The Debt: An Irish Mafia Romance (Downing Family Book 2) Read online

  That was a bad way to think, considering we’d only just gotten things started, but I couldn’t help it. I was still uneasy about the two families uniting, and it wasn’t just because Marcos was a fucking asshole.

  After offering Marcos a single nod, I moved to the curb where a line of taxis awaited.

  “I can have our driver drop you off,” Marcos offered from behind me.

  “A cab is just fine.” I glanced back at him before lifting a hand to the nearest yellow cab.

  As the driver pulled up to me, I waved to the other two men, then ducked into the taxi. I gave him the name of the hotel and leaned back into the worn leather seat and closed my eyes.

  Letting myself into the quiet hotel room, I hit the lights and did a quick walkthrough. Everything looked as I had left it. After I was satisfied that my security was in place, I flipped the security latch on the front door and stripped out of my clothes. I hung the suit up and went about the business of settling in for the night.

  Once I stretched out on the bed, though, I didn’t sleep.

  I still held my phone.

  I’d discovered that Daria still had her phone when she’d left it plugged in and charging yesterday while she showered. Unconcerned with whether or not I was invading her privacy, I’d checked to see if she’d sent any messages indicating where she was.

  There had been several texts from Isabel, but it didn’t look like Daria had responded.

  A quick check of the recent call log showed a conversation between Isabel and Daria. Daria hadn’t mentioned talking to Isabel, and I’d been curious about what they might have been chatting about, but I didn’t ask.

  What I did find was Daria’s phone number, and I committed it to memory.

  Now, lying on the bed, I punched the number in.

  The call went straight to voicemail. I smacked my forehead in frustration.

  Without leaving a message, I ended the call and debated whether or not to call the house. Daria was possibly sleeping. I didn’t want to disturb her if that was the case. Giving up the idea of a late night phone visit, I dropped the phone on the nightstand and closed my eyes.

  I’d see her soon. I just had to spend the next few days in Miami, and then I could go back to the island. Tomorrow, I’d find a way to broach the subject of settling the issue over Daria with the Castellanos. I’d see Duardo at some point this weekend, I figured, and I’d talk the matter over with him. I had no doubt they’d offered Delgado money to…cover the matter, and they probably expected Daria to pay for their loss.

  I’d pay it.

  As long as they got their money, that was the most important thing.

  I’d deal with it, then go back to Daria and then…

  And then I had no idea.

  I was already more emotionally invested in her than I had ever been with another woman.

  Would she go back to New York?

  If she did, when would I be able to see her?

  Not as often as I liked, but once I finished up matters down here in Miami and could go back to Philadelphia, I wouldn’t be that far from her. I’d be able to be in the city within a matter of hours, or she could come to me.

  Perhaps I should be concerned with the fact that I was letting this tentative relationship between me and the young dancer distract me from my business, but I was more concerned with finding a way to continue it.

  I wasn’t ready to let her go.

  And I wouldn’t let her go, not until I’d eased this deep, vicious hunger I had for her.

  Just thinking about her had my cock going stiff and ready. When I got back to the island, I was going to spend a good hour between her thighs. I’d need at least that long.

  My cock got harder still, and I slid my hand down my belly, closing my fingers around my dick.

  I closed my eyes, pretending it was Daria’s hand…no, her mouth. She had her mouth on me and moved up and down, the rhythm fast, hard, and dirty. I squeezed my balls with my free hand, arching up to meet my fist as I pumped and stroked.

  She could kneel between my thighs and work me like this, and I’d fist my hand in her hair as I got closer.

  Lost to the fantasy, I brought my hand to my mouth and licked my palm before moving it back to my cock, using the wetness to ease my movements as I fisted myself.

  Climax raged closer, spurred on by the mental fantasy I had of fucking Daria’s mouth again, seeing her wide, hungry eyes staring up at me, feeling her breasts brush my thighs, her hair spilling loose from my grip to frame her face.

  I came hard.

  Lying there, I focused on slowing my breathing and letting my heart calm.

  My semen started to cool on my belly, and I rolled out of bed, walking into the bathroom to clean up.

  This time, when I lay down and closed my eyes, sleep seemed a little closer.

  Chapter Three

  Daria

  It was getting dark when I finally made it to the next big landmass.

  It had to be Cuba.

  In the hours I’d spent on the water, I’d tried to work out some sort of plan, but I was too tired, too hungry, and too scared to think of much beyond reaching land before the boat ran out of gas.

  I still had a quarter of a tank when I pulled into an empty slip I found at a quiet, darkened marina.

  There were no lights on in the building, and when I made it out to the parking lot, I saw no cars save for a battered old work van. There was a nearby shed, and I approached it nervously and knocked on the door.

  Not hearing any movement inside at my tentative knock, I eased the door open and peered inside.

  I saw tools, a battered chair, a worktable. But no people.

  Perhaps it was the isolation that sent a throb of fear through my chest, made me move carefully. I closed the door quietly behind me and stepped inside to take another look around.

  I poked around a little more and breathed out a sigh of relief when I found a small mini fridge. It had several bottles of water and half a sandwich tucked inside a Styrofoam box.

