Page 33 of Into the Blue (Shades of Vengeance #1)

Waking in a stupor, my body aches in too many places. At some point, my restraints were removed after I had finally fallen asleep.

Looks like you played something right, Rocky.

Still alive another day.

I do some stretches, waiting in the room to see if Milo will come in to check on me or something.

He doesn’t.

I need a shower, badly, but I also need to reach Liezel. I scour the room to see if my purse is any of the places I normally keep it.

It’s gone and my phone is too. Figures.

Hurrying over to the closet, I unzip my suitcase. Inside are all the neatened bundles of twenty and hundred dollar bills I made at the clubs. It's not the safest option to have this much money in one place like this, but no place is safe than Blue Dupont's house. Of that, I can be sure.

I move stack after stack and check under the lining. My right hand stings under the bandage, but I’ll worry about that later. I switch to my left and dig a little deeper until my fingers brush what I’m looking for.

In a few moments, the burner phone powers on. I say a quick thank you that it’s not one of those cheesy ones that has some trilling tone for when it turns on.

I dial the number I know by heart and blessedly, the line clicks over and I hear my friend’s voice. “Who is this?”

“Lee, it’s time to enter phase three.”

“Rocky, where are you? I got everything you sent me two days ago and then silence. Where’s your phone?”

Two days? How has it been two days? Was I out for that long?

Shit.

“I’m still at Blue’s. He caught me getting all that stuff to you. Look, I don't know how long I have to talk, so just put everything we talked about into effect and wait for my call.”

“Why are you always in some shit every time you call me?” Her sigh is heavy on the line then she curses under her breath. “When are you coming home?”

“I don’t know…” I’m not dead. A miracle for sure. But I don’t know what Milo has planned. All I do know is that I have to get as much confirmed and in place as I can. “I’m going to find a way out, but it’s—”

“Complicated,” she finishes my thought. “Just tell me if you’re okay. I can come get you. You know that, right?”

“It’s too—Don’t worry about me for now. I’m fine,” I say that as my palm stings again and I realize that I don’t know that for certain at all.

I have to trust that what I have executed will be enough to carry me through to safety again.

“Rocky,” I hear the watery quality of her voice. “It’s too much. We can do something else. Anything else. I’ll never forgive myself if we lose you. I can’t lose you .”

“You aren’t,” I tell her with as much conviction as I can manage. My body is still covered in the evidence that I am not in control here. My future still rests in Milo’s hands. “I need to go. Wait for my call. I love you, okay?”

My friend agrees though I can feel her uncertainty and fear through the phone line. “I love you. Please be safe. I’ll do what I can from this side.”

I sit in the closet for a moment where I acknowledge my role in this mission and then return the phone in the lining with the money and ID card.

When all this began, long before I came to Louisiana, I didn’t know where it would take me.

Taking Lafayette was the goal. An alliance with the Duponts was supposed to be the safer option.

One that would allow me the opportunity to deliver on the promises that I made to my people.

If I can’t follow through then it means I don’t believe in myself or what I have to offer.

I must. If no one else will, then I have to .

Leaving the closet, I strip out of my tattered shorts and sweaty tank top. The last thing left is to remove the bandage Milo put on my hand. It looks different, like it was changed at some point while I was sleeping.

I’m careful with the adhesive trying not to disturb the cuts underneath. Nothing could have prepared me for what was under the gauze, cream and tape. With a tissue, I remove some of the thick white cream over the damaged skin.

On my palm just above the wrist, it spans the width of the lighter skin there. A name. Not his real name. But the one that is symbolic of fear and respect. In all caps, the four somewhat jagged letters are red and stark.

B-L-U-E.

He carved his name into my hand! What had he said?

Don’t worry. It will scar.

Why would he do this? The tender way he pressed his mouth to my hand was at complete odds with the action itself. Of all the things I thought he was doing, it never occurred to me that he would be actually branding me.

Fuck.

I step into the shower and begin cleaning myself, being extra gentle around my pussy that’s still sore from his teasing. It was meant to be a punishment.

I know that, but I know what the reward could look like.

I remember the way he ruined me in my apartment and the night he let me in that small bit to see the version of him that was before this current one. He let me see Milo. And I know that means something.

