Free No Mercy by Cheyenne McCray

shade that it was almost difficult to
    describe. Not a flame red, but not dark, somewhere in between.
    When they were young he had coveted her, and then he had cherished her when they were
    finally together during their senior year in high school. It had taken him some time to win her over,
    but when he had, he’d made sure he did everything in the world to keep her. She had all she could
    desire, including a doting husband who continued to romance her, even after twenty years of
    marriage. He would do something special for her for their next anniversary. Perhaps he would take
    her to France or Italy, or maybe someplace more tropical such as Aruba or Costa Rica. Not Hawaii—
    it was too full of tourists.
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    ***
The feeling of possessiveness within him was so strong his muscles ached with it. Christie was
    his and always would be. He would put her six feet into the ground before he would ever let her go.
    She nibbled on her lower lip and he didn’t like the sadness in her expression, but that had
    certainly been unavoidable. Eventually the emotional pain would pass and she would get over what
    he’d had to do. Of course she didn’t know he was the one responsible, and she never would.
    As if sensing his presence, she looked up from the pot and gave him a shadow of a smile. He
    didn’t like that the smile didn’t reach her eyes that were an unforgettable shade of blue.
    “Dinner wil be ready soon.” She put the lid back on the pot. “We’re having al carbón , homemade
    tortillas, and cilantro-lime rice.”
    “By the amazing smells, I know it is perfect, mi mariposa .” His butterfly. He went to her and
    brought her into the circle of his arms, loving the feel of her warm body.
    She rested her head against his shoulder and let out a soft sigh. “I want to have my friends over
    for dinner.”
    He stil ed then drew away from her. “You know I do not want them here as guests.”
    “It would mean a lot to me.” Tears brimmed in her eyes and a flash of anger made him want to
    slap her. “They like you.”
    He nearly sneered but tried to keep his expression free of anger. “Your friends excluded me from
    your little group. Do not think I have forgotten that.” And damned if he’d let a federal agent into his
    home.
    Christie let out her breath. “It wasn’t that you or anyone else was excluded, it was just that the
    seven of us had been together since elementary school. We had a tight bond. Anyone would have
    felt like an outsider.”
    “No.” Salvatore’s voice was sharper than he’d intended. “It wasn’t until Belle left that you would
    even look at me.”
    “Please.” She placed her palm on his chest. “They mean so much to me.”
    Salvatore caught her hand in his. “When wil dinner be ready?” He was making it clear to her
    that the subject was now closed.
    Her lips trembled and she looked away. Again the desire to slap her was strong, but he’d never
    laid a hand on his wife. Once he started, he was afraid he might not stop, that it would be the first
    time of many. It was similar to the ways of a man who drank—just one drink led to another and
    another.
    The thought of putting her in her place until her friends were out of her mind was far too tempting.
    He took in a deep, controlled breath and let it out again.
    “I have something to attend to in my office.” He had difficulty in keeping the hardness out of his
    tone. “Dinner will be on the table by the time I return.” He glanced at his watch. “Fifteen minutes.”
    “Yes, Salvatore.” She spoke quietly as she lifted the lid on the skil et fil ed with al carbón and
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    ***
didn’t look at him.
    He wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her. Instead, he turned and walked out of
    the kitchen, toward his home office.
    When he reached his private space, he unlocked the metal door before relocking it behind him.
    He went straight to his desk and opened the cherry wood humidor and retrieved the key from beneath
    the