Take

by Pam Godwin

  A man sat on a two-foot-tall steel safe, his lower body illuminated enough to reveal heavy boots, dark slacks, and a posture that could only be described as an arrogant sprawl. He lounged with his back against the wall and legs spread, his body language insinuating he didn’t care whether she entered or not.

  The rest of him melted into chilling blackness. His chest, shoulders, face—none of his upper half was visible. He probably positioned the lamp at just the right angle to give the illusion of a predator lurking in the dark, just to ramp up the fear factor.

  No illusions needed. She knew what he was, and her knees wobbled with the impulse to cower and beg for her life. But a meek and submissive demeanor would only earn her extended torture. She’d learned that the hard way.

  She would rather die quickly than draw out the torment.

  Her heart rate accelerated, and she swayed beneath the spinning weight of vertigo. She didn’t want to die. But if her life was taken from her, if this was her last stance in the world, she would face it with ferocity and bitter rage.

  Shoving back her shoulders, tight as they were, she strode into the room.

  “Welcome, Kate.” His low, deep baritone curled a shiver around her spine. “Come closer. I know you’ve been anxious to meet me. Everyone on this side of the continent has heard you begging.”

  “Cut the shit, Tiago.” She paused outside the lamp’s glow and swallowed her nerves. “I haven’t seen your face. I can’t identify you. Let me go, and I’ll forget the whole thing.”

  “Step into the light.” Rich and rumbly, his accent swirled with hints of South America and something indefinably exotic.

  “You first.”

  “This will go faster if you follow orders.”

  “Am I keeping you from something?” She cast a pointed look around the spartan room. “What have you been doing in here for a month?”

  The silence that followed closed a fist around her windpipe. It lasted a minute, then several more, until she could no longer bear it.

  “Are we in Venezuela? What is this place?”

  More silence.

  “If you’re not going to talk, I might as well head back to the isolation in the other room.” She meant to sound bored, but the shakiness in her voice ruined the attempt.

  His hand stirred on his thigh. Fingers tapped, tap-tap-tap, and fell still. When the shadow finally spoke, it chilled her to the bone.

  “Do you want to live, Kate?”

  She choked on a whimper. “Yes.”

  “Are you worthy of mercy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Convince me.”

  Her nostrils flared, and her neck ached with tension. “I make an honest living and help people in need. I’ve certainly never kidnapped anyone and locked them in a room for a month.” She couldn’t disguise the contempt in her tone. “I haven’t done anything to you!”

  “Feel that high sense of value and superiority? That’s pride, little girl. One of my favorite sins.”

  She drew in a sharp breath. “You asked—”

  “I know what I asked. And since you know my name, you know it’s not synonymous with mercy.”

  No surprise that Kate had been right about who had abducted her, but it didn’t calm the tremors in her belly. Because let’s face it. There was nothing remotely comforting about being held captive by Tiago Badell.

  As one of the wealthiest crime lords in Venezuela, he smuggled guns and drugs, kidnapped tourists for ransom, controlled the police force, and made a living off other people’s misery. Tate’s intel had given her a harrowing overview of the operation, but how would that insight help her? Tiago probably wanted to kill her just because of her association with Tate.

  Even if that were true, she wouldn’t mention Tate. Not until she better understood the landscape and the man who reigned over it.

  Why was he just sitting there in the shadows? Was he aiming a gun? Coiled to strike? Trying to keep his face anonymous? Or maybe he was just a dickhead and wanted to get a rise out of her?

  The steel safe he used as a chair was the freestanding variety, with a combination lock and heavy-looking door. It was probably bolted to the floor and stuffed to the brim with artillery, cash, and enough criminal evidence to earn him a top spot on the Most Dangerous Men in the World list.

  A quick scan of the room confirmed there was nothing she could wield as a weapon. Except the lamp. Unplugging it would plunge her into darkness. She could use the cord for strangulation or the wooden base as a bludgeon. But not effectively with her wrists tied together.

