Manipulate (Deliver 6)

“I’m scared, you fucking asshole.” Martin followed him down and unleashed a sharp, backhanded blow across his face. “I’m scared for you.”

“What the fuck?” His jaw stitched with pain as he raised his arms to defend against the next strike.

Martin aimed low, punching him in the ribs. Ricky grunted in shock and dropped his hands against the hurt, realizing too late he’d exposed his neck.

A muscled forearm slammed against his throat and nailed him to the mattress. He gulped for air, pulling nothing into his lungs.

He clung to the arm at his throat, his fingers digging into muscle as he tried to dislodge the choking hold. But beneath the constricting pain stirred a dark desire.

Martin’s crushing weight, cruel scowl, and unbending restraint—all of it heated Ricky’s blood and tightened his balls.

“You want me to hurt you?” Martin seethed in his face. “I promise you don’t want my brand of hurt.”

Give it to me.

He tried to choke out the words, but they hit the air without sound or breath.

With a guttural growl, Martin shoved his free hand between them and gripped Ricky’s erection through his jeans.

Oh, God. Don’t stop.

His pulse roared. Black spots bloomed across his vision, and all the heat in his body rushed to his dick. He’d never been this hard.

Martin’s fingers curled around his nuts and squeezed with agonizing pressure. “You’ll beg for death before I’m finished with you.”

Martin would cut his own arm off before he crossed a line that couldn’t be fixed. To prove it, Ricky shoved his neck against the iron bar of Martin’s arm, seconds from passing out.

A knock sounded on the door.

Something passed over Martin’s expression, and he blinked. His features softened, and his eyes looked brighter, sharper.

He pushed off the bed, and Ricky gulped for air, dragging starved breaths through his bruised throat.

Martin stabbed his hands in his hair. His chest heaved, and his jeans bulged with the long, engorged evidence of his arousal.

A second—more impatient—knock rapped on the door.

“Fuck.” Martin reached for the handle and stopped.

Glancing down, he adjusted his erection and straightened his shirt in an attempt to hide what was too large to be concealed.

Ricky moved to the edge of the bed as Martin unlocked the door and opened it.

Garra stood on the other side, holding a paper bag. He glanced between Martin and Ricky before pushing his way inside.

“Come on in,” Martin snarled in Spanish.

Ricky jumped to his feet, and the paper bag dropped on the mattress.

Garra pointed at it. “Use those. Every time.”

Curiosity moved Ricky toward the bag. He dug his hand in and pulled out a fistful of condoms.

Not what he was expecting.

He dropped the rubbers, unable to conceal the contempt in his voice. “Did you use one when you raped her?”

“Yes.” Garra shoved his shoulders back.

No cowering with this one. No sense of self-preservation, either.

Ricky sent a fist into the motherfucker’s nose. The wet sound of breaking cartilage accompanied a gush of blood.

Red trickled down Garra’s lips and splattered the gold chains around his neck. He didn’t roar in pain. Didn’t throw a counterstrike.

The son of a bitch smiled.

“If you do that out there…” He stabbed a finger at the hallway, his Spanish thick and nasally. “You might keep her alive.”

What the fuck was happening?

Garra pivoted and strode out the door. When he reached the corridor, he turned back. “Before you stick your dicks in her, picture this… Her belly round with your child while she sleeps on a filthy cot, scavenges for prison food, and gives birth on the floor surrounded by violent criminals.” He spat a glob of blood in the hall and nodded at the paper bag. “Use the condoms.”

Then he was gone.

Martin shut the door and leaned against it. “That isn’t a man who’s just doing his job.”

“You don’t say.”

“Does he love her?”

“He delivered condoms to two men he doesn’t know.” Ricky cocked his head. “To use with the woman he loves? I don’t think so.”

“Good point.” Martin stepped to the bed and peeked into the bag. “Nice right hook. You broke his nose.”

“I should’ve broken more than his nose.”

“He solved the condom issue.”

“We didn’t have a condom issue.” Ricky had intended to hustle prophylactics from one of the prostitutes. He would’ve used flattery, charm, a couple cans of soup, whatever means necessary to obtain protection for Tula. Except sex. Tula was the only woman he wanted.

Garra saved him the hassle, but he still wanted to kill the guy.

“Where the fuck is she?” Martin shoved a hand in his hair.

“We need to go find her.” He moved toward the door.

“Can you avoid a fight?”

His stomach tightened. The fights found him, not the other way around. “No promises.”Something by The Beatles hummed from Hector’s record player and caressed Tula’s senses. She danced slowly in place, one hand on Hector’s shoulder and the other resting in the loose curl of his fingers.