Though my situation is dire, I find myself wanting the reward—the ruination. The way his body was made for mine is undeniable. At either end of his attention, positive and negative, it lights me up just the same.

Gentle cleaning leads to a more thorough massage as I recall what he did to me.

With a frustrated huff, I stop before I get anywhere with my fingers.

I know it’s senseless to even try and get a quick orgasm myself.

I’ve been in the same position before. Nothing will help me get there.

Milo has completely taken over my pleasure like a bulldozer and my delicate tinkering will do nothing to ease the ache—only frustrate me further.

Besides, my hand is sizzling with the soap and warm water. I’d likely hurt myself more trying to do anything about it.

If he said they would scar, then I’m sure he knew that for a fact. I would have his name on my hand for the rest of my life.

Why would he do that?

Further reassured that his goal is not to kill me, but to get answers can work in my favor.

Men are so easy.

I have to remember that. As long as he underestimates me, I can use this to my advantage.

Turning off the water, I grab my towel and quickly dry off.

When I turn the corner out of the room, I’m stopped in my musing by Milo standing there tall and imposing with a snake around his head. The thick body like a head band where the arrow-like head bobs out toward me.

“Have a good shower?” He asks as if everything hasn’t changed between us since the last time I saw him.

I take a step backward but Milo grabs me by the arm. My grip tightens on the towel I have around me.

“Where you going?”

“I don’t want to be in your way. Just gonna go get some clothes and—” My words cut off abruptly as his head lowers to mine and he takes my lips in a kiss that lingers. One moment, I’m nervous of who I’ll find and then the next I know it’s Milo.

Milo, the protective man who opened up to me and showed me how he fought for respect. Or Blue, the man who demands everything with nothing in return, but what he’s willing to give.

It’s Milo who pulls my body into his and kisses down my jaw to my neck. He inhales me deeply, lips leaving a burning path to my shoulder. I feel the weight before I recognize that it’s not his hand on my other shoulder.

My eyes snap open .

His snake has begun to make a path for itself over my shoulder.

I don’t know what to do, so I hold my arm out like some kind of paralyzed tree and it takes that opportunity to explore my left arm.

I’m grateful it’s not my healing hand that it’s making its way toward because I haven’t ruled out that this massive thing won’t eat me.

It’s heavy and if I were weaker, then it might be a struggle to hold it up.

Blue pays the snake no attention as his hand squeezes my waist. He nips my neck and then back to my lips. I’m breathing hard and my pulse is racing.

Why is it that nothing with this man is simple?

Just a kiss and I’m holding a moving predator that weighs as much as a barbell on one side and giving into a much larger predator taking in my very essence for his pleasure.

“Come here,” he says.

I think he’s talking to me but he isn’t.

The snake extends its head away from my arm back to him and Milo places it back into the wall-width glass enclosure.

“Gets easier, don’t it?” He asks me now that he’s closed up the tank.

“What does?”

“The snakes. I think Indica might like you more than Sativa does.”

I blink several times. Is he serious? “Excuse me?”

“Before,” he gestures to one side, “you would shrink back. Even when you first saw me with her constrictin’ around my head. But then you were holding her, just fine.”

“Just…fine?”

He nods and then sits on the bed. There is already that box from earlier there.

The clothes I picked out lie on the bed next to him and I snatch them getting dressed quickly. If he notices my nerves he doesn’t comment on it at all.

Holding his hand out, he asks. “How does it feel?” I place my right hand in his and he looks at his knife work.

I look down at my hand that hasn’t started bleeding again, but still angrily screams his name. “It’s tender,” I respond carefully .

With the diligence of a medical professional, he cleans his hands. There’s care but unmistakable pleasure in the process of him applying that cream from before and a new bandage.

“Let’s go eat and we’ll talk.” Not a question or a request. I don’t validate it with a response, instead I just follow him to the kitchen.

The house feels no different, but when we reach the dining room, there’s already four men there. They sit on the bar stools and two others at the dining table.

That is definitely different. Before, I knew there were guards outside of the house but never inside as well.

“This is Marcell and Lonny,” he gestures to the men at the bar stools . “This is Benito and Davis,” he gestures absently to the table before grabbing some food from the kitchen.