Triple Team: A Military Reverse Harem Romance, page 19
“English?” Gregor said.
“Yes, I speak! I speak! A room you want?” She looked between us.
“How much?”
The woman hesitated and lowered her voice. “You pay with dollars, or Bolívar?”
“Dollars.”
She tried to hide her excitement but the sparkle was obvious in her eyes. “$15 for a room, yes.”
“The place down the road was only $10.”
“$10 is low! Too low! I must have $15.”
“I can only pay $10,” Gregor insisted.
They haggled like this for a few moments before settling on $12. She led us upstairs to our room, which had no lock on the door nor a private bathroom. But it had a large—and clean—bed and a view of the river, so we smiled and thanked the woman as she closed the door.
“What the shit?” I said. “Was an extra $3 really worth all that negotiating?”
Gregor went to the window and pulled aside the curtains. “She would have been suspicious if we didn’t haggle. I didn’t want to appear like we were in a rush to get off the street. We can leave her a big tip in the morning. Look at this.”
I went to the window. The main street was directly below us, allowing us to see anyone coming or going. And the Orinoco River shone in the distance, reflecting both the moon and the police lights from the barge explosion.
“We’re safe, for now,” Gregor said, closing the curtain. “We’ll need to keep an eye on the street, though.”
I leaned against the wall and laughed. The kind of delirious laughter that came bubbling out of you after a stressful hour fleeing the scene of a crime in a foreign city. Gregor joined in, and soon we were hugging each other against the wall, grateful for the physical and emotional support. Just two soldiers who were overwhelmed with relief and happiness.
“What happened back in the market?” I asked. “Don’t try to pretend it was nothing. You almost passed out.”
He pulled away and looked out the window. “I had a panic attack.”
I waited for him to say more. When he didn’t, I said, “It’s normal to be afraid while running from—”
“It wasn’t that,” he interrupted. “It was the crowd that did it. All those people…”
“I don’t understand,” I said.
“I don’t do well in big crowds,” he said. “Doesn’t matter if it’s here, or at an amusement park, or in the fucking mall. Crowds make me anxious. I get all sweaty, and struggle to breathe. Been that way for years. Since I got back.”
Since he got back. It all made sense now. I’d heard of men coming back from the Middle East with variations of PTSD. Usually it was a loud noise that triggered them. A car backfiring, or the pop of a rifle at the range.
“Gregor,” I said gently. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m not. It’s annoying as fuck, that’s all.”
“You’re safe now,” I said, embracing him again. Squeezing him as if that could take away his pain. “We’re safe.”
He said nothing, but I could tell the hug was helping. Slowly the muscles in his back and arms relaxed.
“I’m going to be totally honest,” I said into his shoulder. “I didn’t think we were getting out of that barge alive.”
“I knew you would,” he said.
“Me? Not both of us?”
“I had a plan which involved me sacrificing myself to create a distraction while you escaped. Good thing we didn’t need to use that.”
I pulled away and started to laugh, then stopped when I saw the look in his eyes. He was being completely serious. Gregor had planned on sacrificing himself to help me get away.
“Why would you have done that?” I whispered. I was afraid of the answer. Terrified.
Gregor set his jaw and forced himself to look at me. “Because I can’t bear the thought of anything happening to you. I will do everything in my power to keep you safe.” He cupped a hand along my cheek. “I care about you, kiddo. It’s insane to feel this way after a few days, but after what we’ve been through—”
I shut him up with a kiss.
The kiss turned into hard, fast, desperate touching. Fingernails scratching along skin. Grasping onto each other’s bodies like they were life preservers, that we would drown if we didn’t hold on. I kissed the tattoos on his arms and imagined I could taste the thick ink, and when he removed his shirt to reveal the other designs there I kissed them too.
We never made it to the bed. We fell to the floor in a tangle of kisses and gropes, eager to get our hands at the other’s sensitive places. We tore away our pants but didn’t bother removing my shirt, there was no time for that, and I spread my legs for him so he could slide right in with ease.
There were no words. We needed none. All that existed was the frantic, frenzied lovemaking on the floor of the bedroom to celebrate the fact that we were still living while the sirens wailed outside and the Venezuelans searched up and down the river.
28
Juliana
We were hungry when we first arrived in our room, which meant we were practically starving by the time we’d let out our pent-up energies. “Food?” I asked simply. I didn’t bother raising my head off the floor to look at him.
“Food,” he agreed, a finger tracing the lines of my pelvis. “Lots of food.”
We dressed and checked the window. There was still a lot of activity in Cabruta, but our side of the river was much quieter now. We were in the clear.
Hand-in-hand, we walked down the street looking for places to eat. We had intended to eat local food, but we came to a brightly lit joint with a huge neon sign of a cheeseburger above the door.
“Burgermania,” I read.
“Holy shit, look at this,” Gregor pointed at the menu taped outside the door. The restaurant specialty was a bacon cheeseburger with two mini-pizzas as buns and a layer of French fries underneath the meat patty.
I laughed. “It’s like someone tried to make an American restaurant based solely on descriptions of Americans they heard online.”
