by Godwin, Pam
Tula and Vera shared the same mother. Different fathers. Vera couldn’t have been related to Hector’s sons. Unless she considered them stepbrothers? As far as he knew, they hadn’t grown up together. Tula didn’t even know she had brothers until a few months ago. He couldn’t ask Vera about any of this because he wasn’t supposed to know Tula existed.
“Omar!” Ted thrust out his glass, sloshing the contents over the railing. “Quit sweet-talking the bitch and throw her in there!”
Omar. Hector’s second-oldest son.
“Fight to the death!” Omar snatched a fistful of her hair and shoved her toward her opponent.
To the death.
He’d expected as much, but as reality sank in, he couldn’t calm his breathing. This girl was going to die, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
CHAPTER 5
Without preamble, the fighters crashed together in a burst of punches, missing and hitting with brute speed. Luke half-expected a knockout in the first minute, but the girl surprised him.
Blood spurted from a powerbomb that landed across her mouth. She dodged the next blow and caught the kid in the solar plexus with her knee. Once. Twice. He staggered backward, sneered, and attacked again.
Hit. Crunch. Smash. Grunt. The crescendo of brutality spiked Luke’s pulse. The harder she fought, the more invested he became. Every strike she delivered confessed her will to live. Every ruthless shot she received hardened her jaw, promising retaliation.
Outmatched in strength and skill, she had zero chance of winning. But she didn’t give up. Didn’t show signs of slowing. As if she’d discovered a way to block out the pain, she limped, boxed, and snarled through bleeding injuries.
Her technique wasn’t disciplined. Nothing about her performance indicated she’d been trained in combat sports. She fought with her heart. Like she had nothing to lose. Like an animal.
Even with the odds stacked against her, she possessed more bravery in one finger than the combined assembly of tycoons yelling from the veranda.
“Hit her good! Make it hurt!” Ted shouted and gulped back his drink.
“Stay on your feet!” Omar roared, shaking his fist from the sidelines. “If he gets you on your back, he’ll fuck you in half. Is that what you want, cunt? You wanna bleed out on his dick?”
Gobsmacked, Luke couldn’t look away. Couldn’t move. Christ, he wanted to be in that pit, his instinct to defend her riding him hard. Every part of his being rooted for her, his muscles vehemently locked, his mind spinning, grasping for a way she could survive this.
Too late, he remembered himself and realized Vera had inched closer, studying his reactions.
“What are the rules?” Ordering his hands to unclench from the railing, he schooled his expression.
“No rules. It ends when she kills him, or he fucks her. If he manages to hold her down long enough to bury his prick, well…” She lifted a shoulder. “Then he can end her life.”
Pressure built at the base of his skull, spreading and numbing until he couldn’t feel his legs. “What if he kills her first?”
“He loses.” She wrinkled her nose. “That’s how they make it fair. He might be stronger, but he has to complete those two things in the right order. She only has to kill him to claim victory.”
It wasn’t what she said, but how she said it. No compassion. Not a trace of humanity. She didn’t even flinch as the girl took a pounding of rapid-fire fists to the face.
The merciless beating sent her careening across the lawn, where she lay in a pile of twitching limbs.
Luke froze, breathless, seconds from leaping over the railing.
Get up. Come on, goddammit, get up!
Slowly, she climbed to her feet, staggering, swaying. With a wet growl, she spat a wad of blood on the ground and leaped back into the fight.
The guests exploded in cries of approval, voices growing hoarse in their fervor. Dressed in their expensive suits, smoking their fancy cigars, they laughed and applauded while a young girl fought for her life.
This wasn’t any different than the Romans and their Colosseum. Crowded against the railing, they elbowed and shoved, trying to steal a better look and smell the blood.
“What’s wrong?” Vera brushed her arm against his, drawing his gaze. “You don’t approve?”
“Do you?”
“I asked first.”
“All right.” He finished off the whiskey, his eyes on the fight. “When a man has it all—money, women, power—he grows bored, appreciates nothing, and soon, the only thing that moves him is the pleasure in controlling and abusing others.”
“Is that supposed to be a revelation?”
“Not at all. What strikes me is how we try to normalize the barbaric behavior.” He gestured around them. “The formal clothing, fine dining, soft music, classy cocktails, and let’s not forget this…” He tapped the black steel railing built to withstand a mob. “This keeps us safely on the side of superiority, separated from the subhumans fighting below. As long as we keep to this side and surround ourselves with expensive things, we can remain desensitized to what’s actually happening.”
He glanced at the throng of desensitized monsters who trafficked innocents, bet on blood sports, and grew hard at the prospect of rape and murder.
Returning to Vera, he waited for something to click in her eyes—a softening, a hint of agreement—but it didn’t come. Maybe he’d said too much, given too much away, but he needed to know if there was anything worth salvaging in Tula’s sister.
“If you have a point…” She crossed her arms. “Make it.”
“You entertain powerful guests, but if any of them stepped into that pit, their money, influence, power—none of it would save them.”
“Same could be said for you.”
“Wrong, darling. I’d win.”
“Really?” She sniffed, incredulous. “Because you keep yourself fit?”
