Seducing the Cold Bodyguard Gangster

Chapter Seven

I sighed trying to collect myself and walked over to a mirror at a fixed brown dressing table of the yacht’s master bedroom. I guess telling Carla about the name Briggs was all that I could do for that man at the moment. 

I am definitely in a horrid beat-up state. There is mud on my face. My hair is in a knotted plastered format of brown on my head. There is a bruise on my right shoulder from Yuri slamming the jeep door against me when I tried to get out of it. My dress is anything but white anymore. It is covered with the putrid stains of lake water and red dessert earth from the ranch in Texas. 

I don’t hesitate removing it and tossing it to the ground. I want to be out of it if only as a reminder of why I put it on in the first place to look sexy for Damien. 

My partner for the last year was in fact a sadistic psychopath with a bloody thirst for money and power. Building a luxury hotel to him was more important and whatever means he had to get that contract were fine with him, no matter how horrid those means needed to be, including murder. 

How had a woman like me been blind to what he really was? I am not arrogant but I am intelligent and I have always had really good instincts. Was I under some kind of spell or something? I felt like an i***t yes, but I am also so angry at what he is. He was guilty of a multitude of crimes. Most importantly he is going to kill someone back in Texas because they would not sign a damn contract with a hotel site. How sick was he? And I know for a fact that his father must be involved in all of this as well. Nothing was done in Cole Enterprises without Derek Cole’s say so. 

These Spaniards are taking me to Italy. I don’t know why I have to be brought to this Mr. Whitaker. He did his job, he ‘extracted me’ out of Texas. I want to get to some police authority to turn Damien in the first thing that I can. However, Allessandro had just informed me that there was new information brought to light. Whatever that was, I was intent on finding it out and that could only be done by Mr. Whitaker. 

There is a bathroom in this master bedroom. I move over to it. A small marble tub with gold fixtures is more than alluring. This was a luxurious yacht to have a bathroom like this. I run the bath with searing hot water which I am hoping will scorch away the feeling of Damien ever touching me off of my skin. I get in and gasp slightly at the burning liquid but I don’t care. I let my shoulders sink under the surface. I roughly pull back my knotted hair and douse it into the water. 

I sit up and pull my legs towards my chest. I began to cry. All the strength I was feeling at fighting Damien and getting out of this situation is suddenly drained from me the second all the water covered me. My mind flashes to his voice yelling into the phone; dead or alive. 

After shedding my tears for longer than I care to count, I cleaned away the blood from my torn-up wrists. With the caked black removed they looked red and swollen. I dipped them into the water to let them soak a little. I then washed my hair. I remained in that bath for so long the water turned cold and my skin looked wrinkled. I was so tired. Emilio said the path to the coast of Mexico would be eight hours. I had some time to get some sleep before we arrived, and I really don’t want to lie here awake thinking of being spotted by a Mexican patrol boat on the way into Mexico. I only hope that patrols are more likely to be looking at boats exiting Mexico, not the other way around. 

I knew I had to get out of the comfort of the water before we reached port. I stood and dried my body off with a cream-colored towel. 

I moved over to the bed, still naked and climbed in pulling the heavy expensive covers over my bare and battered body. I never really liked sleeping in nightshifts or clothes. I liked the feeling of freedom being naked in a bed with nothing but the comfort of sheets and pillows. I thought I would not be able to sleep at all, or at least would have nightmares, but it was only a few seconds after my eyes shut that I fell asleep. 

I awoke to a knock at the door. I stood, wrapping the bed cover around myself and opened the door. 

Emilio was standing there and his eyes fell to the line of my naked shoulders and then to my lips. I really don’t feel like being naked underneath a blanket in a doorway in front of a solider, but I was still grateful that they saved my life. He had removed the dark black war paint from his face and was now simply dressed in a white shirt and jeans. There was a large black gun set into the side of his belt. His dark brown eyes were shot wide open at what I was looking like. 

“Emilio.” I said trying to draw his attention back from his stare over my naked shoulders. 

“Umm. Miss. Ericson. We are about a half an hour from Mexico now. Allessandro wanted me to inform you.” 

“Thanks Emilio.” I said shutting the door and ignoring his obviously lustful gaze. 

I looked at my torn up white dress on floor. There was no way I was putting on that again. I moved to the dresser of the stollen yacht. Let’s hope there is something female of nature in here. 

I open a closet to find an elegant black singlet dress. It’s trim is covered in an over exaggerated array of black puffy lace. 

“This will have to do.” I say, as I pull it from the hanger and place it on the bed. 

I rip off the puffy lace at the bottom of the trim and put it on. Whoever this belonged to is a lot curvier and shorter than me. The dress is now pretty high up resting at just above the middle of my thigh. It is baggy and falling down my shoulders so I take hold of a simple thin gold belt and use it to wrap around my waist pulling it tight to hold the fabric together. 

