His Devil's Mercy Page 13

  Her traitorous body reacted to his wanton treatment with a surge of heat that flushed her skin. His wicked laughter caused sensation upon sensation to heat her body as he continued to sup on her like a primal animal.

  “Please, honey, I beg you,” Samantha puffed hoarsely. Her nails cut into the skin of his shoulders. Her muscles clenched around his tongue as he continued to lap deep inside her. Her breathing had turned haggard and frantic.

  Rhone brushed his fingers over her clitoris. Their eyes met as he began toggling the tip, sucking at the resultant moisture that gushed forth. He swapped, pushing three fingers inside her as he sucked the swollen nub into his mouth. His eyes narrowed. His nod was barely perceptible as he began pounding her with his hand. He bit hard into her clit, pulled on it and shook his head.

  Samantha’s eyes rolled back in their sockets as the coil that had been tightening inside her snapped. It hurled her so high she forgot to breathe.

  Before she could catch her bearings, Rhone flipped her onto her stomach and yanked her onto her knees.

  “Spread your legs,” he ordered and yanked them wide apart when she was too slow to comply. “Such a fucking sexy sight. What man could resist this?” He said to himself.

  “Rhone,” Samantha lost the ability to think when he brushed his fingers over her swollen clit and pulled her hips backward. She was amazed when he managed to fling her right back onto another cloud of passion, so soon after she’d climaxed so hard.

  “I’m right here, luv.”

  He shoved his swollen cock into her with one hard thrust. Her cry excited him to no end.

  “And I have more to give,” he growled wickedly as he pushed a well-lubed finger, dripping with her own juices, into her ass.

  “Oh my god!” Samantha gasped. It’s been too long since she’d experienced double stimulation. Every nerve inside her ass and pussy felt like it was connected with her brain. She was helpless against the sensations ripping through her body. She pushed back and arched her neck in elation as he slammed into her with strong, hard thrusts. He plunged deep, extracting cry after cry from her lips, while he pillaged her ass with his finger.

  “Do you remember, Samantha? Do you remember that this, every fucking inch of your body belongs to me? To. Me!” He reiterated with two hard powerful thrusts.

  She clawed at the sheets, moaning at his rough treatment, yet she was fraught with hunger to reach the level of pleasure only he could offer her body. She panted, feeling his girth stretch her wider as he plundered her body. He added another finger into her ass.

  “Yes, Samantha, even this inviting little hole is mine. It. Belongs. To. Me!”

  Again, he pounded both orifices with deep penetrating strokes. Her nostrils flared as he ruthlessly fueled her arousal. His devious intent to trap her in his spell was close to completion.

  He was so focused on molding her to his power that he was surprised to feel her hand closing around his balls to squeeze his sack. His breath wheezed from his lips as she gently pulled with every plunge he took.

  “Yes, my pet. That’s it. Feed my cock to fill your little pussy to the brink,” he said through clenched teeth as swelled more.

  It was the final straw and Samantha erupted in guttural moans. A gush of nectar coated his cock as he continued to pound her silky walls. She wailed as the climax caused her body to erupt in convulsions that wracked her helpless frame.

  Rhone pounded into her. “I’m not done with you, Samantha,” he warned as he reached around her to pinch her nipples hard. She cried out, his thrusts firm into her pussy.

  “Yes! FUCK, YES!” Rhone roared as he was struck by a tremendous spasm. He pounded faster, harder and ejaculated in hot, pulsating spurts of cum inside her.

  He fell on his back beside her and forced deep, gasping breaths into his lungs. He pulled her on top of him. His arms locked her in a tight embrace. The rhythmic stroking of his hand over her back calmed the tumultuous emotions running rife through Samantha. She fell asleep with the sweetest words she never expected to hear this night.

  “You are mine, Samantha. Don’t ever forget that.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “I don’t want to be disturbed,” Paul Burgess barked at his PA as he stormed into his office at Crown International. He slammed the door shut with enough force to rattle in its frame.

