by Godwin, Pam
Golden Eyes entered, pushing a cart full of covered plates, liquor, and medical supplies and closed the door behind him. Before the scent of food reached her nose, John scooped her up and dumped her into the bathtub.
Warm water rose to her chin and stung her wounds, finding lacerations and open sores she didn’t even know she had. But once the shock wore off, relief seeped into her bones. She lay her head back on the ledge and sighed.
“When was the last time you had a bath?” John dragged the chair closer and lowered into it.
When she didn’t answer, he sank a hand in the water and grabbed her inner thigh. It was a promise, not a threat. He would hurt her again.
What was the point in remaining silent? She wouldn’t win.
“A week, I think.” She met his stony eyes. “There are no bathrooms in the basement.”
“When do they let you out? When you fight?”
“When I behave. I have my own room away from the main house.”
Not really. She slept in a garage filled with old cars and lawn equipment, but no one bothered her there. It was her solace in hell.
Golden Eyes carried over a container of soaps and stood off to the side.
“Tell me about the girl and the hook.” John lathered up his hands and started cleaning her arms.
The foam turned pink as he scrubbed dried blood from her skin. She marveled at the gentleness of his fingers, so contradictory to the agony they’d inflicted just moments ago.
“I tried to escape last night.” She let him lift her leg from the water, wincing at the movement.
“Relax.” He held her weight, massaging soap around damaged muscles. “Was it your first attempt?”
“No. But when they caught me this time, they made sure I’d never try again.”
“The girl.” His hand paused on her calf, his gaze locked on hers. “They butchered her to teach you a lesson.”
“Yeah. Lovely friends you have. I guess birds of a feather really do flock together.”
He yanked hard on her foot and hauled her along the bottom of the tub. The sudden motion pulled her head beneath the water. Panic rose, and her legs cartwheeled as the memory of his hand over the blonde’s mouth flooded her brain.
She flailed, shot up, and gulped for air. “Fuck you!”
“I’ll be the one doing the fucking. Hold still.” He resumed his lathering before she’d even caught her breath.
“I can wash myself.”
“No. Explain your relationship with Vera Gomez.”
Homicidal rage spiked through her, quivering her muscles. “We have no relationship.”
“If your face wasn’t broken, I’d see a vein bulging in your forehead just at the mention of her name.”
There was so much she wanted to say, but she couldn’t. If she thought today’s punishment was unbearable, it was nothing compared to what they would do if she told her secrets.
But if she didn’t give him something, he would just keep pushing. Keep hurting her.
“I’ve been here as long as that bitch.” She tilted her head back to locate the cameras and found none. Then she spotted a hole in the ceiling. “What—?”
“I’m a very private man, and I don’t appreciate anyone recording my personal activities.”
So he tore out the only camera? What about the other rooms? The cartel would never allow that.
He followed her gaze to the doorway and shook his head. “This is the only room that isn’t monitored.”
“They can’t hear us in here?
“Only when you scream,” Golden Eyes said without emotion.
“You and Vera came here…” John inched the chair toward her head and washed her hair. “When?”
“Nine-hundred and fifty-eight days ago.”
Almost three years. It felt like three decades.
“You arrived together?” he asked.
How much could she tell him? Maybe the cartel wasn’t listening right now, but could she really take that chance?
“Not together. The compound had just been built.” She closed her eyes and wiped at the stream of bubbles running from his hands. “She hated me from the beginning.”
“Why?”
So many reasons, and none that she could disclose. So she settled on another truth. “Why does La Rocha abduct, rape, and sell girls? They’re evil. She is pure fucking evil.”
He seemed so perplexed by this with his brows all knitted and his lips clamped together. Of course, he didn’t get it. He associated with the Mexican cartel. Hell, he was a goddamn slave buyer.
Except… He didn’t fit the mold. Not exactly. Something was weirdly off about him.
He finished shampooing and moved on to conditioner. “Was she ever a captive here?”
“Are you kidding? This place is her brainchild. Her pride and joy. She built it from the ground up.” She squinted at him. “Why are you so interested in her?”
“She’s fucking gorgeous.” He licked the corner of his mouth and put his face in hers. “You’re jealous.”
Yeah, right. Beautiful women grew on trees around here, and she never wanted to be one of them. Which was why she welcomed every fight, hoping the beatings would make her less desirable.
He fell quiet as he rinsed her hair, seemingly lost in thought.
Then he finished the rest of her. Somehow, he managed the intimate task without making it sexual. His gaze touched her nudity without being creepy. His hands glided over her breasts and between her legs without trying to violate her.
He couldn’t have made it more obvious that something strange was going on.
Maybe it was her appearance? She didn’t need a mirror to imagine how grotesque she looked. Good. If a puffy face killed his boner, she might consider punching herself to maintain the swelling all week.
But if her looks turned him off, why had he chosen her?
“How many times have you been pimped out to the guests?” He pulled the drain and let the water out.
“You’re the first.”
He winged up an auburn eyebrow, an expression that made him look younger. Almost playful.
