. The witty, self-deprecating, quirky woman who talks with her hands and sings when she showers? Or the sullen, guarded woman in front of me now?

Her full lips, usually curved into a smirk or smile and rarely anything in between, are now pressed into a thin line as she tries to control the pain. My God, even now, she's stunning, and I'd be a liar if I said I was immune to her. No. Renata Carerra is a witch who cast her spell. A wave of her fingers and I'm helpless and must follow.

I swallow and focus on her injury—getting another piece of gauze and replacing the first one, saturated with her blood. "Let me look you over," I murmur, pulling her closer. My eyes travel down the slender column of her neck, her bare collarbone. I want to kiss and lick my way down her body until I get to her perky, full breasts. I want to hold her body against me and show her she's mine.

Her petite frame is deceptively delicate; I know there's a strength and fire within her that rivals any man's. I catch a glimpse of the scar on her right cheek, a reminder of the battles she's faced and survived. A memo to me of who my enemies are and why they will die a slow and painful death. I swallow again. Her vulnerability, coupled with resilience, makes her more attractive to me than ever.

Every inch of her screams of raw, untamed beauty that pulls at me, no matter how hard I fight to resist her. The curve of her waist, the slight rise and fall of her chest as she breathes through the pain—she's magnetic, enchanting, and it's fucking driving me mad.

I'll kill Mikhail and Lev for putting me through this.

The flight attendant returns with a fistful of small glass bottles. I take the first one with a nod of thanks and hand it to her. "Drink." Holding my gaze, she twists the top off, tips her head back, and downs it in one go. I stare at her throat as she swallows and finally comes up for air.

"Another."

I take a second and hand it to her. She quickly downs it and finally sighs with contentment. Wordlessly, she gives me a nod to continue.

"Hold still," I order, opening a bottle of antiseptic and pouring it over her wound. I swear to God, I feel it in my own nerves when she gasps and grits her teeth, but she stays still.

"Good girl. Just like that. We don't want this to get infected. Any pain relievers in that kit?" I ask the attendant.

"Yes, sir." He gives me a flimsy pack of pain relievers. I open it with my teeth and tap them into her hand. She chases them down with a third shot and finally drops her head back.

"Strange how he cut your arm. Why not somewhere more vulnerable?" If I were slashing to really hurt or kill, I'd have gone for the back or neck. "This might need stitches."

She nods. "Fine. You have what you need in that kit?"

I look at her in surprise. Jesus, she's ready for me to stitch her fucking arm here ? With nothing but whiskey and vodka to numb the pain? These Colombian women are made of goddamn steel.

I shake my head. "No, we'll get you home."

Renata lifts her chin and clenches her jaw.

"You can bring me back to The Cove, but it will never be my home."

That's what she thinks. She's mine now, and soon, she'll be my wife.

Her home is where I am.

"Right," I mutter, taking my seat next to her. I call Isabella and Lev to fill them in.

"Well done," Isabella says. "Are you sure she's alright?"

"Yeah. It was strange, and they left really quickly, so maybe he just wanted us to know he hasn't forgotten us."

"Mmm," Isabella says. "Or something else."

"When we get back, I'll talk with Aria." My oldest brother's wife, Aria, is a world-class hacker and computer whiz. The woman's insanely intelligent and capable of finding people and places invisible to the rest of us mere mortals.

"Good idea. We should step up security back at The Cove too."

"One hundred percent."

"Ollie, one more thing," Lev says as the plane begins to taxi down the runway.

"Yeah?"

"You let us worry about your landing and security when you get back. We'll have a team waiting for you. Before you get back to your house, we'll have you stationed at a safe house."

I shake my head. "No. I want to go home. I've got this."

I watch Isabella and Lev engage in a subdued conversation. The tension is palpable.

Finally, Isabella breaks the silence, her tone decisive. "Mikhail will make the final decision."

Lev nods, his expression resolute. Before I can respond, Isabella turns her attention to me, her gaze sharp and unwavering.

"Ollie, we'll handle security details. Your sole focus right now is handling Renata."

I look over at her. Her eyes are locked onto mine, a silent plea for assurance.

In that moment, the weight of responsibility feels heavier than it's ever been… but I'm more resolved to do exactly what I've been commissioned to do.

Handle Renata.