  He was angry. Once again, his plans had been usurped; he was on the verge of self-combusting.

  He was still trying to recover from the shock of finding Joanne Blackmore at Club Devil’s Cove the previous night. It had been a prudent move to start wearing a full mask to the club over the past couple of months. There was too much at risk, being recognized at the club. A vision of Joanne flashed through his mind. Even now, he felt an icy chill race down his spine, similar to the one last night, when he’d turned around at the bar to see her rush toward her brother, Jack Blackmore. He’d never once considered that she might be one of the sex slaves that had been returned from Saudi Arabia.

  “How the fuck did she manage to get out of there without a passport?” He opened the safe hidden behind a huge portrait on the wall and found the brown manila envelope. “It’s still here,” he muttered as he paged through the little book in his hand. Her passport was the only one that hadn’t been handed over with the rest of the women who had been sold. Paul had wanted to make sure there would be no chance for her to get her hands on it.

  Using Joanne Blackmore as a pawn had been a tactical move a year ago. Paul had known she would grasp the opportunity he’d offered with both hands. He had watched her silently from the sidelines while making his devious plans. She was a lot like her brother and had even tagged along on minor ops since she’d qualified as a forensic anthropologist. Her knowledge of human nature and crime, combined with her sharp mind, had been useful for them and the FBI in various cases to pinpoint culprits. She had always thrived on challenges and when he’d presented the undercover op to her, she’d jumped at the opportunity. He had wanted to weaken Precision Secure and she had offered him the perfect weapon. He had used her to hit them where it hurt the most―losing a loved one. Their constant interference with the Sixth Order had made him look like a fool to the leaders every time they foiled one of their major operations.

  He had needed them out of the way while the Sixth Order had streamlined their human trafficking strategy into Saudi Arabia. It had worked better than he’d expected. Ruark Greer and his entire team had pushed aside all cases to search for her. In that time, Paul had succeeded to cement their association with the Islamic countries.

  No one knew that he, the real person under the wig and beard disguise, a high-powered man in the government, had been responsible for recruiting Joanne for the covert op—not even her own brother.

  “Until now. Fuck!” His voice grated hoarsely. “Think! I have to think. She’s not going to fuck up everything I’ve worked so hard to achieve.”

  When he’d initially approached her, he’d done it under an assumed name but not in disguise. If she saw him, she would recognize him.

  “I need to make sure I stay out of her way until I find a way to . . . wait a fucking minute. She didn’t look fragile at the club. Not like one would expect from a woman who had been used as a sex slave for a year.”

  Paul sat down and paged through the information that Dexter had sent him on the escaped slaves. Joanne’s picture wasn’t among them, and yet, the report indicated that thirteen women had returned to the US.

  He powered up his computer and sat tapping his finger as he pondered the situation. Something didn’t add up and he had to find out what it was.

  He scrolled through the pictures that Dexter had included in the files that contained additional visuals of the women while at the desert compounds.

  “Fuck, I don’t see her in any of these.” He started from the beginning, flipping past the ones of the army commander who was believed to have been involved in their escape, until he came to a close-up picture of Jarrah Farooq. “Wait a minute.” His
breathing escalated as excitement surged through him.

  Paul searched through the photos on his desk for one of Joanne Blackmore. He held it against the one on the screen to compare the features on the two pictures.

  “I’ll be damned. The fucking bitch managed to betray an entire community! It is her. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

  He jumped up and gathered all the papers. After he’d locked them in the safe, he sat down behind his desk to consider his options. The sharp trill of the phone startled him.

  “I told you I didn’t want to be disturbed,” he snapped into the receiver.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Burgess but you instructed me to prioritize Mr. Dexter Powell.”

  “Put him through.” The soft click indicated the transfer had been done. “Dexter?” He frowned, wondering why he was using the landline. He always contacted him on the secure cell phone. A warning bell sounded in the back of his mind.

  “We need to meet. Fifteen minutes at the massage parlor.”

