Disclaim (Deliver #3)

by Pam Godwin

  “Ir a la mierda.” Camila angrily rubbed her cheek on her shoulder, trying to erase the fallen tears.

  “You need to shut down that hormonal shit.” Matias rocked on his heels, seemingly at home in his despicable skin. “Like your papá used to say”—he laughed in a deep voice—“I’ll give you something to choke on.”

  Her papá never said that, but it didn’t stop the smoke from billowing through her chest and strangling her airway. She seethed with the vicious need to wash the floors with his blood.

  Nico rose from the chair and strolled over to Frizz. He drew a long drag on the cigarette and, without a whisper of emotion on his face, stubbed it out on the blonde’s stomach.

  The piercing sound of her howls slammed Camila’s heart against her ribs, and the aroma of singed flesh pervaded her inhales.

  Frizz launched into his haunting whistle and turned his gaze to the needle in his hand.

  “No, wait!” Camila scrambled toward Frizz on her knees, her arms useless weights behind her.

  Matias yanked Camila back by her hair. “Choose.”

  Fuck fuck fuck. Her gut instinct was to volunteer herself, but if she did, she wouldn’t be able to stop them the next time, and all the times after that. But how could she condemn another to a life of rape and brutality? She couldn’t.

  She raised her chin and spat the words. “I choose me.”

  “Too easy.” Matias released her with a shove. “You disappoint me. I thought you were made of stronger stuff.”

  “Why are you doing this?” Glaring at him, she fisted her hands behind her, mentally squeezing his scrotum between her fingers and ripping his balls from his body.

  Blood-curdling screams jerked her head toward the blonde.

  Frizz had made two loops over her eyes and swooped in for a third.

  Oh fuck, oh God, they wanted a decision, but this wasn’t a choice at all.

  “Her.” Camila nodded at the blonde, her voice cracking as she blinked through the onslaught of tears. “Just…please remove the stitches.”

  Frizz stood and hauled the blonde to her feet. She keened loudly, her head swinging side to side as if trying to shake the threads from her eye. With a grip on her bound arms, Frizz dragged her out of the room and around the corner, trailed by the hiccupping sounds of her sobs.

  An agonizing chill settled over Camila. So fucking cold. Her body was a vibrating cage, a prison of ice and violent tremors. The kind of shivering anguish that locked up muscles, sought out bones, and made her want to die. She couldn’t feel the sunlight on her back or the wood beneath her knees. Was this what death felt like?

  But she wasn’t dead. She needed to fight for the blonde woman. For the women at her back. And for all the others bought and sold by these monsters.

  “This is your life now.” Matias crouched before her and lowered his voice. “I am your life. Tu vida.” He hummed to himself, a smile pulling at his wretched lips. “When I spread your thighs, you will let me in, because I own these legs and everything above, below, and in between them. You fight me, and I’ll take it out on someone else.” With a raised brow, his gaze shifted to the women behind her and flicked back. “Now I know you’re a smart girl. Nod if you understand.”

  Her throat constricted. He wanted her to be his slave, to wear his fucking chains. Well, wasn’t that perfect? She certainly despised him enough to endure that role with an appropriate amount of misery.

  It’s just a means to an end.

  Her slave training kicked in, and she lowered her eyes, bowing her head on a nod.

  She would outwit him, fool him into thinking she was intimidated by his threats and weakened by her restraints. Then she would confide in him, figure out his angle, and convince him to turn on his boss.

  If he refused, she would kill him.

  MATIAS KNEW THE INSTANT CAMILA came to terms with her position as his slave. Her entire demeanor changed, her gaze falling to the floor, shoulders loosening, and spine straightening.

  He didn’t believe for one second that this was surrender. The betrayed look in her eyes wouldn’t be going away for a while, and neither would the damn ache in his chest.

  So while she would undoubtedly wear the role Van Quiso had taught her with mechanical perfection, she wouldn’t embrace it emotionally.

  To obtain what he wanted, what they both needed, it was his responsibility to show her what it truly meant to yield to her Master.

