by Pam Godwin
But it wasn’t home. He’d never really had a place to call home. Before Van, he’d never experienced the comfort of money. He had plenty of it now. Over six-hundred-thousand dollars. All Van’s slaves had received a cut from his operation when he shut it down and grew a conscience.
Multiple floating vanities and countless jets and shower heads jutted from the bathroom walls. A modern, freestanding tub sat at the center, surrounded by a sleek use of white stone materials, giving the room a rich, clean look.
“Did you read the specifications I sent?” He began to undress, toeing off his shoes and draping his clothes neatly over a white settee.
“Yes.” Her breathing quickened as she inched toward the door. “I’ll just let you—”
“Turn around.” Stripped down to his pants, he approached her on bare feet and angled her to face one of the full-length mirrors. “Tell me what I want.”
“Early twenties, brown eyes, black hair, slender build…” Her mouth pinched into a line as she regarded her reflection, which embodied the specifications.
“I requested you.”
“You requested a Latina. There are plenty here to choose from.”
He wanted to say her sister’s name and watch her reaction. But exposing his connection would be suicide. Vera was one of them.
“How much for you?” He edged closer, his chest touching her back as he met her gaze in the mirror.
“I’m not for sale.”
“Everything has a price. Who do I speak to about your ownership?”
Her nostrils widened with a sharp inhale. “No one owns me.”
“Not yet.” He unbuckled his belt and opened his zip, noting her flush at the sounds of him undressing. “When I want something, I take it. I’m very good at that—taking, consuming, fucking. You’ll learn this soon enough, whether you’re watching me with another or riding me yourself. Which will it be?”
“I’ve seen it all, handsome. Not interested.”
“You’re going to swallow those words, right along with the load I shoot down your pretty throat. After you beg for it.”
She shivered, ruining her attempt at indifference.
With a smirk, he let his breath trickle against her neck. She made a small noise, and he stepped back, shedding the last of his clothes. Then he ambled to the far wall and turned on the shower heads.
“Dinner and entertainment begin at seven on the veranda.” She spun away, heading for the exit.
“Vera.”
She kept walking, face forward, and vanished around the corner.
He’d scared her. Shaken her. Sent her running right out the door.
Damn, that was easy.
Too easy.
Warm water blasted Luke’s body, washing away the long day of traveling. Slowly, his muscles unclenched, releasing knots he hadn’t realized were there.
To think, he’d only been at the compound for an hour. This job could last days. Weeks. He wasn’t leaving until it was finished.
Amid the rising steam, Tomas entered the wet room, his gaze darting, sweeping for hidden technology. Luke left him to it, closing his eyes and running soap through his hair.
Until something screeched across the floor. A loud crash followed. What the—?
He turned as Tomas set down a heavy chair, which had apparently just been swung at the camera in the ceiling. Plastic pieces crunched beneath Tomas’ boot. Pulverized. That must’ve been the only camera. Tomas wasn’t looking anywhere but at his mechanical watch. Checking the time.
The cartel would come, and the speed of their arrival would indicate how closely they were monitoring them. With so many cameras on the property, there would be a security room with multiple eyes on dozens of screens. It would also have views of the surrounding landscape so they could see a threat approaching before it arrived.
Access to that room would reveal the location of the compound.
Tomas strode toward him, and he stepped out of the fall of water so his friend wouldn’t get wet.
“Twelve cameras with microphones in the other rooms.” Tomas gripped Luke’s neck, pulling him close to speak at his ear. “They shouldn’t hear us over the water.”
“Any revelations so far?”
“She’s nice to look at. Grade A tit-to-ass ratio. Don’t deny it. You want to fuck her.”
“Who wouldn’t?”
“Rein that shit in. You can’t trust her.”
“Sex and trust. Two things I’ve always kept separate.”
“So what’s your plan?” Tomas leaned back just enough to lob a surly scowl. “Make her jealous? Then what?”