  Paul opened his mouth to respond but the connection was cut. He stared at the receiver in his hand. A feeling of doom encapsulated him.

  “What the fuck was that all about?”

  The massage parlor was a code name for the Sixth Order’s secret operations room that was only accessible via the underground tunnel from the train station on 86th street, on Upper West Side in Manhattan. They only met there when Mr. Z joined the discussion via satellite link.

  Paul switched off his laptop and shrugged into his overcoat. It was close enough to walk but there was a chill in the air.

  “I don’t know how long I’ll be out. Cancel all my appointments for this afternoon.”

  “But Mr. Burgess, what about—” She swallowed her protest when he slanted a dark look at her. “Very well, sir.” It was very difficult to keep track of all the cancellations she had to reschedule, especially as he only came into the office four times a month for a couple of hours in the late afternoon. His top management team wasn’t going to be happy that the meeting was going to be cancelled—for the third time.

  Paul was contemplating how to use the knowledge he now had on Joanne. From the discussion he’d had with Sheikh Juhayman bin Mohammed after Dexter had informed him of the women’s escape, he was furious with his commander. He was after his blood.

  “I have to think this through carefully. I can’t afford to fuck up with her. If she sees me, my cover is blown,” Paul said to himself. His strides were long and confident, carrying his big frame with ease as he descended the stairs into the subway.

  The entrance to the underground tunnel leading to their hideaway was through a hidden door in a storage room, behind the ticket booth. He slipped inside undetected. He waited a couple of minutes to ensure no one was around before he searched for the secret lever behind the wall mounted light fitting to slide open the door. Within minutes his footsteps echoed dully in the long, poorly lit stone tunnel.

  Someone who didn’t know about the Sixth Order operations underground wouldn’t know where to find it. The door had the same appearance as the stone wall. It opened with a retina scanner that was also unnoticeable unless you knew where to look.

  Paul placed his nose against the cold panel and opened his eyes wide for the scanner. The door slid open silently.

  “Morning Mr. Burgess,” Bill Holland, the burly guard greeted him. As always, his voice was gruff. He looked like an angry pit-bull ready to attack. “Mr. Powell is waiting for you in the boardroom.”

  Paul acknowledged him with a nod. He strode toward the mezzanine level where the massive boardroom overlooked the operation’s room below. The modern and highly technical equipment had surprised him the first time he was here, but it shouldn’t have. Sixth Order meant business.

  “Paul, sit down, please,” Dexter said upon his arrival. The 150-inch monitor on the wall flickered on. Mr. Z appeared as he always did, sitting behind a huge desk with the light behind him. Only his profile was visible. He didn’t waste time with niceties.

  “You are aware that we choose our members very carefully, Burgess. Every single one is handpicked for a purpose. Even you.”

  Paul felt the earlier unease resurface. He kept his expression impassive and his body relaxed.

  “Our rules are clear. Members remain in our ranks only for as long as they honor our code of loyalty for the better good of the order.”

  Silence followed as Mr. Z allowed his words to sink in. Paul was aware that Dexter was watching him intently. His expression didn’t change, even though Paul’s unease increased. He had a feeling that he might have been compromised somehow. He kept his gaze unwavering, as he waited for the ax to fall.

  “Our human trafficking vein in the Islamic countries is one of our most lucrative endeavors. You should know, seeing as you did all the leg work to get it off the ground. I’m sure you’d understand that we would hate to see it compromised.”

  “Of course, Mr. Z,” Paul interjected.

  “I thought as much, which is why it surprised me to find an inconsistency in the second shipment we provided to our buyer in Saudi Arabia. Of course, had some of those components not been recovered and returned to the US, we would never have known about this,” he contemplated softly.

  Although Paul couldn’t see Mr. Z’s face, he could feel his eyes boring into him. He kept his mouth shut. It was best to hear him out before defending himself.

