Crossing The Line

Another wave of desire crashed against her. She gave her head a terse shake. She didn’t want to be tied up, not tonight. Most nights there was nothing she liked better than being tied to the bed so he could fuck her in any manner he deemed fit. Nothing was off limits with Torres; she had soon learned that. She had come into the relationship naïve. She had had her fair share of partners, but once she slept with Torres she realized she was far from experienced.

He used her body any way he wanted. Sometimes she was reticent, but in the end she always begged for more. Between them, words like dirty or taboo had no meaning. All her inhibitions had been stripped away. Torres didn’t allow them. He wanted all of her body, all of her. There was never a question, no room to protest, he took and she gave. There was nothing more erotic or liberating than being tied down and fucked hard.

Torres kissed her neck, his tongue darting into the delicate hollow of her neck. With agonising deliberateness he slowly undid each button of her blouse, rewarding each exposed area of flesh with a lick. She moaned when he reached her belly, so close to the centre of all her sensation. She licked her lips again. Her mouth was so dry. She needed him inside her now. Her hands fisted the sheets to keep from clawing at his jeans. He had told her to stop, and Torres didn’t ask twice. The warning was purely a courtesy; if Torres wanted her tied up, she would be bound to the bedframe before she had time to protest.

She needed her hands tonight to run along the scarred surface of his skin, and pull him closer. Torres undid the front fastening hook of her bra. He didn’t move, he just studied her breasts, his eyes drinking them in. They were too small, she knew that, but he said they were perfect. The way he was looking at her now, gave her no doubt that he was telling the truth. Gently his hand brushed her breast, his calloused thumb circling her nipple. Blood rushed to the dusky peaks, the sensitive skin strained to meet his touch. It was so gentle now, she could barely feel it, but her body responded just the same, demanding more, but he wouldn’t, not yet. He wanted to watch her; that was what he wanted. The lights were on, and he had every intention of watching.

For reasons that escaped her, Torres was mesmerized by her body, every response, each moan, he took it all in, transfixed, especially her orgasms. He loved to watch her come; that more than anything had taking some getting used to. Before Torres, she had never had an orgasm with a partner. She thought she couldn’t, she was far too inhibited; that is what she had told herself. Turns out, she just hadn’t been doing it right or, more to the point, she hadn’t been doing it with the right person.

Torres had once told her that people weren’t good or bad in bed, it was their chemistry that mattered. She still didn’t believe him; some people were just good, like him. He was even good enough in bed to overcome all of her shortcomings. Her body would never respond to anyone else the way she did to him.

His touch became stronger, still soft but now she knew she was not imagining each stroke. Gently he pulled on her nipple, rolling it slowly between his thumb and forefinger. Her breath came in small pants. She could come like this, with nothing but the scrape of his calloused skin against her nipples, but he wouldn’t let her, not yet. She bit back a moan so Torres wouldn’t know how turned on she was. If he knew, he would stop and then move to another part of her body and kiss and lick her until she was near breaking point before moving on to start again. It was torture pure and simple, and she hated it as much as she craved it with every fiber of her being.

“Don’t close your eyes, Gatita.”

She immediately obeyed, not wanting him to stop.

“Torres,” she moaned. “Please… Please” She could not formulate a sentence. She didn’t even know what she was asking for. She pulled down her pants and threw them in the corner along with her shirt and underwear. “Torres, I need to feel you.”

“Oh, you will,” he said, half his mouth rising in a crooked smile. Her heart momentarily forgot to beat. She loved his smile, his lopsided grin, always smirking, and his straight white teeth. “You’ll feel me here,” he said lowering his head to her breast. Beth’s breath caught. He flicked her nipple with his tongue before he took it in his mouth. When he sucked, another wave of sensation rocked her, taking her to another level. “And here,” he said as he took her other nipple between his teeth. He pressed down with just enough force to blur the lines of pain and pleasure. It took all her energy not to moan again. Her lips rocked against his, seeking relief, it would only take a few strokes and she would be coming, hard and fast, but Torres prevented her from moving. He was in control. She forced herself to take a deep breath and focus on each sensation, the heat of his breath, the sharp graze of his teeth, the rush of blood, the scratch of his stubble. With another deep breath, she relaxed into it. There was no need to rush with this. With her body, she trusted him completely. No matter what he did, it would feel good. He would push and tease and make her scream with frustration and desire, but he would always make her come. Beth didn’t trust most people, but she trusted Torres to make her feel good.