Gregor held the door open for me. “I always wanted to try genuine Venezuelan cuisine!”
The cook—who looked like he was the owner as well—was overjoyed to serve American food to genuine Americans. There were patties and fries sitting underneath a heat lamp but he insisted on cooking ours fresh to order, then overtly watched from the kitchen window as we took our first bites.
“This isn’t half bad,” I said.
“My mom always said hunger is the best spice.”
We ate in silence and washed it down with bottles of Caracas Pilsen beer, then ordered two more bottles from the ecstatic owner. He brought us out another basket of complimentary fries before finally leaving us alone.
“So,” I said while nibbling on a fry. “You spared that drug runner on the boat.”
Gregor looked across the table at me. “You surprised?”
“Kind of, yeah. I’m not a heartless killer but it would have been easier to leave him on deck. Or hell, to wait for the other crew members to return before blowing it up. But you didn’t.”
Gregor leaned back in his chair and shrugged. “The way I see it there’s different levels of bad guys. Drug users, drug dealers, drug transporters, drug bosses. All the ancillary enablers like Bezos Accola. Some of ‘em are cut and dry. JGB is a bad guy. The people around him are bad guys. So are the lieutenants underneath him who help spread his power like tentacles across South America—guys like Suarez.
“But a guy driving a boat?” He waggled his palm. “Sure, he knows what he’s transporting, but I doubt he has much of a choice. He’d probably be transporting food or medicine or car parts if those were the businesses available to him. He probably has a family he’s trying to feed. Children. That dude’s just a cog in the bigger machine, spinning as best he can. Shit, I feel bad enough taking his job away. I certainly don’t want to kill him.”
It was an angle I hadn’t considered, but now it was obviously the right one. “You big softy.”
He leaned forward and jabbed a finger at me. “Don’t get used to it. I’m not gonna be so lenient with the big dogs. If we manage to get to Suarez I’m putting a bullet in his skull. Same for JGB.”
“Woah woah woah,” I said. I paused to make sure the restaurant owner was out of earshot before lowering my voice. “I already called dibs on Blanco. When we reach him, I’m the one who gets to pull the trigger. Donovan promised.”
Gregor studied me for a few heartbeats. “You ever kill someone?”
I considered lying. It was a glaringly obvious fact that separated me from my three teammate lovers: they were killers and I was not. The only thing I’d ever shot in the Army was a paper target. It made me feel weak.
But he would have known if I’d lied, so I said, “No.”
“It’s not as easy as you might think,” he said softly. “When you’re in combat, it’s different. You’re shooting at a speck of clothing in the distance. Someone who’s trying to kill you as hard as you’re trying to kill them. But if we get to JGB and I hold him down, then hand you a pistol to point at his forehead? That’s not just a speck in the distance anymore. That shit’s real. More personal. You have to look into the eyes you’re about to extinguish forever. Is your blood cold enough to pull the trigger?”
“You think I can’t do it because I’m a woman?”
“Shit no,” he said. “It’s tough for anyone, kiddo. Man or woman, rookie or veteran. Even when it’s the right thing to do. Even when the guy deserves it.”
“Don’t worry about me,” I said, dismissing the advice outright.
“Only trying to share some experience.”
“I’m good. Thanks.”
Gregor only shrugged and picked at the rest of the fries.
I put my hand on his and changed my tone. “I’m glad I came on this part of the mission. Even if my role was minor back at the bank.”
“I’m glad you came too,” he said, and I could tell it was the truth.
29
Gregor
Juliana fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow, snuggling her back up against me so I could spoon her. But it took me much longer to drift off despite how tired I was.
I hadn’t been intimate with a woman in a long time. And to be clear, intimacy ain’t the same thing as sex. I’d had my fair share of random, meaningless hookups. A guy had needs. But sleeping with Juliana was different. The way her body fit into mine, shoulder blades against my chest and her blonde hair spread out across the pillow. I watched her sleep, the gentle motions of her chest rising and falling underneath the blanket.
Fuck. I was falling for her badly.
The next morning we walked to the supermarket to get clean clothes since we’d left all of ours in the truck in Ciudad de Bolívar. The intel had come back from Donovan overnight. Juan Suarez was indeed the mayor of Puerto Carreño, a port city on the border of Venezuela and Colombia. He owned a mansion in town which, according to our intel sources, kept a garrison of half a dozen guards at any given time.
“Three for me and three for you,” Juliana joked. “Easy as pie.”
“Hope so.”
We packed up and bought a car from the hotel owner, which she happily announced was a convertible—something she assumed all Americans wanted. It turned out that it was a normal sedan with the roof cut off, the edges still jagged and dangerous. Still, I praised the condition of the car and paid the woman without haggling.
When we were on the road heading west, Juliana said, “When I imagined an elite mercenary group, I didn’t picture driving around in something like this.”
“It only needs to last to Puerto Carreño,” I said. “The map says that’s about four hours. We’ll be there by lunch.”
“Hope he sets a place at the table for us,” Juliana grinned, looking around at the terrain on either side of the road. “I’m doing more sightseeing here than I did in Switzerland.”