It was a gamble. Women were smart, resourceful, and underestimated only by fools. But they shared a common weakness. He’d seen it time and again, the way they rallied together in support of one another. Until they didn’t.
Too often, they let men come between them. Especially the narcissistic assholes who slept around and committed to no one.
“Put a good-looking bachelor in a house full of women, and what happens?” Luke asked.
“Reality TV?” Tomas twitched his lips. “They turn on one another, plotting and competing to be the one who ensnares him.”
“Exactly.”
He couldn’t blame them. It was animal instinct. Find the mightiest male in the herd, mate with him, and breed the strongest offspring. Vera might not consider herself part of the female selection here, but her biology said otherwise.
Men were simpler, like trees in a field, with the urge to spread their seeds far and wide to ensure they take root in as many diverse and distant places as possible.
Survival, stripped down to its crudest, most basic denomination.
“Okay…” Tomas squinted, giving Luke’s nude body a once-over before meeting his eyes. “From what I’ve seen of the guests, you’re the only attractive dickhead here.”
Not exactly true. Tomas turned heads without trying. Beauty had been the primary requirement in Van’s selection process. Their entire vigilante team looked like they’d walked off the set of Baywatch.
But Tomas’ sex appeal suffocated beneath the cloud of fuck-off vibes he wore like a pressed suit. Luke trusted his friend without hesitation, but there were moments when he detected something sinister—in Tomas’ glare, in his voice—that sent a chill through the bones. For that reason, as well as Tomas’ shadowed role as a bodyguard, it was unlikely that Vera would take an interest in him.
“You make her nervous.” Tomas glanced at his watch. “She’s clearly attracted to you. Maybe that scares her.”
“Maybe.”
But Luke meant what he’d told her. She wasn’t meek. Once she saw him with another woman, her primal nature would claw to get out.
If she made the mistake of falling into his bed, it was game over. He was trained in the art of sexual pleasure. Add to that his insidious brand of dominance, and she was as good as his. Her heart. Her trust. Whatever he wanted.
In theory.
A knock sounded on the exterior door, and the hinges creaked, opening without waiting for an answer.
“Four-minute response time.” Tomas raised his eyes from his watch and moved to the far wall.
Luke returned to the warm spray, giving his visitors a full-frontal view as they stormed in. Two armed guards led the intrusion, their eyes instantly locating and assessing the broken camera.
Vera swept in behind them and anchored her hands on her hips. “Damaging property is not—”
“My boss,” Tomas said, crossing his arms, “doesn’t need an audience while taking a shit.”
“But you’re welcome to stay while I finish my shower.” He arched a brow. “Or join me.”
Her gaze dropped to his half-hard cock and skittered away. “No, I…” She coughed. “I don’t play with the guests.”
He shouldn’t derive this much pleasure from her discomfort. He wanted to like her. Pity her, even. She was Tula’s half-sister, for fuck’s sake. But beyond his appreciation of her physical attributes, he felt nothing for her. No
chemistry. No interest in learning why she was a human trafficking bitch.
The sooner he rid the world of her and this operation, the better.
“Then stop wasting my time.” He turned off the shower, giving her his back.
“If you break another camera—”
“My being here doesn’t mean my business stops running out there. I require a secure space to discuss confidential details with my right-hand man.” He nodded at Tomas. “This room will serve as my private meeting space. If I learn that your organization is eavesdropping on the business dealings of my organization while I’m in this room, I will take you down with every connection I have.”
“La Rocha doesn’t tolerate threats or damage to their property.”
“Put it on my tab and go fuck yourself on the way out.”
Her gasp filled him with sick satisfaction. As she vanished out the door, he squeezed his fist, imagining it crushing the bones in her neck. It wasn’t rage that pumped through his veins. It was focus, clarity, all thoughts aligning on the path ahead.
He twisted to find the same determination in Tomas’ hard eyes.
Martin and Ricky wouldn’t have been able to finish this job. They loved Tula too much to hurt her sister. In fact, they might never forgive him for the things he was about to do.