Torres licked his way down the valley between her breasts and over the plain of her stomach and then to the thatch of curls at the top of her thighs. He pushed her legs open until her knees rested against the white duvet. “And here, Gatita. You’re going to feel me here,” he promised.

She sucked in a sharp breath as his finger slid up her, parting her folds, exposing the throbbing point at her centre. Slowly he ran his finger up and down, admiring her. She didn’t dare try to shut her legs. She belonged to him, all of her. “Do you want me to kiss you here?” he asked.

There was no question, he was going to do it; the only uncertainty was if he would make her beg for it. She would, she was shameless when it came to Torres. There was no room for pride where he was concerned. But she wouldn’t need to beg tonight, because he wanted it as much as her. Torres had reached his point of no return too. She could tell because he had slipped into Spanish. The switch in language was involuntary; she doubted he even knew he did. When they had sex he always spoke Spanish to her, whether he was whispering praise or telling her all the ways he was going to defile her, it was always in Spanish. She would never tell him he did it, because he might stop, and it was one of her favorite things about going to bed with Torres, that and the full body orgasms that made her legs shake and her toes curl, those were nice too.

“Que linda,” he murmured. How beautiful. Beth wasn’t beautiful, she knew, she had a mirror, but to Torres she was and she feared for the safety of anyone who said differently.

The light above them was too bright. There was nowhere to hide, no dim lighting to soften her edges. It was just her spread open for him. She could close her eyes now, he wasn’t looking at her face, but she wouldn’t because she wanted to watch as his head lowered and his tongue found her clit. There was nothing as erotic as watching Torres lick her pussy, his dark head nestled between her pale thighs, the muscles of his broad shoulders contracting under tan skin, as his mouth worked to bring her to climax, the sight alone was enough to make her come.

His head lowered. Gently he licked her thighs, and then the delicate folds, and then the wet opening of her body. Her hips bucked as he made intimate contact. The sensation was almost too much and it was made greater by the feeling that he shouldn’t be doing it, it was too intimate, too personal. She would never consider doing it with anyone else, but nothing was off limits with Torres, there were no rules. His tongue darted in and out of her, making love to her with his mouth.

Her hands fisted in his hair. Higher, she needed him higher. She needed him to suck on her clit, just one stroke of his tongue. That is all she needed. He knew it but he wouldn’t do it, not until he was good and ready. If it were possible to die of desire, she would be six feet under.

Oh God she needed him higher. She arched her back, trying to reposition herself, open her body further to him. “Please, Torres,” she begged. Her hands fisted in his hair pulling his dark head higher. “Please.”

Torres raised his head. On his face was a lazy smile. He was enjoying this, making her suffer. He was a sadist. “Please what, Gatita? What do you want from me?”

“Make me come,” she begged.

“You know I will. When are you going to learn to trust me?” His smile was devious but his eyes were hooded with desire. This was torture for him too, he wanted to be inside her, but he was proving a point…a frustrating…erotic…exquisite point.

Her head fell to the side. This wasn’t an argument she would win.

Moments later, he returned to the top of her thighs.

She groaned. This might kill her. She needed to come soon, the pressure that built was nearing painful but he was keeping her there, in a holding pattern, not allowing her to make her final ascent. She thrashed about, rubbing herself against his face. The course stubble of his chin bit into her flesh. It hurt but it felt too good. God she needed more…the pain the pleasure…him…she just needed him.

“Torres,” she moaned.

With that cry, his tongue found her clit. She sucked in a ragged breath. It was good, too good. Her legs shook, bright colours flashed behind her eyes as she came hard against his mouth. Her whole body shook with it, as wave after wave of pleasure hit her.