I look at an extensive shoe collection and the sizes, which are two larger than mine. Barefoot it is, I instruct myself. I then look at a little dressing table with some make-up brushes on it. Why not, it might make me feel a little better. 

I walk over and put on some mascara and eyeliner. A lovely little bit of gold eyeshadow and dark red lipstick does make me feel a bit like my old self from the last days’ events. 

I took my credit card and the remaining cash from the pocket of the white dress and put it in my bra. These items are all that I have of mine on me now. 

I make my way to the main deck, though barefoot. Allessandro is standing at the edge of the top deck at the front of the bow. I follow his glance to the coast. He too has cleaned off his face and changed. I guess the three of them must have. He spins in my direction and then leans over the side of the deck. 

“Do you feel a little better Miss Ericson?”

“Please call me Vanessa.” I said, now truly sick of hearing Miss Ericson over the last day and half. “And yes, a little.” I answered. 

He looked back over the port we were now entering. I watch him looking at the port trying to read his features with more detail. I was right that he must have been in his late forties, the wrinkles that are now visible without black and grey paint make that clear. His brown eyes are firm, yet kind. He is wearing jeans with a tucked in black shirt to a brown leather belt that makes him look professional. He was a lean slab of muscle, that was certain. A Spanish black panther appearance indeed.  

“You are leading this operation?” I asked. 

“No.” he said back to me. “I am under Mr. Whitaker and his instructions.”

“Right. But Emilio and Carla both work for you?”

“They are my team, yes. Carla is an expert in everything that moves. She can fly anything with wings and drive anything with wheels. Emilio is an expert marksman. He distracted your friends back in Texas with a couple of random shots while I found you in the barn and got you out of there.”

“Friends.” I addressed his remark with a sigh. “Damien was my partner for over a year.” I shook my head slightly again feeling so foolish about how I thought of him before yesterday. 

“I take it you have not been exposed to this kind of violence before?”

“Violence?” I questioned with a laugh. “You mean attempted murder and stealing land for a mass hotel to be built?” 

“We were all trained in the Special Operations Command in the Spanish army. We are used to this kind of world. The mission we were on in Mexico was to extract a wealthy business tycoon’s daughter who had been kidnapped and was being ransomed back to her father.”

“You were successful?” I enquired curious to know if the girl was still alive. 

I could not even fathom being in a ransom situation like that. These people acted in a very dark other world that was completely oblivious to me. 

“Yes. My team carries a high success rate of 90%.”

“A high success rate. I guess it is good I have you on board to help me.”

“90% is not a hundred Vanessa. We sometimes loose people. We, well I never take it well and I know that Emilio and Carla feel the same but it is part of the job.”

“Thanks for your honesty. What is Mr. Whitaker’s success rate?” I enquired using his choice of words. 

“Not sure but I know that he is one of the best bodyguards you can hire in the entire world. How did you get in touch with him anyway? It is not easy to come by a means to reach Mr. Whitaker, even by Presidents who want to hire him. He has very many alias’s that he uses to keep his identity unknown, and his contacts are very loyal.”

“Really?” This Mr. Whitaker is starting to get my interest growing a lot by his extreme reputation. “A friend I know from Chicago who is an ex-marine gave me his number.” 

Allessandro just gave a nod. I guess that was all the explanation that he needed.  

“A marine is never an ex-marine Vanessa.” He added with a smile. 

Yes, I knew that statement. Tyler had left the marine’s a few years ago but he still had all of his connections. He did not often talk about his past as a soldier. Nor did I choose to mention the subject. I had seen several scars on his body many times, but I never asked about them. It was none of my business. I can only imagine some of the horrible things he has probably seen and been through. He had taken a desk job in Chicago after getting out. Now he was an analyst who worked in the CIA under the direction of a man, I did not like at all, named General Frank Samson. Samson worked in San Francisco, which is why I got to see Tyler so often. 

“Are you going to be alright without shoes? We can stop once we get to Florence.” Allessandro asked concerned as he saw my bare feet below the line of the black dress. 

“I’ll be fine.” I said as Carla pulled the yacht up to the port and we all disembarked. 

Florence? So, the American Whitaker lives in Florence? What a place to call home, and definitely one of my favorite to visit. 

Emilio and Allessandro stood in front of Carla as she hotwired a cheap looking sedan by the wharf. I will never get used to stealing these vehicles but I am not stopping them or saying a word about it either. I tell myself again, whatever has to be done to increase the distance between myself and Damien is fine, just fine. 

It took us several more hours to arrive at Monterrey International Airport. It is not a massive airport. We don’t head towards customs, which I thought was quite strange as Carla drove the sedan straight around the building past the larger planes. She stopped on the tarmac in front of a man in a suit holding a clipboard next to a private jet.