“I’m gonna take a walk and do some reconnaissance.” Tomas pushed off the wall. “Try not to get yourself killed while I’m gone.”
Dinner included lamb chops with balsamic reduction, crispy Hasselback potatoes, carrot soufflé, and superficial chitchat with five disgustingly wealthy slave buyers. Appetite long gone, Luke slid his fork away, fighting the impulse to repeatedly stab them with it.
“Best lamb I had in ages.” Lester, with his snake-skinned boots and Texan drawl, leaned back from his empty plate and lit a cigar. “Wouldn’t you agree, John?”
“No. My whore of a mother cooked better than this slop.” Luke lied through smiling lips, prompting a ripple of laughter around the table.
He’d lied about his name, his mansion in Tahoe, his trophy wife, and his undefeated golf game at the country club. They all lied, and they all knew they were spouting canards to one another. It was the most pointless, fucked-up dinner conversation in history.
Maybe this was a game to them, to see who could spout the most bullshit without getting called out. After two hours of table talk, he still didn’t know their real names, real occupations, or anything genuine or useful.
They were master manipulators. Whatever powerful positions they held—CEOs, politicians, investment moguls—they hadn’t achieved their success honestly.
They were bad men, the sort who fraternized with a cartel and fucked underage girls. Someday their sins would catch up to them. If he moved quickly enough, he could be the one to deliver what they deserved.
Tomas ate alone on the other side of the veranda, ever the scowly, unapproachable bodyguard. He wasn’t the only plus one. Most of the guests had brought along a male attendant. They probably couldn’t function without their personal servants wiping their asses.
Without looking, Luke marked Vera’s footsteps in and out of the dining area. She hadn’t eaten with them, hadn’t sat down long enough to join the conversation. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was avoiding him.
La Rocha guards loitered in the periphery. Cantina girls, dressed in corsets and garters, kept the food and drinks coming. Hector’s sons had yet to make an appearance, and no one seemed to care.
Except Luke. He wanted to see the faces of his primary targets.
“Are you betting on the fight tonight?” Ted, a wrinkly old man with sharp eyes and a frail body, met his gaze across the table.
“Fight?” He took a swig of peated whiskey, swallowing the smoky burn with a trickle of dread.
“Oh, yeah.” Ted gestured at the grassy area beyond the veranda’s railing. “It’ll start out there any minute. I have a hundred grand riding on it.”
A hundred grand? On what? A cockfight? Dog fight? Knowing the cartel, it would be any manner of cruelty, and he wanted nothing to do with it.
Lester flicked the ash from his cigar. “Putting your money on the girl, old man?”
“Are you kidding?” Ted laughed. “I saw what she’s up against. She won’t last the first round.”
“Human girl?” Luke yawned, pretending a blithe disregard. “Or something else?”
“They say she’s human, but I hear she looks and fights like an animal.”
“Well, hell.” Twisting in the chair, Lester motioned at one of the half-dressed servants. “I’m in. Might even bet against you, Ted.”
More laughter and Luke feigned a moderate chuckle. Maybe the girl was a trained fighter, someone they brought in and paid for a harmless night of entertainment.
But he knew better.
“Gentlemen.” Vera approached the table, smothering his senses in a cloying fog of perfume. “If you’re ready to move to the railing, the show will begin shortly.”
The table emptied as everyone grabbed their drinks and ambled toward the long bar that overlooked the lawn. Everyone but Luke.
“I didn’t get a chance to tell you about the fight.” She stepped closer, her breasts rising over the low neckline of her dress. “It’s not too late to place a bet.”
“Who or what is the girl fighting?”
“I don’t want to ruin the surprise.”
“Will it be a fair fight?”
She shrugged.
He couldn’t bet against a dead girl. “I’ll sit this one out.”
“Suit yourself.” She scanned the room as if looking for an excuse to move away from him. “Did you enjoy your dinner?”