For a precious moment, the world stopped, everything was good. She remembered what happiness felt like.

She closed her eyes and tried to capture the feeling so she could remind herself that she still could feel something.

Beth didn’t have long to languish in the peacefulness of the moment. In seconds Torres was above her, his thick cock at the entrance of her body. With one powerful stroke he was in her and the carnal assault on her senses began again.

She was climbing again, each stroke pushing her higher. “Oh God, Torres, I’m going to come again,” she cried. A powerful spasm rocked her body as she came around his cock, her flesh moulding around him, merging with his, becoming one. Tremor after tremor rocked her until her body could give no more, but still he thrust into her, his cadence merciless, his restraint gone.

She bit into her lip to stop from screaming. Her flesh was too sensitive. Every stroke was agony…and bliss. She loved this part, when it was just about him. It hurt but she loved it. He was using her, fucking her. It was hard and fast, no finesse, just frantic need. She felt used…and sore…and needed…and cherished…and loved. They didn’t say the words, but her body knew. There was no amount of physical pain too much for this.

She watched his face. She loved that face, the scarred bearded face. She ran her hand along the slash on his cheek. With a low animal grunt, he came and warmth flooded her.

He collapsed onto her. He rolled over, so he did not crush her, their bodies still entwined.

Gently he pressed a kiss to her temple.

Beth smiled. She was home.

Beth was draped over his chest, her head resting just above his heart. He ran his hand over her thick blonde hair. He waited for her breathing to change, become slower and deeper, a sign she was asleep.

She was asleep but he didn’t move. She wasn’t dealing with her sister’s death. Nobody dealt well with death, but they dealt with it. They cried or got angry, or in his case he joined the DEA and made his life’s mission to destroy the man who had killed his best friend. He still missed Moses Archila, he always would. He still thought about the sound of the gun. Waking up in the hospital and knowing his best friend was dead and he could have prevented it was the hardest thing he had ever endured. It was worse than his flesh being burnt off in the roadside explosion, worse than being a prisoner in the Colombian jungle.

The guilt would never leave him but he dealt with it.

Beth wasn’t even dealing, she was ignoring. It was what he expected; it was what she did. At first she surprised him, she cried and shook and swore. She grieved.

And then she shut down; all her emotions were gone, pushed down and turned off. She was ignoring the fact her sister was murdered. But she couldn’t ignore this forever. Eventually it would come out and it would be raw and brutal and ugly and she would have to fight to not be drawn under. But he would be there.

He gently pulled his arm out from under her head, replacing it with a pillow. He crossed the room. He needed to work.

But first he needed to pick up her clothes. He could only smile. The woman was completely incapable of getting clothes is a hamper…or wrappers in the trash. In her defence, she got them close, sometimes within a few inches but she never could fully commit. Lucky for her she had lots of other talents, some of which she had just demonstrated.

Torres put Beth’s shoes beside the closet door and before he reached for her pants. As he folded them, a pamphlet fell out, the cover catching his eye: Helping Your Child Understand Prison, Advice from the California Department of Correction.

Torres took a deep breath. Her dad. She had gone to see her dad. He folded the pamphlet and put it back in her pocket. She didn’t want him to know, so he would pretend he didn’t.

Chapter Three

A chirping noise pierced the silence of the inky darkness. On instinct Beth’s hand reached out to silence her alarm but the noise continued. It was too early. And it was Sunday, why was her alarm on?

Beth gave the alarm another hard whack. When that didn’t silence it she gave the cord a hard yank.

“It’s your phone.” Torres’ deep voice was a gravelly whisper. He had been asleep too which meant it really was an ungodly hour. Beth glanced at the clock. She had to squint to make out the numbers: 3:38.

She slid her finger across the screen to accept the call. It was an unknown number. “Thomson,” she said.

“Agent Thomson, this is Detective Jamison from Carrizo Springs.”

“Uh huh,” she murmured. Beth glanced at the clock again. It was too early or too late, either way her brain hadn’t fully engaged. Carrizo Springs. She wasn’t working a case there. She couldn’t even think offhand where it was in relation to her.

