Page 3 of Fixed Asset

The van came to an abrupt stop. Hands wrapped around my secured ankles. But instead of being yanked from the vehicle, I was lifted.

I turned my head toward one of the arms locked around me and sniffed again.

Tide.

Did I smell Tide?

Chapter Two

I was going to spank the ever-loving hell out of Catarina Keys. Peel her jeans down her legs, bend her over my lap, and redden her delectable ass.

The woman had no sense.

None.

I’d died a thousand deaths since I’d met her.

The problem was, she was smart as fuck, and her risky behavior paid off. At least it had when she was undercover in Las Vegas pretending to be a ditzy bombshell on the prowl for a sugar daddy. Our target had zeroed in on Cat’s gleaming blonde hair, blue eyes, tight body, and gorgeous face, and took the bait. Then for the next few weeks, I had to watch her cozy up to a rich scumbag who made his money by selling women. Not only selling them outright to other rich, sick fucks but renting them out by the night.

Each time she’d tricked herself out for a meeting with Martin Jackson, my gut had churned. Every night she had been with him, worry had set in until it burrowed deep and turned to fear. One wrong move would’ve been the end of her. It wasn’t just our target but also his entourage of guards she’d had to fool.

In reality, there was nothing sweet, soft, or compliant about Catarina. Yet she’d expertly pulled it off. All the way to the very end, when, during the takedown, Cat had beaten the absolute shit out of Martin.

I couldn’t say the man hadn’t deserved it, but the rage behind it was what had worried me. I’d seen the way Martin had touched her. How his hand had rested on her thigh while the motherfucker made her sit on his lap. That beating said something other than takedown—it screamed of retribution.

The last time I saw the woman was on the veranda of a mansion—dress torn, barefoot, with blood coating her hands along with splatters on her face, neck, and forearms.

And there she was, once again putting her life in danger. This time without the full support of the Sex Offender Investigation Branch of the US Marshals Service. She didn’t have the FBI as backup. She didn’t have my old boss, Wilson McCray, and my old team to watch over her.

This time, she was alone in a country known for femicide. And she was there, alone, eating lunch in a café in an area of town that was a hotbed for kidnapping and murder.

Oh yeah, I was spanking her ass. Then I was demanding answers. I was done playing games with this woman.

My teammate, Mason Hughes, lifted Cat’s feet and stepped out of the van. I hadn’t zip-tied her wrists—something I’d have to think about later—but the lack of restraints meant I’d had to keep her back pressed tightly to my chest the short drive to the warehouse. I wasn’t exactly sure if I wanted the excuse to keep her in my lap or if hooding her and tying her ankles together was as far as I was willing to go in my ‘scared straight’ ploy.

Once we had her in the middle of the room, I jerked my chin to Mase. He slowly lowered her feet.

My mistake was thinking since she’d been docile in the van, she’d stay that way. I should’ve known better—she was trained and highly skilled.

The moment I relaxed the band my arms around her formed, she quickly bent her knees and dipped down while just as quickly lifting her arms, breaking loose. Her elbow caught me in the right kidney. Even blind, her aim was perfection.

Before I could stop her, she spun to face me and threw a right jab to my gut, then a left hook aimed for my jaw. I easily dodged the hook, grabbed her wrist, and twisted it behind her back. In a stupidly brave maneuver, she used my momentum and launched herself backward.

Not wanting to dislocate her shoulder or break her arm—which was what I would’ve done had she been anyone else—I eased off the arm hold and controlled our fall. But just because I didn’t want to hurt her didn’t mean I didn’t have a point to make. I twisted, rolled her facedown on the concrete, rolled again so I was on top of her, and pinned her with my weight.

“God,” she huffed. “You win, Jack.”

My body froze.

“What’s with all the drama?” she continued. “You couldn’t just roll up, say hello, and offer me a ride like a normal person?”

Mase’s chuckle echoed throughout the cavernous space. Saint ‘Pete’ Young wasn’t far behind with his laughter.

“That’s it?” Pete asked. “I thought you had at least one more round in you.”

“If you’re talking to me,” Cat wheezed, “I’m smart enough to know when to tap out. And two hundred pounds of muscle, I have no chance of moving.” To punctuate her statement, she shoved her ass into my groin. I stifled a groan by grinding my molars. “Unless I do damage to his testicles. And as a thank-you for not popping my shoulder out of its socket, I’ve decided to spare him the pain of a twist and pull.”

My second error related to my first mistake—I’d lost focus and hadn’t paid enough attention to her shifting under me. What felt like her wiggling in order to breathe while I gave her most of my weight was, in reality, her worming her hand down between her legs. With a shift of her shoulder and a lift of her hips, she awkwardly found her target.