“I prefer a private meal with a beautiful woman. Tell me something.” He reclined, resting his fingers on the arms of the chair. “What do you get out of this?”
“This?”
“You deal in sex but blush when you’re propositioned.”
“No, I—”
“You keep dangerous company but run from the smallest confrontation.”
Her face turned crimson. “I do not—”
“There’s that blush. Listen, I’m sure La Rocha pays you well. And not just that. They give you security. Protection. You’re loyal to them because they stand between you and whatever it is you fear.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, her accent thick beneath her breath as her gaze flicked through the room.
“I can give you everything they give you and more.”
“This conversation is—”
“I’ll buy your freedom. As far as they’re concerned, I’ll own you. But the moment we walk out of here, you’re free. I’ll pay you a salary and provide all the security money can buy.”
“And what do you get out of it, handsome?” She cocked a hip and stared down at him.
“Your willing cunt.”
“Willing?” Her gaze lingered on his before hardening and snapping away. “I’ve had enough—”
“Honey, one night with me is never enough.”
She laughed, a strained cackle of disbelief.
Yeah, he was laying on the douchery nice and thick. He didn’t have a choice. There were cameras and ears everywhere. Decent men didn’t come here. Not that he ever claimed decency.
“Do you leave this property? Are you allowed?” At her silence, he stroked a knuckle, light as a feather, along her exposed thigh beneath the hem. “Where are you from?”
“We’re not doing this.” She jerked her leg away from his touch.
“Oh, come on. I’m not the first man to make you an offer. But I’ll pay a lot of money to be the last.”
She blinked, and her eyebrows pulled in, knitting grooves across her forehead.
This could be so easy for her. She only needed to agree. He would buy her from the cartel. Fly her ass to Colombia. Put her in an interrogation room at the Restrepo compound and pry every answer he needed to finish the job. She would have Tula in her corn
er, so the torture would be minimal. Far less painful than the alternative.
Solar lights flickered like torches, illuminating the perimeter in a glow of amber against nightfall’s backdrop. The guests gathered at the railing, their murmurs rising in volume as they watched whatever was unfolding on the well-lit lawn.
“No.” She straightened. “While you’re not accustomed to taking no for an answer, ignoring my objection will have severe consequences.” Pivoting, she strolled toward the fight.
Well, he tried the easy way. Her funeral.
Drinks refilled. Voices rose, and excitement intensified among the guests. But he remained seated, reluctant to join them.
Until Tomas bent over his shoulder and growled in his ear. “Your contempt is showing. Get over there and prove to the bloodthirsty pigs that you’re one of them.”
His friend paced to the far end of the railing, which provided views of the fight and the entire veranda.
Tomas was right, of course. Sitting here alone helped no one. But watching an innocent girl die while pretending to enjoy it? Luke had limits, and that one sat firmly at the top.
He listened for the sounds of a feral dog barking or the wild flap of fowl wings. When he heard neither, his nerves wrung tighter, his imagination making it worse. So he crossed the porch and found an empty spot at the railing away from the guests.
Just beyond the covered veranda, a grassy cockpit glowed in a ring of solar garden stakes. A woman stood at the edge, fisting her hands at her sides.
Greasy strings of hair hung in her face and twisted around gaunt shoulders. Not an ounce of fat on her sharp, protruding bones. But the little meat she did have looked hard. Honed from strife.
Long muscles wrapped her arms and legs. A tight t-shirt molded around the small curves of breasts. Frayed denim shorts clung to narrow hips and thighs. She was a tiny thing. Almost a foot shorter than his six-three height and at least a hundred pounds lighter.
Who was she? A trafficked girl? A cartel dissenter? The kidnapped daughter or wife of an enemy? One thing was certain, she didn’t want to be here.
Angry red welts encircled her wrists and ankles. Layers of grime stained her torn clothing. Tangles of unwashed hair hid her face, but her eyes glowed through the knots. Dark eyes. Ferocious. Possessed with seething hatred.