“Sorry to bother you at this hour but there is an alert on file that says to contact you when there is anything to do with Los Treintas.”

Beth sat up, giving her eyes a good rub. “Yeah that’s right. Thank you. What is going on?”

“There was an incident tonight. A Border Agent’s house was vandalized. No confirmation yet, but it appears that his wife and children are missing.”

Beth’s heart stopped in her chest.

She shook her head. They weren’t missing.

Beth knew that if they were dealing with Los Treintas, his family was dead and it was only a matter of time before he knew it too. Oh shit…

Beth slid out of bed. “What’s his name?”

“Raul Garcia.”

The name didn’t mean anything to her. “Where is he now?”

“He’s home. Detectives and forensics are there.”

Where were her clothes? She has left them in a pile in the corner of the bedroom. She opened her top drawer and pulled out underwear. He shouldn’t be in his house, but he would want to be there in case his family came home. “Don’t let him pick up any packages. Intercept anything that comes to the house. Do you understand?” Los Treintas always sent the heads of victims to their families as a warning. Raul didn’t need to see that, no one did. Her heart was vibrating now, the beats too close together to discern one from the next. Another hit, just like Paige. Beth closed her eyes and pushed down all the memories from that night. She couldn’t deal with them now.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Send me the address to this number. I’m on my way.”

“What’s up?” Torres was sitting up in bed. She could just make out his form in the darkness.

“Just work. I need to go to Carrizo Springs.” Beth tried to sound nonchalant but her voice wouldn’t cooperate. Thoughts were firing at her, memories, only freshly buried.

“Tonight?”

Beth continued getting dressed. She pulled on a pair of fresh jeans and a T-shirt. “Yeah I shouldn’t be long.” Beth let out a rush of air. “No that’s not true. I don’t know how long it will be.” She considered telling him that there had been another hit but she wouldn’t. Torres was out. He didn’t need to be sucked into it.

No that was a lie. The truth was she needed him to be out. She needed a beacon on shore guiding her back to normality so she didn’t lose herself in this sea of depravity.

“I’ll be back…later.” Beth opened the safe where she kept her gun and slid it into its holster.

It took just over an hour to reach Carrizo Springs. Raul Garcia’s house was on the corner of a main street backing onto a gas station. It was nothing fancy, just a small stucco bungalow on a busy street. If he was on the Zetas or Treintas pay roll, he certainly hadn’t invested the money into the modest house or the old minivan in the driveway with a broken taillight and an exhaust held up with duck tape.

There was a rusted swing set in the yard and two bicycles lying in the grass.

“I’m Special Agent Thomson.” Beth held up her badge for inspection but the officers guarding Garcia’s door merely nodded and made room to let her past.

Beth’s breath caught when she saw the scorpion painted on the door, a dark maroon colour that had already dried and begun to crack. “That’s not spray paint,” she said to no one in particular. “Has it been tested? I need this tested.”

The younger looking of the two officers spoke. “Yes, ma’am, it’s blood.”

Beth nodded. “Human?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the officer said almost apologetically. He was young, still fresh-faced and alert, still eager, not yet beaten down by the job. Give it another few years.

“It needs to be tested to see if it’s a match to any of the victims.”

Another officer joined them at the door. “Jamison?” she guessed.

The detective smiled and nodded. He looked to be about forty. He was tall but slight. The Longhorn belt buckle around his waist was more than decorative; it kept his trousers anchored around his slim hips. He was bald now but based on his pale freckled skin and green eyes, he had been a redhead.

Jamison reached out and shook her hand. “Good to meet you, ma’am. Thank you for coming out tonight, well this morning now.” His smile was wide like this was a social call and he really was pleased to meet her.

Beth nodded. She did appreciate Texas manners. A man could be standing over a dead body and he would stop to exchange pleasantries with a lady.

“Any news on his family?”

The smile on Jamison’s face faded. “Yes, ma’am. Four bodies have been found off 83, just south of Crystal City. No ID yet.”

“Decapitated?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Beth took a deep breath. It wasn’t a surprise but still…another family torn about by Los Treintas. She shook her head. “Has the husband been informed?”

