Demon Seed Read Free Page A

easily.
    What had he interrupted?
    A brother who wanted to do his sister.
    Demon had no truck for the half part. A half sister is a sister, that’s all there was to it. And a brother protects a sister. Period. Emilio was the sickest sort of fucker on the planet.
    Ten to one, Emilio and his gang were dealers or worked for one of the cartels. With the waters between Trinidad and Venezuela almost impossible to patrol thoroughly and relentlessly, and the increasing isolation of Venezuela under Chavez, the drug trade in Trinidad had mushroomed like a deployed atomic bomb.
    She muttered something that tickled a boyhood memory. A grin chased his lips when he recognized that she’d been conjugating the Latin verb for carry : port ō , port ā re, port ā v ī , port ā tus . He stopped dead in his tracks. Latin? Sister Helen? Her mentor?
    No way.
    He hadn’t fucked a nun.
    A nun couldn’t have turned him on.
    His half-hard cock refused to believe her a nun and refused to go flaccid.
    Go figure.
    He’d had three-ways, experimented with BDSM, done a few ménages, and never, not for a single moment, had he ever felt guilt. Until now. Not to mention a rising level of self-disgust. He was a man of honor. A man bound by his vows. And he’d fucked a nun. Double crapola.
    Jacinta woke up like a kitten.
    First she rubbed an eye with one fist, then she arched a little, and then she blinked. And dazzled him with a wide, upturned grin. The moon had ducked behind clouds yet again, and he still had only a vague notion of what she looked like. “I thought I had dreamed you.”
    “A nightmare?” Demon acknowledged the fact that he scared most people. Most saw only the scar that had turned his mouth into a perpetual sneer. The nose that had been broken more times than he could count. He didn’t have a handsome bone in his body, and he knew it well.
    She hugged him.
    The spontaneous gesture surprised the piss out of him.
    “You’re so silly. A nightmare? No, my knight in shining armor. Lancelot du Lac. Or maybe King Albert. Or Cormac mac Airt. Or Niall of the Nine Hostages.”
    Demon stumbled and righted himself immediately. Sir Lancelot?
    “But you are so much more handsome than Franco Nero.”
    He tripped again. He never stumbled. Handsome? If his best friend and teammate, Devil, ever heard of this, he’d laugh for days. Maybe even decades.
    “What is wrong?” She touched his forehead. “Are you weary? I can walk, I promise you. And I am no longer weepy. I can hike for a whole day, even up a steep mountain. Sister Helen and I hiked often.”
    “Sister Helen?” Maybe this time she’d answer.
    “I live in a cloistered convent.” Her voice wavered. “Or I used to, before I let the devil tempt me.”
    His mind went blank. He picked up his pace. No one had ever surprised him into dropping his jaw or blurting a question until now. “A cloistered convent?”
    He dreaded her answer.
    “An enclosed convent where the nuns have very little contact with the outside world.”
    No way he could let it go. He had to know. “Are you a nun?”
    She sighed, a long, audible sigh. “No.”
    Thank the Lord.
    His dick took the news as a full-speed-ahead signal and hardened with each stride.
    “Where is this convent?”
    “In the mountains north of Roraima.”
    He came to a dead, jerky halt seconds before he rammed her into the bark of a tree trunk.
    “You are weary.” She placed her hand on his forehead. “And hot. You were in the water too long. I told you I could pull my pounds.”
    “Weight.”
    There are no coincidences in life.
    He lived his life by that credo.
    But this fucking had to be. “How did you come to be with Emilio on the beach?”
    “I let the devil into my soul.” She ducked her head. “And I foolishly believed Consuelo was helping me escape.”
    They reached the road, and he had a decision to make. He had to leave in less than an hour. No way did he have time to find her a safe house. If she did indeed need one and