Goddess

Goddess

Ipad to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. No Keurig. No fancy espresso machine. Just a plain old coffee pot. This little quaint log cabin is deep in the woods and backed up to a lake. Which lake? Of course I’m not allowed to know that. It’s been nearly a week since the attack at Huxley’s estate. He lost all but five of his men. After getting the news that my parents were safe, I was told that I was being moved to another remote location. I insisted that Huxley go with me. He is the only person I trust right now. I didn’t want some stranger to take me to a new place. The FBI finally agreed after discussing it with Huxley.

His room is across the hall from mine, separated by the bathroom, because he’s yet to offer to share a room with me. I know he’s been feeling out of sorts over his guys, so I hadn’t mentioned it. Our conversations are infrequent, mostly at dinner, but it’s missing our routine sex afterward. He hasn’t touched me. It’s as if he trying to distance himself from where things are leading between us. I keep telling myself to give him the space to mourn.

The screen door bangs behind me, and I startle. Huxley stands there chugging a bottle of water, sweat dripping and disappearing in the waistband of his shorts. I swallow the lump that forms in my throat. He has to feel this built-up sexual tension between us.

“Look who has finally risen,” he taunts.

“Finally? It’s only eight o’clock. Neither of us has anywhere to be.”

“It’s still late. I’ve been up since five. I’ve had time to get an update, get some work done for my advertising agency, and run three miles.”

That’s one of the perks of being in such a secluded location … we get to go outside. We never see our protective detail, but I’m told that they’re there.

“We’ll great on you for being productive,” I congratulate. Why don’t you grab a shower, and when you come out, I have breakfast ready.”

He looks unsure. Up to this point, either him or his housekeepers have cooked. Even the times we’d plan to cook together, it resulted in him cooking and me admiring how sexy he looks when he cooks. It was our foreplay for the earth-shattering sex afterward.

“What? I can cook.”

“What are you making?” he quizzes.

“It’s a surprise. Now go take your shower before I get in there first, and you complain that I used all the hot water again.”

That’s all the prompting he needs. He heads to the bathroom without a backward glance. I hear the shower turn on, and it takes everything in me not to join him like the last time he needed a nudge. If I hadn’t made the first move, would we have started fucking? Would I have developed these intense feelings? Am I going to have to be the first to make a move again?

So many questions run through my head as I open the refrigerator and stare. It’s a surprise to me too with what we’re having. After a thorough assessment of the contents, I decide on French toast, bacon, and eggs similar to what Marisol made us that first day minus the gourmet touch.

I’m nearly done when Huxley appears with only a towel around his waist. The imprint of his cock presses against the cotton. Rivulets of water run down his body.

“It smells heavenly in here,” he says as he comes closer to investigate what’s for breakfast.

“Did you have to come out here naked?” I mumble, but he still hears me.

“I’m not naked … I’m wearing a towel. If I was, it isn’t anything you haven’t seen before.” He grins. “I’m air drying.” He grabs a plate and begins to serve himself.

“Well, I don’t want to be thinking about your cock if you’re not fucking me.”

“What if that’s all it could ever be— fucking. Are you okay with that? Because I got an update this morning. We won’t need to be here much longer.”

His posed question is like a punch to the gut. What do I do? Deflect. Change the subject. There is no way for me to answer that truthfully—not without snuffing out my last chance to be with him intimately.

“What do you mean we won’t need to be here much longer? What did you find out?”

There’s brief hesitation, but he allows the subject change. “The FBI have their sights on Arlo, and they’re letting him lead them to the Russian’s underboss and a couple of their capos. They’re running a sting sometime during the week to bust them for human trafficking. They’re selling women who they’ve smuggled from other countries to the highest bidder. The FBI will finally have what they need to put them away for a long time, thus crippling their power and reach.”

I fix myself a plate and join him at the small wooden table. “Did you ever find out how those men found us?”

“Yeah,” he answers solemnly. Just when I think he isn’t going to say anything more, he does. “One of the newer guys to our team was having some financial difficulties. I paid him handsomely, but his wife has a gambling addiction and got herself in serious debt with a loan shark. She had a short window to pay, or they were going to kill her.”

“Oh, no. Don’t tell me he sold us out,” I gasp.

“That’s exactly what happened. He’s the person I had retrieve a package for me when we first arrived at the estate. The contents contained mostly files and pics of who to be on the lookout for if they ever found us. Jacob used this info to barter a deal for an insane amount of money. He gave them just enough to breach us, but I guess his conscience kept him from telling them about the panic rooms.”

“Did he confess that he is the one that leaked our location?”

“No. They killed him along with a lot of my other men for the perceived betrayal.”

“How do you know he was the one?”

“The son of a bitch still had the communication between him and Arlo on his phone, including how much money he was being wired. Of course when they called the number, it was a burner but had enough identifiers to know he was messaging with Arlo.”

“Yeah. That was more than a little stupid.” I shake my head. “That could have been a phone call. Text leaves behind evidence.”

Jacob could not leave the estate after that one pickup. That’s the rule. Everyone remains in place until the job is done— less chance of being spotted and found that way. That meant his communication had to take place at my estate. There are cameras and hidden mics everywhere. And even some that hadn’t been disclosed. He couldn’t take that chance of being overheard, so he did the only thing he could— text.”

“I’m sorry it was one of your own men who set us up and caused you to lose most of your men. I can’t even begin to guess what you’re feeling right now,” I say, pushing the rest of my food aside.

Knowing this bit of information helps me to understand why he’s been so distant this week. He was betrayed by someone he trusted to bring onto a team of established men. That trust got most of them killed.

“None of this is your fault, Huxley. There was no way to know about his wife’s debt and the threat on her life would be his Achilles heel.”

Huxley gets up from the table and places his plate in the sink before turning to lean against the counter.