Manipulate (Deliver 6)

“For our first prison fight,” he said in drawling English, “that wasn’t bad.”

His friend dropped a forearm over his eyes and groaned. “Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker.”

She felt a tic in her cheek. An unfamiliar emotion.

I like them.

The sentiment was neither here nor there. She had a job to do, and it started now.

Drawing in a deep breath to calm her heart, she stood from the bench and made her way toward them.

Martin noticed her first and rose to his feet with a grace that didn’t match his rugged, banged-up physique.

He looked like hell, with a bloody nose, fat lip, and his shirt hanging in shreds around his sweat-slick neck. She’d never seen anything sexier in her life.

His blond hair was short on top and even shorter on the sides. He wore dark fitted jeans that hung low on narrow hips and a thin layer of scruff on his chiseled jaw.

His lashes, thick and golden, hooded his deep emerald eyes as he perused her from head to toe.

An unexpected shiver slid across her skin.

“You must be Martin,” she said in English and shifted toward the man lying on the ground at her feet. “And Ricardo.”

Ricardo moved his arm from his face and stared up at her with velvety brown eyes. “Ricky.”

Ricky and Martin.

“Livin’ la Vida Loca?” The instant she blurted the question, she felt awkward.

Ricky shot her a stony glare, and Martin’s eyebrows gathered.

Of course, they were confused. She’d ignored them for days, and now she was poking fun at them.

Two years in this place and she’d completely forgotten how to socialize.

“Ricky Martin. You know, he sang that song…?” She shook her head. “You do speak English, right?”

“We thought we were the only ones,” Martin said in English.

Perfect. That was the language she would continue to use with them. Maybe it would help them connect with her.

“To what do we owe the pleasure?” Ricky rose to his full height, stretching over six feet of gorgeous masculinity. “Petula, is it?”

Well, hello, Tall, Dark, and Handsome.

He was as tall as Martin, dark where Martin was fair, and just as gorgeous close up. She loved the trendy look of his thick black hairstyle, the way the strands tumbled loosely and disorderly on top and faded beneath a severe side part into shaved sides.

Neither man bore visible tattoos, piercings, or track marks from heroin use. No wedding rings, either.

Maybe they were carrying assassination orders in their back pockets. But at first glance, they seemed like they would show up on a first date with flowers. And condoms. But not guns.

“It’s Tula, and you two look like you could use a drink.” She turned away, tossing an order over her shoulder. “Walk with me.”

She didn’t wait for them to follow, and after a few steps, her nerves tightened. Dammit, they weren’t coming.

Way to make a fool of yourself, Tula.

She was in over her head, but she kept walking, one foot in front of the other, chin up.

Then the sound of shoes scuffed behind her. They grew closer and flanked her on either side, invading her senses with testosterone and body heat.

Her eyes wanted to steal greedy glances at them, but she trained them forward and planned her next step.

If they were going to tell her anything, they would have to trust her first.

She needed to make herself vulnerable. Because what man didn’t trust a vulnerable woman?

Blood dripped from head wounds and multiple cuts on their bodies, and Martin’s swollen lip looked pretty painful. She had the supplies to clean them up and the alcohol to numb the aches.

In her private cell.

That was where she would take them.

For the first time in two years, she was going to open herself up and invite someone in.

She just hoped they wouldn’t hurt her the way Garra had.Pain coughed through Ricky’s battered chest, and every step aggravated his throbbing shins. He had a few scrapes, some cuts, and a bruise on his ego. Nothing he couldn’t handle. After a stiff drink and full night’s sleep, he would be back in business.

His partner in crime lumbered along with a slight limp, sporting two sexy shiners on his face and a fair amount of blood on his shirt.

Tula strolled between them, setting an unhurried pace with her shorter legs.

He and Martin had noticed her in the yard right before the muscle squad showed up. Just what a guy wanted—a beautiful woman watching him get his ass kicked up between his shoulder blades. Good times.

As she led them deeper into the maze of hallways, he eyed her up and down in his periphery.

The graceful dip of her waist flared into a round, tight ass. The sinuous line of her neck, small tits, and toned thighs in denim formed an irresistible shape.

Everything about her was delicate, from her petite height and slender tattooed arms to her pert nose and small feet. It would take no effort at all to lift her with a hand around her throat and pin her against Martin’s chest. Before she could sputter an objection, he would have her separated from her gun and restrained between him and Martin, with his mouth on her lips and Martin’s teeth scraping her neck.