“No, ma’am. We were waiting for you. I thought you would want to question him first.”

She nodded again. “Thank you.” Jamison had done her a favour. He knew that once Raul Garcia was told the fate of his family, he would be inconsolable. His use as a witness would be more than compromised; he would be useless to the investigation. While there was still hope, Raul would do whatever he could to bring his family back alive. “Can you please call Victim Services? Have them on hand. He is going to need all the support he can get. And intercept any packages that are sent here or to his work. I can’t stress that enough.”

The heads of his family would already be in transit. The Los Treintas were predictable if nothing else. The heads were always sent to the family as a warning, as if losing a loved one wasn’t painful enough. Bile rose in the back of her throat as her body responded to the memory of the night her sister was murdered. She had never seen her dismembered head. She knew it had been sent because she had read the coroner’s report, but she had been spared seeing it. Someone had made sure it never reached her. She wasn’t sure who she had to thank for that, either Torres or Jessop, but she was grateful. She would do her best to extend the same courtesy to Raul Garcia.

“Can you please send me a copy of your case files? I don’t care how small a lead, I would like to see it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Beth took a deep breath. Time to get to work; time to figure out what made Raul Garcia a target. She stood at the threshold and surveyed the house; no high ticket items that would be out of keeping with a Border Agent’s salary, no flat screen televisions or abundance of electronics, just beige-coloured walls covered in framed photographs. Every wall had at least one family picture but most had several. There were school pictures, wedding pictures, candid shots taken at the lake or at birthday parties. Picture after picture of smiling children and their devoted parents. Grief pierced her veneer, tiny niggling shards of sadness found their way to the centre of her chest but she ignored them.

Judging from the pictures he had three kids: two primary school-aged sons and a preschool-aged daughter. They were beautiful, so young, so innocent. Beth’s throat constricted. She forced herself to look away. She couldn’t think about them right now.

Beth stepped over the pile of discarded shoes in the hallway. Even if she hadn’t seen Raul Garcia’s picture on the wall, she would have immediately recognized him as the victim. He was slumped over on the couch, his hands scrunched into fists, his eyes vacant. She recognized every emotion written on his face because she had felt them all, the anger, the disbelief, the frantic need to do something even though there was nothing to be done.

“I’m Special Agent Thomson – Beth. My name is Beth.” She didn’t reach her hand out to shake his because Raul had lowered his head into his hands.

She considered telling him she understood what he was going through but she didn’t, he wouldn’t appreciate it. No one understood anyone else’s pain. The sad truth of it was everyone was alone in their despair. People could empathize and support but they would never really understand the depth of anguish, they could never feel it. Grief was isolating and unique, singularly different for every person. Had anyone told her they understood what she felt when Paige was murdered, she would have laughed or screamed. No one could ever understand someone else’s pain.

“Special Agent? Like from the FBI? Did you find them?!” Raul asked as he jumped to his feet. He shoved his hand into his pocket. “Here. Take this. You’re going to need a recent picture of them.” He flicked through the pictures in his wallet until her found a picture. “Here.” He thrust the small picture at her. His hand shook as his fingers grazed hers. “It’s the boys’ first day of school. Amalia’s hair is longer now but it still looks like her. This will be OK, right?” His eyes pleaded with her.

A boulder lodged in the pit of her stomach. His family was never coming home but he didn’t know it yet. The enormity of that settled on her, squeezing out all the air from her lungs. She closed her eyes and silently counted to ten. For a moment she couldn’t speak. It was too real again. A month ago it was her waiting for news. She was the one in denial, hoping against hope that everything was going to be OK. This month it was Raul. Next month or next week it would be another family destroyed. How many more lives would the Treintas ruin?

Beth stared down at the photo. His whole world was represented in this picture. And they were gone. Her eyes began to burn. There were no tears, her body had none left but it hurt just the same.

Beth squeezed her eyes shut and told herself to focus. She wouldn’t be any use to anyone if she carried on like this. Later she could reflect and lament and feel despondent. Right now she had a job to do.