  If she stepped closer, she might be able to see his features. It would also put her directly in the light, with the outline of her body backlit by the lamp. A minor vulnerability, but not one she was willing to concede without negotiation.

  “Tell you what.” She lifted her bound hands. “I’ll come to you, if you remove the rope.”

  A grunt scuffed from his throat. “With your hands free, you assume I’ll wait here while you grab the lamp and swing it at me?”

  When he put it like that, it made her sound foolish and predictable.

  She clenched her teeth, and another idea struck. It wouldn’t help her escape, but she went with it.

  Circling backward, she paced away from him, toward the lamp, and approached it from behind. The rope squeezed her wrists as she clutched the base and raised it above her head.

  With it tilted in his direction, the light stretched to his chest, revealing a white collared shirt, unbuttoned at the throat and tucked into black slacks. Sleeves covered his arms, the crisp fabric clinging to broad shoulders and defined pecs. Every thread on his body looked perfectly fitted for his tall, lean frame.

  Narrow hips, muscular thighs, seemingly hard all over—his athletic physique was unfortunate. She might’ve been able to outrun an out-of-shape man.

  What was with the fancy clothes? Did he dress up for her or was he expecting another visitor? Other than the old man who delivered the meals, no one had entered this room in the month she’d been here. Not even the guards.

  “I feel underdressed.” She glanced down at the thin dress. At least, she wasn’t illuminated from behind.

  He didn’t move or make a sound, not even as she hoisted the lamp as high as the cord allowed. Because he knew. No matter how she positioned it, the glow wouldn’t reach his face.

  “Are you finished wasting my time?” He stretched out a leg, reclining farther into the shadows.

  “Why am I here?”

  “Someone took something from me, so I took something in return.” A smile surfaced in his voice. “I took you.”

  The implication settled through her, loosening her chest. Tate must’ve succeeded. He must’ve taken Lucia from Tiago and fled.

  They were safe.

  Sweet mercy, what a relief. After an eleven-year separation, she couldn’t imagine how overjoyed Camila must’ve been to reunite with her long-lost sister. This was great news. Fucking fantastic.

  Except for Kate’s part in it. For that, she had no one to blame but herself.

  Tate had demanded she not take the job at the diner. All her overprotective roommates were against the idea because they couldn’t keep an eye on her. But she wanted her independence. Her freedom.

  Now, she had neither.

  She readjusted the light, moving it side to side, desperate to see her captor’s eyes. “Are you holding me for ransom?”

  “No.” The gruff syllable punched from the darkness and hit her in the chest.

  No ransom. No negotiations in the works to release her. She was fucked.

  Her arms lowered as fear rose to the surface, tightening her face and hunching her spine. She set the lamp on the floor and inched away from it, seeking the cover of darkness.

  “I have money.” She pressed her back against the stone wall, struggling to quiet her quickening breaths. “A lot of money. I’ll pay—”

  “You are the payment.”

  Her stomach collapsed. “You’re going to rape
me.”

  “If you’re offering, it wouldn’t be rape.”

  “I would never—”

  “You presume I’m interested.”

  She assumed a lot of things. Sodomy, mutilation, slow excruciating death… Any manner of evil was on the table, in any order and degree of agony.

  “I’m not,” he said.

  “Not…?” Her brows pinched.

  “Not interested in fucking you.”

  Her breath caught and held. She should’ve felt relief, but she’d seen the videos and knew what he wasn’t saying. “You’ll let your guards rape me.”

  He didn’t answer, and God help her, the wretched silence made her blood shiver.

  “I have powerful friends.” She licked dry lips. “Dangerous allies who are looking for me right now. When they find me, you’ll beg for death. You’ll beg each time they cut off a piece of you. They’ll use fire and chop and cook until there’s nothing left but burnt ends and shit stains.” She stood taller, her voice stronger. “Let me go, and I’ll let you live.”

  He chuckled, mocking her. “Your friends are cannibals?”