  “On your feet.” He stepped back and clasped his hands at his back.

  She rose gracefully, head down and arms drawn behind her in the cuffs.

  Tendrils of black hair fell in front of her shoulders and hid her face, but he was sure her eye was twitching. Good thing he couldn’t read her mind. He’d rather not know all the ways she imagined killing him. She wouldn’t succeed.

  “Follow me.” He gave Nico a nod on his way out of the living room without looking back to confirm she obeyed.

  Crossing the white marbled floors of the circular foyer, he veered toward the glass causeway that would take him to the east wing.

  “Are you going to rape me now?” She appeared at his side, voice devoid of emotion as she matched his strides on silent feet. “Or can I take a shower first?”

  He swung around and clamped a hand on her forehead, snapping her face upwards as he stabbed two fingers in her mouth. Pressing down on her tongue while pinning her head back, he trapped her startled gaze with the hard warning in his.

  After a few noisy breaths, her jaw relaxed beneath his hand.

  Good girl. He released her and turned back toward the hall.

  Truth was, he loved her verbal banter. It was one of the many reasons he hadn’t gagged her…yet.

  He held his arms behind him, mirroring hers, and led her out of the causeway, past one of the three kitchens, and through an open terrace sitting area.

  The warm breeze filled his lungs with the scent of rich soil, vegetation, and sunlight. The aroma of vida. One of his favorite features here was the ability to fold back the walls in every bedroom and living space and create this indoor-outdoor atmosphere.

  “I thought mosquitoes were a plague in the jungle.” She squinted against the rays that filtered through the overhead trellis. “Or maybe that’s the idea. Are itchy, swollen bites one of your many methods of torture?”

  “The balconies are above the tree tops, too high for insects. Turn right here.” He let her lead one step ahead and into the expansive library so that he could savor the exploratory shifts in her gaze as she took in the estate for the first time. “There are mosquito repelling flowers planted at ground level, and we spray when needed.”

  “You say we as if your ass is out there exterminating bugs.” She pursed her lips. “Or is that how you started in this business? Did you leave Texas to become a liveried servant for slave traders?”

  “I was never a servant.” He clenched his jaw at her blatant attempt to offend him. “But we employ a full staff. The servants live”—he pointed at a building nestled beneath a canopy of foliage—“there.”

  “Is that where I’ll be staying?” Her eyes lowered to his dick and quickly snapped away. “Or do you keep all the slaves in a basement dungeon?”

  “No dungeons.” The holding cells were in the west wing. “Tu vida es with me.”

  “How does your boss feel about that?” Her gaze swept across his face and returned to the landscape. “Does he always let you keep random slaves for your sick enjoyment?”

  “We both know you’re not a random slave.”

  She pulled in a breath. “By both, do you mean you and me? Or you and Nico?”

  “Hmm.” A smile tickled his mouth. He’d let her stew on that for a while.

  “What about the slaves in the living room?” she asked. “And all the ones that came before them? Do you rape them, too?”

  He grabbed her arm, stopping her forward motion. “I’ll allow your questions as long as the conversation interests me.”

  She limbered up her shou
lders and curled her lip.

  “Matters concerning Nico and our business are off limits.” He tightened his grip. “Before you open your mouth, be damn sure it’s a response befitting your station.”

  She rolled her jaw as if warring with her words, her eyes huge and feral. Then she looked away.

  “Yes, Sir.” She lowered her head.

  Wicked satisfaction zipped down his spine and coiled low in his groin, throbbing urgency along his hardening shaft. He needed to bury himself inside her and fuck her vigorously and thoroughly until they were both spent. Christ, he’d fantasized about it since the moment he started beating off in their grove.

  The end goal was to earn her loyalty and gain her consent, an undertaking that would require weeks, months, maybe longer. In the meantime, he was under no delusions that he had the strength or the honor to wait around while she worked shit out in her head.

  He was going to use her body in every way he imagined. She could cry, spit, and writhe in her restraints. Hell, she would definitely be doing all of that, and he would devour every explosive second of it while her pussy clamped around his cock.