  “You see, Mr. Powell and I keep an eye on everything that may endanger our position—and the Sixth Order.” He leaned forward. “There were twenty components provided on that shipment and yet based on the reports we received, it seems there is one neither Dexter nor I recognize as part of the original shipment.”

  “Well, it’s been over a year,” Paul hedged. His mind was in a whirl as he searched for a way to get out of the firing line.

  “Don’t insult my intelligence, Burgess. We have photos and copies of the passports of every component we’ve supplied to our various buyers—except for one. Our records indicate that twenty were bought and paid for.”

  “That’s correct,” Paul confirmed. His lips flattened.

  “Are you sure there’s nothing you wish to share with us, Paul?” Dexter asked in a chilled voice.

  Fuck, I should’ve been more careful. How was I supposed to know they keep records apart from the ones I have?

  “You’ve been part of this organization for many years, Burgess and should know by now that we know everything that goes on here,” Mr. Z continued hoarsely.

  A cold chill ran down Paul’s spine. It was clear that they knew about the additional woman on that shipment.

  “I would be surprised if you weren’t, Mr. Z. You and Mr. Powell are very astute.” Paul desperately looked for excuses to absolve himself; at least to keep himself from being killed right there on the spot. He was cognizant of the fact that the burly bodyguards that followed Dexter everywhere had silently entered the room and were standing behind him.

  “Yes, Burgess, we are, and we don’t appreciate being taken for a ride. I ask again, is there something about that shipment you’d care to share with us,” Dexter interjected.

  Paul forced his body to relax. He frowned and pretended to consider the question.

  “I did take some initiative at the time, yes. You wanted the Sixth Order to be the market leaders into Saudi Arabia and I thought an added incentive couldn’t hurt. There was an influx of providers gunning to be top dog and I did what was necessary to ensure we were at the top of the list of providers,” Paul responded in an even tone.

  “Initiative?” Mr. Z’s clipped voice echoed in the acoustic of the room.

  “I offered them an additional component free of charge. I had heard through my resources that Sheikh Lufti bin Qara had been searching for an American virgin to add to his harem.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I was just looking out for our client.”

  “That was a clever move and yet I can’t help but wonder about your real motives, Burgess. We select components without any attachments.
The one you supplied didn’t fit that criterion at all,” Mr. Z growled.

  Paul started. Fuck me! They know it was Joanne.

  “Yes, Paul, we know who the woman is,” Dexter snapped. “And now we have a problem.”

  “I don’t understand.” Paul’s suppressed the desire to lick his lips. His mouth had suddenly gone dry.

  “You don’t? I would’ve thought it was clear. The component you so generously offered the sheikh is among the ones who were returned to the US. Joanne Blackmore is the daughter of Paul Blackmore, a very influential businessman in Los Angeles and Jack Blackmore’s sister, who has been trying to sink us for years.” Mr. Z rose and started pacing in front of the window. “We have more than enough problems dealing with Rhone Greer and his team; we do not need this added aggravation.”

  Paul watched the leader of the Sixth Order on the monitor. He was of medium height and sturdy built but still, only his profile was visible to Paul. This was the closest Paul ever got to Mr. Z. In all the years he’d been with the Sixth Order, this was only the fourth time he’d been called for a virtual meeting with the boss.

  “Is this going to present us with a problem, Burgess?” Mr. Z barked.

  “I’ll deal with it, Mr. Z. You have nothing to be concerned about,” Paul retorted.

  “Yes, you will. And do it in such a way that no one would ever be able to link her disappearance with us.” Mr. Z sat back down and rested his chin on his hands. “My guess is that you chose her for a reason—a personal one that had nothing to do with the eloquent excuse you just supplied.”

  “I assure you—”

  “It matters not,” Mr. Z cut him off. “You will eliminate her.”

  “I’ll arrange it.”

  “No, Burgess, you will not arrange it. You caused this problem. We expect you to take care of it, personally,” Dexter snapped with a dark look that caused a fine line of sweat to form on Paul’s forehead. For the first time, he felt exposed.