  “No, they’re…” She clamped her molars together, cursing her bungling attempt to threaten him. “They’re coming for me.”

  “You’re a remarkably stupid woman. You know what I am, yet you walk in here, spewing nonsense, as if you actually believe you can control your demise.”

  Needles pulsated behind her eyes. “So that’s it? I’m going to die?”

  “Everyone dies. Some more painfully than others.”

  His cold, callous tone validated her assumption. This wouldn’t be a quick execution. He intended to make her suffer.

  Terror trickled down her spine, freezing her in place.

  Don’t just stand there. Move. Run. Fight, for fuck’s sake.

  She unlocked her legs and bolted toward the door.

  Two steps was all she managed before the lamp turned off and pitch-black darkness swallowed the room.

  Her heart rate exploded as she strained her eyes. How the fuck did he kill the light?

  She couldn’t see her hands in front of her face. The exit hovered somewhere to the right, so she crept in that direction, listening for his footsteps amid the eruption of her gasps.

  She tried to move slowly and soundlessly, so he couldn’t track her. Then her scalp tingled. The air shifted against her, around her. Panic kicked in, and she burst into a blind sprint.

  Heart racing, she made it a few more feet before something thumped up ahead. The sound of the door closing, of air being pushed out as it sealed. Then the lock slid into place.

  She froze, her lungs shriveling with ice. Energy bounced against her, a disturbance of atmosphere. He was close, but where?

  “Turn on the light.” She swerved backward, spinning, her bound arms throwing her off balance as she swung at nothing.

  He made no sound, yet his presence squeezed in on all sides, taunting her with her fear of the dark.

  Her hair ruffled, and she pivoted. Was he circling her?

  She whirled back, disoriented. Where was the door? Straight ahead? Behind her? She darted forward, and her throat slammed into an iron bar of muscle. His arm. He fucking clotheslined her.

  Pain exploded in her larynx, and she staggered backward, expecting a hand to fly out of the blackness. But it was his boot that hit next. Directly in her stomach.

  The excruciating impact sucked the wind from her lungs and knocked her flat on her back.

  She landed on the mattress, gulping for air, and in the next heartbeat, he was on her. Powerful legs straddled her hips. His hand collared her throat, and the other pinned her arms above her head.

  He was too heavy, too strong. Too fucking close.

  “It doesn’t matter what you want, who your friends are, or what you think you know about me.” His calm breath feathered her face. “You have no opinions here. No privilege or power. Apparently, you didn’t learn that the last time.”

  Her heart crashed against her ribcage as she bucked and twisted beneath his weight. “The last time?”

  “Four years ago.”

  Oh God, he knew her past. He’d done his research.

  “That’s right.” He flexed his thighs against her writhing hips, holding her to the mattress as his hands moved along the rope on her arms. “I know all about Van Quiso and his training.”

  “Don’t do this.” She didn’t need her vision to know he was tying her to something on the wall. All-consuming fear jangled her insides, violently shaking her. “Let me go!”

  “Try not to shit yourself. If you make a mess in my bed, I’ll make you sleep in it. Not because I’m into that kind of thing. It’s fucking disgusting.”

  Her jaw fell open, and a stunned whisper tumbled out. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “We’re not going to get into that. Right now, we’re focusing on what’s wrong with you.” He put his mouth at her ear. “It’s safe to assume Van Quiso did a number on your head. But instead of learning from the experience, you went and got yourself captured again. Let’s be honest, Kate. That was really careless on your part.”

  “Careless?” she shrieked. “You kidnapped—”

  He clamped a huge hand over her face, covering her lips and part of her nose. “Another outburst, and my next strike will break something important.”

  Kate wrestled for air beneath the press of Tiago’s fingers on her face. He already kicked her hard enough to turn her stomach black and blue by morning. If he adjusted his grip by a millimeter, her airway would be completely closed. She had no choice but to heed his threat.

  Commanding the rigidness to leave her body, she sank into the mattress and blinked in the darkness.

  He released her mouth, then her hands, but his weight remained on her hips.