  Keeping his distance from her for the past four years had nurtured vicious cravings inside him, warping his tastes into an almighty need for painful, destructive sex. He was going to fuck her until they were both annihilated. Until their broken pieces scattered in an unholy tangled mess. And when they put themselves back together, there would no longer be hers and his. Only them.

  He didn’t have to look inside her to know what she wanted. She’d come here, willingly, as a slave. She could tell herself it was a mission to stop slavery, but he knew she was searching for something to sate that which she didn’t yet understand, yearning to face a fear that haunted her since her abduction.

  She put herself in a position to be raped and tortured because, deep down, this was her way of stepping inside and showing her teeth.

  Dammit, he wanted to belt her for being so fucking reckless. But at the same time, she’d finally given him the opportunity to help her. To be there for her when he’d failed so spectacularly in the past.

  It was a reminder of why he’d waited. As much as he wanted her, the end result had always been about her and what she needed.

  Releasing her arm, he swiped a hand down his face and stared at the tent in his pants.

  She needs food and a shower, you impatient bastard.

  When he looked up, she tore her gaze away, face flushed. Probably a reaction she hadn’t meant to make so obvious, but there it was. He affected her.

  He reclaimed her arm and hurried her across a long balcony that served as an end cap for multiple bedroom suites and corridors that led to more bedrooms. Beyond the glass railing lay a deep valley of majestic Kapok trees.

  “Who stays in those rooms?” She stared at the closed doors over her shoulder as she passed.

  “There are dozens of guards and hired whores who live on site.”

  “Whores.” Her voice tried for deadpan, but it cracked at the edges. “Is this where you’ve been living the last twelve years?”

  “More or less.” He tipped his head to the side and watched her eyes track a cloud shadow as it glided across the treescape. “This is our home base. The cartel’s citadel.” The sanctuary he always came back to.

  How many times had he imagined bringing her here just to see her stand in awe of the place he called home?

  Her blank expression offered zero fucks, but she wasn’t fooling him.

  Situated in the southern-most point of Colombia, the fortress was nothing short of spectacular. Bulletproof glass encased the exterior, presenting unobstructed, cinematic views of the self-contained enclosure of tropical rainforest. The kind of views National Geographic enthusiasts would jack off to from any angle in every room.

  But security had been the central ethos that had led the construction of every square foot. Panic rooms, iris recognition scanners, tactical cameras, motion detectors, and fortified polycarbonate and ballistic steel building materials made the property virtually impenetrable.

  On top of that, very few knew of its existence. Anyone idiotic enough to approach the perimeter wouldn’t live long enough to beg for forgiveness.

  She would be protected from outside threats, namely his enemies and anyone she might’ve pissed off in her war against slave traders. But it had taken an exorbitant amount of planning to relocate her here without adversely impacting his objective.

  He wanted her completely—heart and soul. While that in itself might’ve seemed preposterous, his approach to winning her was even more outrageous. But he didn’t have a choice. He was competing against a ghost.

  His fists clenched. Her heart belonged to a boy who no longer existed. Well, fuck that motherfucker. That was the guy who didn’t protect her a decade ago, who let her get kidnapped. That fucking guy failed her. I failed her.

  He wouldn’t fail her again.

  “There’s a lot of white.” She stepped into another living room and nodded her chin at the flooring, walls, and furniture. “White, white, white. Not the best color scheme for blood stains.” Her face tightened.

  “Bleach is rather effective, but you already know that.” Considering he’d disposed of fourteen bodies for her over the past ten years—slave buyers and their body guards. He’d dealt with the bodies, but she’d cleaned up the blood. “This way.”

  He reached the heavy wooden doors that barred entry to his personal space but didn’t unlock them, his focus on the approaching heel-toe click of stilettos in the hall behind him.

  “Welcome home, gorgeous,” a familiar voice purred.

  “Yessica.” He turned to greet her, taking note of the way Camila stiffened beside him. “This is Camila.” He twisted Camila around to face the other woman. “Camila. Yessica.”