“I’ll be sure to tell Michael you’re having more fun with me.” I looked over at Juliana. Her hair streamed behind her in the wind, and the smile on her face was wider than I’d seen since the boys and I met her that night in Boston. She was having a good time.
So was I.
She seemed to read my mind. “Last night was fun,” she said.
“It was. That pizza cheeseburger abomination was better than I expected.”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “You know what I mean.”
“I had a good time too,” I said.
“Just good?”
“Okay, I had a pretty good time.”
“And what could I have done to make it a great time?”
“Well, I was hoping for some morning sex,” I said, turning from our small dirt road onto a paved highway. “But you hopped out of bed before I could make a move.”
“Honestly? I was trying to get to the shower first,” she admitted. “I’m grumpy if there’s no hot water.”
“What a selfish thing to do. This changes my entire opinion of you, Juliana Ellersby. When we reach Puerto Carreño I’m calling home to request a new hacker be sent to take your place. We’ll send your pay in the mail.”
“Darn, I got this far only to fuck it up,” she said. “Anything I can do to change your mind?”
“Afraid not, kiddo. Better luck next time.”
We grinned at one another, but then she unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned over the seat. “Are you sure there’s no way I can get the job back?”
“Nothing comes to mind.”
“Challenge accepted,” she said lustily, unzipping my pants. I struggled to keep my foot steady on the accelerator as she pulled out my prick and then wrapped her lips around it.
“Oh—oh fuck,” I groaned. “”Your mouth is so warm.”
She wasn’t interested in talking—she was totally focused on her job of sucking me off. Fortunately we were the only car on the road. I leaned my seat back and spread my legs while her gorgeous head bobbed up and down.
Juliana wrapped her lips as tight as she could around my head, sucking it so that it made a wet popping noise as she pulled off. “I want you to come down the back of my throat,” she said, gazing at me with hunger. “Hold me down while you come so I know you like it.”
She quickly returned to task, moving up and down over my shaft. Occasionally she pushed down even farther, practically deep-throating me to the base, hitting those nerves that never got touched. All the while she swirled her tongue around, a massage of ecstasy.
She made quick work of me. We’d driven two clicks before I felt my orgasm building steadily, creeping toward the edge of a cliff. I grabbed Juliana’s hair and pushed her head down on my cock so she could take my explosion. The wind carried away my cry of pleasure as I came again and again, filling the back of Juliana’s throat. She gripped my leg tightly and moaned around my shaft until I was totally spent.
She came up with a big smile on her face, not a drop of come to be seen. “Better than morning sex?”
“I’ll say.”
Holy shit. This woman.
We drove the rest of the way to Puerto Carreño with smiles on our faces.
30
Juliana
The drive was surprisingly relaxing, despite the looming danger of what would happen upon arrival. This part of Venezuela wasn’t jungle terrain like I’d expected; it looked more like the pseudo-desert of central Texas, full of loose grey dirt and low shrubs dispersed among the rolling hills.
My phone buzzed in my pocket while I was watching a flock of birds circle above a tree. “Huh. I’ve got cell signal.”
“Means we’re close to Puerto Carreño,” Gregor said.
I pulled out my phone and was greeted with a text message:
Donovan: Miss me yet?
I smiled and texted him back:
Me: New phone, who dis?
Donovan: Ahh, sorry, wrong number. I was texting Tiffany.
Me: HEY
Me: THAT’S NOT FUNNY
Donovan: Excuse me, miss? Could you leave me alone? I’m trying to send a dick pick to my side piece, Tiffany.
Me: Dick pick, huh? Show me what you’re working with, my dude.
The photo came through immediately. It wasn’t a standard dick pick, though. It was a photo of Donovan wearing tight grey boxer briefs. The bulge from his hard cock was like a roll of cookie dough underneath the fabric. It made me blush and giggle at the same time.
“What’s so funny?” Gregor asked.
“Nothing,” I said as innocently as possible.
“It’s a dick pick from Donny, isn’t it?”
I burst out laughing.
“It’s kind of his thing,” he said with a chuckle. “Not to women who aren’t interested in that. Just those he’s already been with. Loves sending them a pic of the old ball and chain.” He shook his head. “We’ve told him girls don’t like that, but he never listens…”
I leaned in close to him. “Want to know a secret? A good bulge pic is a million times sexier than an actual dick pic.”
“Is that so?”
“Way hotter. Tell your friends.”
We crossed a bridge over the Orinoco River. Just like that, without any fanfare or customs agents, we were in Colombia.
Puerto Carreño was the largest city we’d seen since Ciudad de Bolívar. It was nestled onto a small peninsula formed by the confluence of the Meta and Orinoco rivers, surrounded by river barges jostling for position at the active port. We passed houses that rose two and sometimes three stories, all of which bore red tiled roofs. Unlike Venezuelan roads, most of the streets were paved and clean. It was the first and only Colombian town we’d seen, but the differences between the two countries were stark.
Gregor wasted no time driving straight toward the mansion, which was on a small hill above the surrounding neighborhood. We parked three blocks away in front of a small cafe that gave us an unimpeded view of the front of the mansion.