  With her arms stretched toward the wall above her head, she yanked hard. No give. Just as she assumed, the rope was tied to something immovable.

  “Now, where were we?” His deep rumble penetrated her chest.

  “You were pointing out my faults.” She bared her teeth, not that he could see her with the lights off.

  “So I was. Among those faults is this withering scorn you carry around.” He gripped her jaw, gave it a painful squeeze, and let go. “You’re sick of being the underdog, the victim. So you charged in here wearing a cloud of righteous anger, because fuck the man, right? And by man, I mean every prick who’s treated you unfairly. The father who abandoned you. The brothers who bullied you. The roommates who didn’t protect you. The scar-faced bastard who tried to sell you to some fat fuck with fetishes more unspeakable than his own. Then there’s me. You don’t even know what I have planned for you.”

  Horror consumed her, constricting and pulling. He just dissected her with all the boredom of a man playing a child’s game. She had no defenses against him, physically or emotionally.

  Nothing would stop him from grabbing her throat and ripping out the meat of it. Or breaking her legs so she couldn’t flee. Or he could go for her unprotected core. Her abdomen trembled right there between his thighs. He could pummel her until she bled internally.

  Any or all of it was possible, and the thought shoved her into a fresh hell of panic.

  What about her friends? Would he go after them next? How did he know so much about her life? Her father was dead. But her brothers… No one knew about them.

  Except Van.

  Tiago coasted his fingers over her hair, slithering a chill across her scalp. “I appreciate your bravado, but it’s a portal to make-believe land. It’ll get you nowhere.” His hand retreated. “It won’t save you.”

  Her head hammered, her eyes wide and unseeing. She might not know anything useful about him, but she knew his type.

  Living with five alpha males, she was accustomed to the overbearing display of dominance. The vibration of confidence close to the skin, the puffed-up chests and unwavering eye contact—every action demanded respect and submission. Which begged the question… />
  “Why did you turn off the light?” She waited through a span of silence, strangling beneath the press of his proximity. “If I’m going to die, it doesn’t matter if I see your face. If you’re the one in control, why are you hiding in the dark? You’ve been holed up in this room for a month. Who are you running from?”

  “Now that,” he breathed at her ear, “is the smartest thing you’ve said.”

  The light flicked on, and the sudden brightness blotted her vision. As her eyes adjusted, she glimpsed a remote in his hand. He set it aside, and her gaze tripped along a muscled arm to the column of a masculine neck.

  Stubble shadowed his chiseled jaw and outlined sculpted lips. A prominent nose, bladed cheekbones, and eyes so dark they could’ve been black—the squared cut of Hispanic features formed a ruthless, shockingly attractive face.

  As she took in his unexpected beauty, the corners of his mouth levitated in a macabre smile.

  He was madness with straight, white teeth. Corruption with glowing skin. A nightmare in a designer suit.

  Dipping his head, he brought his eyes into the angle of light. Holographic hues of brown glittered in his irises, but it was the intelligence in that stare that jolted electricity through her heart.

  His gaze was deafening. As jarring as a crack of lightning in the night. But instead of chaos writhing in his eyes, she found the steady pulse of self-control and calculation.

  He watched her closely, deliberately, as if he knew it unsettled her, and that knowledge gave him pleasure.

  His smile widened.

  An increase in pressure and temperature swept the room. Her chest rose and fell, fighting for each shallow gasp.

  He was so fearsomely, horrifyingly beautiful she had to look away, her focus landing on the only weakness she could find.

  A bandage. Multiple bandages, taped in a row from his temple to the back of his head. Thick layers of gauze concealed what lay beneath, but from the size of the wrap, the injury had been severe.

  Severe enough to debilitate him for weeks.

  “That’s why you haven’t left this room.” Her mind swam as she glanced around at the sparse space, homing in on the duffel bag of clothes. “You fled Kidnap Alley to recover here, to remain hidden until you regained strength. Have you been unconscious all this time?”