  Despite the bottle blonde hair, Yessica’s heritage oozed from every dip and curve on her body. Like most Colombian women, she had more of it on her legs and ass, a cola-shaped figure accentuated by a flat stomach and full hips.

  “Aren’t you a pretty little thing?” Yessica sashayed toward them, long legs stretching her red floor-length dress and heels tapping against the marble.

  Camila looked up at him, eyebrow arched, giving him a delectable view of the twitch in her eye.

  Maybe she was jealous, but despite the borrowed t-shirt, handcuffs, and knotted hair, Camila’s natural beauty transcended that of every woman he’d ever seen, no matter how extravagantly primped, nipped, or tucked.

  Not that Yessica had ever gone under the knife. Her tits were smallish, and she knew how to work them. But that didn’t make her any less shallow. Her life’s ambition was to be pampered by a wealthy man, and while there was revolution and poverty in Colombia, she refused to leave her homeland under the equatorial sun. So here she was.

  “Are you keeping this one?” Eyes on Camila, Yessica trailed a blood-red fingernail along the neckline of his shirt.

  “Have you checked your room?” He removed her hand from his throat. “I brought you some gifts from the States.”

  “Mmmm. I’m headed there now.” She smoothed her palm over his shoulder and lifted up on her toes to press her lips against his ear. “Will I see you at dinner?”

  “You will.”

  “Excellent.” She turned to Camila. “Nice to meet you.”

  With a devious grin on her face, Yessica disappeared down the hall, exaggerating the movement of her hips and shoulders.

  The ass shaking was usually for his benefit, but this one was undoubtedly meant to unnerve Camila. When it came to her competition, Yessica was one of those kill-em-with-kindness while stabbing-them-in-the-back kind of women.

  “How long have you been tapping that?” Camila didn’t even try to hide the bitterness in her voice.

  “I have an idea.” He turned toward the computerized pad on the wall, leveling his eye with the screen. “Let’s share our sexual histories while I fuck you in the shower.”

  The retinal scanner blinked,
and the double doors to his suite clicked open.

  “God, you’re a pig.” She sneered. “No, scratch that. You’re a disgusting boar.”

  In a flash, he cuffed a hand around her throat and slammed her back against the wall. “You forget yourself, Camila.”

  She closed her eyes, but that stubborn chin of hers jutted above his knuckles. “Forgive me, Sir.”

  The pulse point in her throat thudded steadily against his palm, but the moment he leaned in and touched his lips to her brow, he felt her heartbeat quicken.

  Tenderness scared her more than cruelty. What a complicated, remarkable creature. It was no wonder she’d held his attention all these years.

  Stepping back, he assessed her gaunt complexion, cracked lips, and sharper-than-normal cheekbones. She hadn’t eaten or hydrated since last night, and her arms and shoulders must’ve been killing her from being restrained for so long. Yet she hadn’t uttered a single complaint. She was a fucking trooper, and it only made him want her more.

  He ushered her into his private suite, a domain that only three other people could access.

  The doors locked behind him as he steered her toward the huge balcony where a dining table waited with an assortment of arepas and fruit.

  “Sit.” He pulled out a chair.

  She lowered into the seat and eyed the food. “Impressive service. A benefit of working for a drug lord?”

  Something like that.

  He removed a key from his pocket, unlocked her cuffs, and set them aside. As she rubbed at her wrists, a pinch of guilt sneaked up on him. He shook it off.

  “Put any notions of running out of your head. The only way in and out of here is by helicopter.” He flicked a wrist at the roof. “Unless you have some latent survival skills.” He gestured at the endless green beyond the railing. “You can try your luck out there.”

  Anyone else would’ve freaked the fuck out at the impossibility of escape, but not her. She poured a glass of water from the pitcher, leaned back in the chair, and drank deeply.

  Because she didn’t intend to escape, not without getting what she came for.

  She’d already guessed that he’d expected her to arrive with Van Quiso. But she didn’t know the half of it.