  I guzzled the first bottle of water, drinking it way too fast. After spending the day out on the sea without anything to eat or drink, my belly was so empty, it cramped and my throat was so dry, it hurt.

  Once I’d polished off the first bottle of water, I fell on the sandwich, gobbling it down with the same speed I’d guzzled the water.

  By the time I’d finished picking up the small bits of meat that had fallen back into the box, my stomach had stopped yowling for food. I was still hungrier than I could ever recall, but it no longer made my stomach ache, so that was good enough.

  I found a trash can and threw the garbage away, then took the other bottle of water and made my way over to the door. I peered outside, but it was just as quiet now as it had been when I’d ducked inside this small shed.

  This was likely as safe a place as I’d be able to find for the night. I had little money. I’d found a small stash of cash back in Brooks’ bedroom, and I’d taken several bills, both in American currency and what I thought must be the Cuban equivalent. But that precious bounty would only last so long, and I didn’t even have a driver’s license to offer as proof of identity.

  I wasn’t really looking forward to spending the night here on the floor, but I didn’t have another option.

  I braced my back against the door and stretched out my legs. The air in the shed was pleasantly warm, though I imagined if I were here in the middle of the day, it would feel pretty hot and stuffy. Now, though, it was perfect. I didn’t have a blanket, but I was too tired to care.

  Dropping my chin to rest against my chest, I told myself to get some rest while I could.

  Tomorrow was going to be a bitch.

  I came awake in a mix of pain and confusion. My spine and back felt like they’d been beaten with a tire iron, and my head was pounding.

  The faint smell of motor oil tinged the air, as well as the salty scent I’d come to associate with the ocean.

  The fresh ocean air didn’t puzzle m
e, but I couldn’t figure out why I was smelling motor oil.

  Cracking one eye open, I looked around, a slant of sunlight from a solitary window falling on the wooden floor around me.

  My neck screamed at me as I moved my head, and I grimaced, reaching up to rub at the stiffness that had settled there.

  I was in a small room filled with tools and small machinery.

  I went to push myself up, and that small movement sent another dart of pain flying through me.

  I glanced down, trying to figure out why I was hurting.

  That was when I saw the bright red flush on the backs of my hands and up my arms. I was sunburned.

  That was all it took for memory to come rushing back. I’d spent all day yesterday in a boat, fleeing the island where Brooks had taken me so I’d be safe.

  I hadn’t been safe, though. Basilio had found me. Isabel had gotten in touch with me and told me to run.

  My breath was racing, and I forced my lungs to inhale deeply, slowly. I closed my eyes and focused, centering myself.

  It worked.

  I had a little bit of money. I was alive. I wasn’t seriously injured.

  I would be okay.

  A few hours of sleep had managed to clear my mind so that I was no longer eaten alive with panic. Maybe it had something to do with adrenaline—one could only run on it for so long before you collapsed or took action. I’d tried the flight thing. I wasn’t quite ready for the fight thing, but I couldn’t run forever. Especially in a foreign country with no papers and very limited resources.

  Did Brooks know I’d left yet?

  Like so much right now, that was a mystery to me.

  Fragments of dreams danced through my head as I pulled myself to my feet and stretched to relieve the ache in my muscles and bones. My skin felt horribly tight, and I looked down at my hands and arms. The moment I did, I wished I hadn’t.

  The sight of the sunburn made that tight, itchy feeling even worse.

  I’d found some sunscreen on the boat and had applied it liberally several times, but as pale as I was, I burned very easy. Apparently, I hadn’t been liberal enough with the sunscreen. The burn would fade in a couple of days, maybe even less, but for now, I had to deal with that tight, uncomfortable feeling.

  I blew out a sigh and shoved my tangled hair back from my face. I’d twisted it into a neat bun before I left the island, but a day on a boat speeding across the water had turned it into a tangled mess.

  Somewhere in that mass of hair were the pins that had held it together. I rooted through the tangles until I unearthed them, then set them aside. I finger combed the snarls until I could twist the locks back into their familiar knot. I knew it wasn’t perfect, but it was out of my eyes, and anyway, nobody was looking at me.

  It would have to do.

  I spent several minutes watching from the window before I deemed it safe to dare to slip outside. The marina was quiet, the early light of morning highlighting the things I’d missed the night before.

  Now that I could see clearly, the marina looked abandoned. The docks were in worse shape than I’d realized and the building that must have housed the marina’s office looked like it hadn’t been used in months, if not longer.

  I’d hoped to talk whoever was on duty into letting me use a phone, but that wasn’t going to happen here.

  For a long, long time, I debated the merits of even staying here. Maybe I should just get back in the boat and head back toward Brooks’ island. In the end, practicality won out. I’d used nearly three-fourths of my gas just traveling here. I’d never make it back to the island before the tank ran out.

  I was stuck here for now.

  My mind kept returning to Brooks. Did he know I’d left yet?

  I had no way of knowing without my phone. I’d left it behind so it couldn’t be tracked to me. Now I half wished I’d kept it with me. If I didn’t call Isabel, if I didn’t keep the phone on, Basilio would have a harder time tracking me. At least that’s how I thought it worked. But taking care of Brooks’ safety also meant I was painfully isolated.