“You’re not special.” She slid her knees to her chest, shivering in the draining water. “If I hadn’t won so many fights for the cartel, they would’ve killed me a long time ago. I’m a flight risk who’s outlived her value, and you said you wouldn’t pay for broken goods.” She laughed hollowly. “You’ve been duped, Johnny Boy.”
“You’re not only wrong. You’re scared.” He bent in and wrapped a hand around her throat, holding her gaze. “Scared shitless, because you know that when your bruises fade, I’m going to like what I see. When I taste you, I’m going to savor that, too. What you may not know, but will soon discover, is that when I’m inside you, you’ll come on such a violent tailspin of pleasure that my cock will be the only one that ever matters. Then, now, and forever.”
“Hate to burst your bubble, but women don’t get off when they’re raped.”
He grabbed a towel and lifted her from the tub, his voice the texture of velvet. “We’ll see about that.”
CHAPTER 9
Her mysterious captor was right about one thing. She was scared. How could she not be? As traumatizing as it was to be fucked into the dirt by the four top dogs of La Rocha Cartel, sex with them was always predictable, routine, and over quickly.
This man promised none of that.
She lay on a settee in the wet room, swaddled in a towel, watching him and his bodyguard gather supplies. They worked effortlessly together, anticipating each other’s movements, communicating without words. She was horrifyingly captivated.
How many times had they done this? How many women had they raped? Killed?
They didn’t need to pay for sex. Not with those sculpted faces. But it wasn’t uncommon for serial killers to charm women into their beds.
These guys had more than just charisma, with their powerfully honed physiques, the intelligence behind their eyes, determination in the set of their shoulders,
and they smelled good. Sweet Jesus, the room reeked of clean, woodsy, virile masculinity.
Potent males.
Gorgeous.
They looked like fashion models, not corrupt businessmen. But to be invited here, John must be tremendously wealthy. Or in debt up to his pretty green eyeballs.
“During the fight tonight…” He perched on the settee beside her hip and loaded a toothbrush with paste. “You knew which solar light would pull free.”
“It was a lucky guess.” She reached for the toothbrush.
He drew it away. “Don’t lie to me.”
“Fine. Last time I walked through the yard, I dug up the stake and loosened the hole.”
He took her hand and caressed his thumb across her palm. She shivered, waiting for him to do something mean. But he just kept the pad of that thumb moving in featherlight circles.
Tingles of sensation licked through her, unlike anything she’d ever felt. It made her uncomfortable. Nervous. She knew how to battle pain. But affection? Kindness? She liked it too much. More than liked it, and that put her at a disadvantage.
“Don’t.” She yanked her hand from his grip.
“You’re not in a position to make objections.”
“Oh, buddy, I can and will refuse you. Isn’t that what you wanted? A whore who will kick and scream and wear herself out? It makes you hard and hung—”
He shoved the toothbrush in her mouth, and she choked on the glob of mint.
“Asshole.” Her garbled, foamy insult lit up his eyes with a devilish gleam.
It was almost a smile. A beautiful one, unfortunately. He really was so nice to look at, with his red hair glinting like metallic copper in the overhead light. Though he kept it short, it curled at the ends, giving him a relaxed, tousled look.
Wide across the shoulders and narrow through the waist, he had the V thing that she’d only ever seen on porn sites. Like in the male on male videos, and the macho men with big cocks, oh, and the naked solo amateur guys, stroking themselves for the camera… God, she used to love watching those.
She used to love sex.
There had been a time when she loved having a boyfriend, too. A guy she could talk to and kiss whenever the impulse struck. She missed the comfort in connecting with another person, even when they turned mean and tried to smack her around.
Someday, if she escaped this place with her mind and body intact, she would find a decent partner, someone to love, and just maybe, she wouldn’t feel so alone.
As she brushed her teeth and spat in a cup, John watched her as fixedly as a predator with eyes on his prey. A wolf in a suit. She could admire his impossible beauty and even hold a conversation with him, but it didn’t change the fact that he was going to rape her. If not her, then someone else.
Golden Eyes crouched beside her head with a medical kit and reached for her face. She jerked away.
“Be still.” John bent over her and fingered her wet hair. “He’s going to treat your wounds while we talk.”
“Why bother?”
“If you’re as smart as I think you are, you’ll figure it out.”
The quiet man stared at John in a scolding way. Like they were… Equals? Friends? Family?
What were they hiding?
“Do you have a fake name, too?” she asked the bodyguard.
“Tomas.”
“Rhymes with dumbass.” John pitched a scowl at the man. Then he held up one of her spirally black locks, studying it. “This wasn’t curly before.”
“It wasn’t clean before.”
The girls in the main house straightened it the last time she washed it. Sometimes, she let them play dress-up with her, looking for any excuse to eavesdrop on their gossip.
Since they had more freedom to roam the property, they knew things she didn’t, such as who was coming and going, which guards were on patrol, how many guests were in-house, and when the next shipment of girls would arrive.
His fingertips ran down her breastbone and loosened the knot on the towel. She dropped the toothbrush and stopped him from descending farther.
He smiled down at her. No humor. All heat.
“No.” She wasn’t ready. She would never be ready.