“Sure.”
It was more than that. He and his entire team underwent extensive training. They knew how to shoot, fight, and fuck, among other skills they practiced on an on-going basis. He wanted her to know he wasn’t like her other guests, and not just because he had a pretty face. He needed her to walk away from this conversation thinking about everything he said until it consumed her.
Messing with her head was just another way to control her.
“Yet here you are,” she said, “standing on the safe side while casting hypocritical judgment on your peers.”
“Hypocrisy is the least of my sins.” He turned his attention back to the fight, his tone stoic and bored. “Put me in there. I’ll prove it.”
“It’s not allowed.”
Of course not. He would end the fight. The girl wouldn’t die, and all bets would be off. Where was the fun in that?
“Who’s the male opponent?” he asked.
“A new recruit.”
His chest constricted.
New cartel members were required to do all sorts of horrific things as part of their initiation. He’d heard of capos forcing initiates to eat children’s hearts to prove their loyalty. Talk about desensitizing a person.
If the kid lost this fight, he wouldn’t just lose his chance at joining the cartel. He would be shot dead.
Good riddance. One less enemy to deal with.
But from the kid’s perspective, the stakes were high. Too high to have any last-minute scruples about killing a girl.
Rivers of red dripped from her hair and face, staining her shirt. She managed to stay on her feet, but her balance was shit. Probably a concussion. She favored her left side, where she’d been hit in the ribs too many times.
The next strike sent her tumbling to the ground, and instead of regaining her stance, she rolled to her side and coughed a scarlet spray across the lawn.
Luke tensed, leaning over the railing as sweat gathered on his brow. She wasn’t getting up.
Time moved in slow motion, and a hush fell over the spectators, producing ringing
in his ears.
The kid climbed over her and tackled the fly on her shorts. She slapped at his hands and tried to squirm away, her movements clumsy. But not defeated. She was still fighting, her growls loud and short of breath.
He wrestled the denim down her thighs, and she twisted, crawling on her stomach along the perimeter of garden lights. Keeping his grip on her shorts, he yanked them off and went for her underwear.
It would only take seconds to rip that flimsy barrier out of the way. He wrestled with her flailing limbs, eyes wild and teeth bared before he flipped her face-up and wrenched open her legs.
Luke seethed but managed to keep his posture relaxed.
You’re not here to help that girl.
Don’t expose your cover.
You.
Cannot.
Help.
Her.
Vera said something, her voice snatched away by the pounding in his head. His fists balled to the point of pain, but he held himself still, battling raging impulses.
The girl’s hand reached blindly for a solar light. Not the one closest to her. She stretched her fingers for the one above her head. What was she doing? They were staked in hard dirt and impossible to—
She pulled it out. As if seated in butter, the metal stake glided smoothly from the ground. He held his breath.
“Oh my God.” Vera’s hand came down on the railing next to his.
In a blink, the girl thrust the stake, impaling the sharp end through the kid’s throat and out the back of his neck.
“Nooooo!” Ted yelled from the veranda.
Her opponent crumpled, the flow of blood too great. A gurgle sounded, a final gasp, and just like that, it was over.
Unfuckingbelivable. She did it. She fucking won.
Stunned silence strangled the guests, rendering them as motionless as Luke.
A snarl sounded beside him, and Vera stormed away. Fuck her. How she could’ve wished for a different outcome was beyond him. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this goddamn relieved.
As the guests lost interest and wandered back to the table, he remained at the railing, his gaze glued to the injured girl.
Omar tried to haul her up, but she wasn’t coherent enough to stand. He yanked her harder, lugging her out of the ring.
Motherfucker. Luke maintained a neutral expression even as his blood boiled to dangerous levels. What were their plans for her? Would they kill her? Rape her? Make her fight another night?
He swiped a hand down his face. She wasn’t his mission.
As Omar dragged her off the lawn and out of view, Luke kept his feet planted and cleared her from his mind.
“Gentlemen.” Vera stood on the far side of the veranda, clinking a knife against a glass. “We’ve arrived at the part of the evening where you can bid on who you want to spend the next twenty-four hours with. As you can see, we have an irresistible selection tonight. Nothing but the best for our guests.”
Her sugary sweet voice grated on his nerves as a line of half-dressed girls paraded through the dining area. Some he recognized from his walk-through earlier, all of them young and beautiful. Beauty-queen faces. Flawless bodies. As if they’d been grown in a lab and plucked at perfect ripeness.
The ones who smiled made the attempt look wooden. Others didn’t bother, their downward gazes failing to look shy. Timidness came from self-preservation and worry. These girls were long past that. The mind could only withstand so much suffering before it shut down.
The bartering began, and one by one, Vera auctioned off humans like property. He didn’t move to join in, knowing his reluctance only delayed the inevitable.
Tomas watched him from across the veranda, his eyes hard with wordless commands. Annoyed, Luke gave him his back and studied the remaining girls.
It didn’t matter who he selected. They were all submissive, emotionless, broken in… Broken in general. The redhead or the Latina or the black-skinned beauty over there… He could take any one of them to his room, and she wouldn’t put up a fight.
That only made the task harder to stomach.