  I doubted Basilio would be so arrogant to try and tap Brooks’ phone. And he had no way to tap the phones on the island. At least I didn’t see how it would be possible.

  But I’d left the phone behind, and there was nothing I could do about it now.

  No, I’d have to find another way to reach out to Brooks.

  I didn’t want him worrying about what had happened to me. And the longer I thought about things, the more I realized I couldn’t handle this on my own.

  I might be okay if I got back to the States, although I wasn’t certain about that.

  But I couldn’t even get out of Cuba without somebody’s help. And the only person I could even think of contacting was Brooks.

  He’d be angry. Nerves fluttered inside of me as I considered how angry he might be, but I just didn’t see any other way around it.

  Of course, maybe I didn’t want to.

  Chapter Four

  Brooks

  I heard the phone ringing, distantly.

  I pulled my head out from under the pillow and squinted at the clock, then went right back to hiding away from the coming sunrise.

  I could barely make out the faint gray that was replacing the darkness of night. The sun wasn’t up. It probably wasn’t even seven o’clock. That meant it was too early for me to have to put up with whoever might be calling.

  Of course, if they called again in a few minutes, I might have to re-evaluate. That would likely mean it was my father or one of my brothers, but I wasn’t wasting the energy just yet.

  I hadn’t expected to sleep at all, but I’d fallen into a deep, uneasy slumber plagued by odd dreams and even odder nightmares. In one of them, Daria had been dressed in a leotard and a black tutu, and every time I tried to catch hold of her, she’d disappeared, only to reappear a few yards away, dancing away too fast for me to catch her.

  I slid back into sleep, and this time, I found Daria waiting in my bed, that nervous, shy smile on her lips.

  More than ready to embrace this dream, I happily tuned out everything that wasn’t Daria.

  Even the vague echo of the phone couldn’t disturb me.

  I didn’t have to wake up until I was ready.

  And I most definitely wasn’t ready.

  I didn’t know how much longer I slept.

  When I woke, it was full light outside, so I figured I’d probably gotten another two hours of sleep.

  I felt a little more prepared and ready to face the day, although one might question that if they saw the dirty look I gave my phone.

  It was ringing again.

  It was the reason I was now awake.

  I shot a look at the clock and groaned when I saw what time it was. Close to nine. I’d definitely slept a couple more hours, and then some.

  Without bothering to get out of bed, I grabbed my phone and glanced at the screen before answering. “Good morning, Duncan.”

  He was quiet a half second, then said, “I’ve been trying to call you, Brooks. We’ve got a problem. Actually, we’ve got several problems.”

  Immediately, I sat up. “Is it Daria? Is she okay?”

  He was quiet again, but this time the silence lasted more than half a second. It was probably close to twenty before he spoke. “I don’t know,” he said, his tone guarded.

  I shoved up off the bed, the sheets falling in a tangle at my feet. “What in the hell do you mean, you don’t know?”

  “She’s not on the island, Brooks.”

  Panic vibrated in my head, making me dizzy with it. “Since when?” I snarled when I finally caught my breath.

  “Since…I don’t know.” He heaved out a hard breath before continuing. “But I can tell you she’s been gone a minimum of twelve hours. Maybe longer.”

  “And you’re just now calling me?” I shouted.

  “This is the first chance I’ve had to call you,” Duncan said. His tone was flat and even, but that didn’t keep me fr
om hearing the anger lurking just under it. “I’ve been tied up.”

  “I don’t want to hear fucking excuses, Duncan! I trusted you. How—”

  “When I say tied up, I mean it literally. Duardo and one of his paramilitary thugs got onto the island last night. I’m worried they might have paid one of the security people—and if they did, I’ll find out who—because they managed to get on the island and inside the house without being detected.”

  I was struck dumb for a long moment. Finally, after clearing my throat, I said softly, “Duardo has her?”

  “I don’t know for sure,” Duncan confessed. “But…I don’t think so.”

  “What in the hell are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about the fact that they spent a good three hours beating the shit out of me, Justine, and Enrique.”

  I went very, very still.

  “What did you just say?”

  Duncan repeated himself in a low, controlled voice that I was sure didn’t match his fury.

  “They wanted to know where Daria was,” he finished. “They were looking for her, and they didn’t find her here.”

  “I left her there, Duncan. Where else could she be?” An idea occurred to me, and I plastered my hand to my forehead, willing myself to think. “Could she have realized they were there and hidden herself?”

  “That was my first hope, but after they left, I worked on getting free. Once I’d freed myself, I cut Justine and Enrique loose, and the three of us went to her room.” He lapsed into a taut, lingering silence that dragged on interminably until he said, “There was a note on her bed, Brooks. She made it sound like you had solved everything, and you wanted her to fly back to the States.”

  It stunned me into silence for a few seconds.

  Duncan was the one to break it. “It’s become rather clear to me that you haven’t solved everything.”

  “Gee, you think?” I fired back at him, too pissed off to worry about things like discretion or tact. Normally, that was my strong suit. But I had no tact left in me at that moment.