“Fight me.” His voice slid over her with silken confidence. A voice that could carry brutal commands over the length of a dark, oppressive dungeon.
“Fuck you.”
He ripped away the towel.
“No! Stop!” She shrieked, scrambling to pull it back.
But he’d already tossed it away, chuckling blackly. So she kneed him in the chin. Hard.
His head snapped back, and the crook of his mouth kicked up. Not a hint of surprise on his face.
He’d let her have that shot.
“That’s the only one you get tonight.” He captured her legs and pinned them down. “Your coordination is getting worse. Are you dizzy?”
“Eat a dick.”
“You’ll be doing exactly that if you don’t answer the question.”
“Yes, John, the room is spinning.”
Nausea, headache, sleepiness, blurred vision, ringing in her ears… She had a concussion. But that wasn’t the only reason she was pinned down. Every punch she’d thrown at him had been easily dodged and redirected. He knew how to neutralize an attacker.
“You’ve had training.” She wrapped an arm over her bare chest and a hand between her legs, covering her nudity. “Combat sports.”
“It’s a hobby of mine, along with weights and cardio. You’ll work out with me once you’re fed and rested.”
By work out, he didn’t mean jogging.
He blatantly inspected her naked body while Tomas cleaned the cuts on her face.
Antibiotic ointment was applied. Her eyes were pried open and checked. Then her teeth, ears, and nose. That done, Tomas ran his hands over every inch of her scalp, searching for hidden wounds. The scrupulous efficiency in his work suggested he’d done this before.
“Are you a bodyguard or a doctor?” she asked him.
“I’ve treated a lot of wounds.”
“Your boss must toss all his beaten slaves your way.”
John splayed a large hand over her hipbone, his fingers stretching nearly around her waist. “Why are you so thin?”
“It’s called intermittent fasting. If you want to shed extra pounds, you have to feel the pangs of hunger every day.”
He narrowed his eyes, not buying a single word.
“They say fasting also helps you live longer.” She shrugged.
“If you’re concerned about longevity, you wouldn’t be breaking through a wall patrolled by heavily armed guards. You’re lucky they didn’t shoot you.”
“How did you know I breached the wall?”
“I didn’t until you just told me.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Her lungs emptied of air.
His eyes darkened, half-hooded by thick copper lashes that did nothing to conceal the intellect blazing there. “Tell me what you saw on the other side.”
No way. That was her secret. She’d barely convinced Marco she hadn’t seen anything. She sure as fuck couldn’t trust this man. What would stop him from running straight to Marco and ratting her out?
“It was nighttime.” She swallowed her rising panic. “I couldn’t see my hands in front of my—”
“Shut up.” He climbed over her and straddled her waist.
With his knees astride her hips, he held his weight off her while lowering his upper body, chest to chest, and arms bracketing her head. His mouth hovered so close she tasted his breath. Peated whiskey, hot and smoky, like the blood burning through her veins.
“I know you’re lying.” His lips grazed hers, shooting unwanted frissons across her skin. “If you tell me what you saw outside the perimeter, they’ll kill you. And me, as well.” His gaze darted to the closed door. “We’ll discuss it another time.”
Like never.
There was only one reason he’d be interested in what lay beyond the wall. He wanted the
location of the compound.
Some guests felt paranoid and isolated here and didn’t like the cartel monitoring their external communications. They knew if something happened to them, no one would ever find them. Last year, a government agent had disguised himself as a buyer and infiltrated the estate. The cartel discovered his identity quickly, and the man was never seen again. His bones were undoubtedly buried somewhere on the property.
Whether John was a narc, military operative, or just another paranoid dipshit, she needed to stay clear of the crossfire.
“They’re starving you.” He swept his fingers over her ribs and raised his body to stare down the length of hers. “What’s the purpose in that?”
“Have you ever seen a pit bull in a fighting ring? Or a greyhound on a racetrack? Those malnourished, neglected animals are worked to the bone and kept only to make their owners money. When they’re no longer useful, they’re put down.” Her eyes closed without her permission. “I’m just a dog on death row.”
He cleared a bit of hair off her cheek, prompting her to look up at him. “You’re more than that to them. How many in the cartel have fucked you?”
“If you wanted a virgin—”
“I want information about the woman I’m paying for.” His hand captured her nape, fingers closing around her hair, restraining her as he breathed his threatening words against her lips. “We can go round and round, but eventually, you’ll tell me what I want to know.”
“No one touched me tonight.”
“But Vera—”
“Is a goddamn liar. They raped the girl on the hook instead.”
An anguished look stole across his handsome face. Didn’t he know that any show of emotion would get him killed?
He didn’t belong here. Which begged the question… Who the hell was he?
“How many times have they forced you to fight?” His hands held her so firmly against him her neck smarted.
“I don’t know. Maybe a dozen.”
“You’ve never lost.”
“You know the rules. If I lose, I’m dead.”
“How do you rig every fight?”
“Shoestring and fishing line in my pocket make good garrotes. Same with a belt. Then there’s the stolen switchblade I buried in the dirt. A hidden nail file works well in the eye socket. Sometimes, I’m just lucky.”