He didn’t fuck gently. Didn’t know how to be intimate without fire and passion. When he entered a woman, he did it with his entire body, every sinew, organ, and nerve ending engaged.
Sure, he could go through the motions. But could he make it look believable? Could he maintain an erection with someone who just lay there, eyes glazed over and mind shattered? Could he bring a damaged girl back from the dead?
He was good, but maybe not that good.
Where were the lively ones? The girls who would claw, bite, and scream with murderous passion? If he was going to do this, he needed someone who would hit him, try to reject him, and remind him that he was here for a job, not for his own depraved pleasure.
“Vera.” He caught her gaze and crooked a finger.
She pulled herself into a taller stance, her nostrils flaring on a deep inhalation. Then she crossed the room, approaching him.
“Do you see something you like, handsome?” Her smile didn’t reach her dark, narrowed eyes.
“Where are you hiding the quality selection? The freshly picked gems?”
“We like to give the guests some time to—”
“Be watched by your cameras? To make sure I’m not a narc? Don’t waste my time, Vera. I came here to make a purchase. Show me what I’m buying.”
She flinched. Cleared her throat. Looked around the room. As her gaze passed over a camera in the ceiling, she gave it an extra blink before skipping away.
“Fine.” Straightening, she turned toward the exit. “Follow me.”
CHAPTER 6
As Luke followed Vera’s swishing backside through the compound, he wracked his brain for a way to tie her up and sneak her out without getting shot. But every furtive glance she gave the passing cameras was a reminder he would never get her alone.
She tried in vain to maintain several paces ahead of his long-legged gait. He allowed it a few times, because hey, he was a guy, and the view of her ass didn’t suck. But each time she lengthened her strides, deliberately shoving distance between them, he didn’t know whether to be annoyed or pleased.
He affected her. Why? Was it fear? Unwanted attraction? Or something else?
“I make you nervous.” He strolled along, hands folded at his back, listening to Tomas’ footsteps behind him.
“I don’t know why you would think that. Turn here.”
He stepped into another breezeway. “Your body language writhes with discomfort.”
“I do not writhe.”
“Pity.” He trailed her into a connecting building, separate from the main compound.
“Do you analyze everyone you meet?”
“Yes.”
She paused in a large foyer with shiny tiles and no furniture. No windows. Just a bay of double metal doors and a key reader.
With a swipe of her card, the elevator opened. They took it down one floor—the only option—and stepped into a dimly lit underground corridor. It led back toward the estate, ending somewhere beneath the guest quarters.
He was instantly aware of how different the ambiance felt down here. The floors, walls, ceiling—everything was drab concrete. No paint. No decor or embellishments. It reeked of gloom and cold imprisonment.
Like a dungeon.
His palms slicked with sweat. Cameras hung from the corners, always watching, so he quelled the urge to look at Tomas.
Relaxing into his apathetic mask, he measured his breaths and followed Vera through the tunnel.
A steel door greeted them at the end. Another card reader. Only those with access could enter. And exit.
“Do you bring all your guests down here?” He leaned a shoulder against the wall.
“Yes.” She glanced at him sidelong. “We prefer to do it on the day of their departure.”
Like a souvenir shop at the end of a tourist attraction. After they admired the art and enjoyed the rides, they took a walk through the shop and purchas
ed a parting keepsake. A memento in the form of a sex slave.
“You haven’t tried very hard to spruce up this part of the attraction. That’s intentional, isn’t it? If a man can’t handle a walk down a crude hallway, he won’t be able to deal with what waits on the other side of that door.”
“You seem to be coping just fine.”
“I appreciate beauty in its rawest form. Unrefined. Wild. When you strip away the savagery of nature, polish it up, and make it behave, it loses its appeal.”
“You say that while looking rather polished and well-behaved in your dapper suit.”
“I assure you, Vera, I’m unapologetically primitive beneath the threads.” He leaned in. “Open the door.”
Her lips parted on a soft intake of air, her gaze fixed on his.
He’d give anything to know her thoughts, her secrets. Christ, if he just knew the coordinates of this rotten place, he would make an excuse to leave. They would blindfold him and transport him back to the hangar, where he could call in his team and tell them where to attack.
But if he had to guess, not even Vera knew how to find her way back to this corner of hell.
She opened the door.
The din of a television reached his ears, playing a commercial with a catchy jingle in Spanish. Otherwise, the room within lay quiet. The sort of eerie quiet that sent a chill along his scalp, at odds with that happy jingle.
He didn’t want to enter, but he forced his feet forward, grateful for Tomas at his back.
The space was vast and empty, except for an old couch in the corner and a hard-looking man perched upon it. A small flat-screen TV hung lopsided on the wall, holding the man’s attention.
He didn’t even spare a glance at Vera as she strode past and poked her head into a dark doorway.
“Marco?” She jumped back. “Oh! There you are.”
A tall man emerged from the shadowed depths, his brown eyes instantly locking onto Luke.
Splatters of blood stained his collared shirt. That would’ve been disturbing on its own, yet everything about Hector’s oldest son radiated violence, from his menacing stare and tense jaw to his hard-set shoulders and wordless greeting.
