Maria stared straight ahead, not daring to look at him, and hurried into the shower.
Once the water came on, she stepped beneath the spray and allowed the tears to fall from her eyes.
She took her time in the shower, praying that someone would rescue her, yet knowing it would never happen. Oz was injured and locked in the basement, which left only Gryke or Fiona against a dozen or so of Carlito’s men.
“You’ve been in there long enough,” Xavier pointed out, snatching the shower curtain open and shutting off the now cool water.
Maria instinctively covered her breasts. “I need a towel,” she ground out between clenched teeth.
Xavier snagged a towel from the rack above the toilet and moved in close to her. “Move your arms.”
“Go to hell.”
Xavier ripped her hands free from her breasts and spun her against the wall.
Maria sucked in a breath as her face smacked against the cold tile.
“Put your hands on the wall above your head,” he growled, kicking her feet apart with his booted foot.
Maria could barely breathe through her anxiety. “Carlito will kill you if you touch me.”
“He said I couldn’t screw you. He didn’t say I couldn’t touch you.”
A whimper threatened to escape as Xavier’s hand slid around her body to cup her breast in a painful hold.
Maria bit back a cry, determined not to show him fear. She’d been raised around cowards like Xavier. They thrived on fear.
He released his hold on her breast and briskly toweled her off. “Get on the bed.”
The anger in his voice wasn’t lost on Maria. She knew he hated her for not showing weakness. She also knew that some of his anger stemmed from being the low man on the totem pole. And as such, would be last in line to have a go at her. If she survived the first dozen.
Nausea continued to roll as she staggered to the bed and stared down at the crisp white sheets she would be assaulted on.
“Go on. Get up there.” Xavier snatched off the top sheet and began ripping it into strips.
Maria did as she was told, dodging the handgun he waved around her head.
“Arms and feet apart,” Xavier ordered, moving to the foot of the bed.
He quickly tied her feet to the posters of the footboard before moving back to her head.
After restraining her hands, he laid the gun on the nightstand and unzipped his pants.
Maria shrank back as far as her bonds would allow. “Please don’t”
“Please don’t,” he mimicked in a mocking tone before freeing his disgusting erection and gripping it in his fist.
Maria squeezed her eyes shut, attempting to block out the image of him masturbating next to her.
Long moments passed with Xavier making grunting sounds. The sound of his zipper going up let her know that he’d finished.
He leaned over her, his putrid breath fanning across her face. “The next time will be in your pretty pink mouth.”
Maria gagged, unable to stop herself.
The door flew open, and Rivera stepped inside the room. His gaze traced over Maria’s outstretched body before landing on Xavier. “Get out.”
Xavier snatched up his gun and scrambled toward the door.
“Just as I remembered you,” Rivera murmured, unbuttoning his shirt.
Maria pulled at her bonds, pain shooting up her arms. “You better kill me when you’re finished, Homero. Because I will make it my life’s purpose to destroy you.”
He laughed while casually removing his shirt and shoes. “Is that so? I’m not going to kill you, pretty Maria. At least not until I have no more use of you.”
Maria watched in horror as he unbuckled his belt and slowly slid it free of his pants before dragging the black material down his legs.
His boxer briefs came next, leaving him completely nude to her disgusted gaze.
The sight of his erection standing proudly from his body struck real fear into Maria’s heart. Xavier would have hurt her, but his sadistic intentions didn’t hold a candle to those of Homero Rivera.
Rivera stopped next to the bed and opened the nightstand drawer.
Maria strained to see its contents, but the restraints held her down. “What are you doing?”
Homero smiled as he pulled what looked to be a nightstick from the drawer and slapped it against his palm. “It’s one of my favorites. It creates just enough pain to bring forth a scream without marring the flesh.”
Terror filled Maria’s heart at his words. He was going to inflict an enormous amount of pain on her before raping her.
“Beg,” he demanded in a soft voice.
Maria closed her eyes and turned her faze to the side. She flinched as the nightstick touched her stomach.
“You will beg.”
Chapter Nineteen
Oz paced the basement, gripping the sides of his head in his hands.
Maria’s terror filled him, consumed him, and tormented him with her silent screams.
He’d tried reaching out to her, but her fear was too strong to penetrate.
Climbing the stairs, he tried the door once again, to no avail. Carlito had locked it from the outside.
The door abruptly opened, and Oz charged, nearly slamming into a blood-covered Gryke.
“We have to move,” Gryke growled, gripping Oz’s arms to prevent him from swinging.
Oz had never been so glad to see the psychotic Gryke as he was in that moment. “We have to find Maria. Someone’s hurting her.”
Gryke glanced into the hallway. “Fiona is searching for her now. Let’s go.”
“I’ve been trying to reach out to her,” Oz began, slipping into the hall behind Gryke. “I can hear her in my mind, feel her there, but she’s not responding to me.”
Gryke narrowed his gaze. “How is it that you, a human, can hear her thoughts?”
“She gave me her blood.”
“You have been wounded,” Gryke acknowledged, glancing at Oz’s bloodied shoulder.
Oz nodded. “It hurts like a bitch, but it won’t kill me. Let’s hurry.”
Racing down the hall, Oz tried reaching out to Maria once more. “Talk to me, Maria. Please hear me.”
“Oz?” came her weak, tormented reply. “Help…me.”
“I’m coming, baby. Please, just hold on.”
“Hurry, Oz.”
“Where did he take you?” Oz mentally pleaded. “Think, love. Where are you?”
Maria cried out in pain, nearly ripping Oz’s heart from his chest. “402. R-room 402.” The connection severed.
Oz ran to the door leading to the stairwell, knowing that Gryke would follow. “She’s in room 402,” he threw over his shoulder, hurrying inside and taking the stairs two at a time.
“How many are with her?” Gryke asked, tight on Oz’s heels.
Oz burst into the hall on the fourth floor. “I don’t know.”
Without waiting for Gryke’s response, Oz sprinted to room 402 and kicked the door in. The sight that greeted him would forever be burned into his memory.
Maria’s nude form lay on the bed, stretched out on her back with her arms and legs tied to the bedposts. Bruises lined her thighs, and her breasts were covered in purple markings. One of her eyes was swollen closed, and the other didn’t fare much better.
Rivera stood over Maria, holding a black stick in his hand as if preparing to swing it on her.
Oz’s vision darkened, so great was his rage. He flew across the room with one thought in mind. Ripping out Rivera’s throat with his bare hands.
Rivera went down as the force of Oz’s shoulder collided with his gut, the nightstick flying from his fingers on impact.
Oz followed him down, straddling his chest, and slammed his fist into the guy’s face repeatedly.
Sounds faded into the background. Oz’s vision narrowed, and the man inside him gave way to something deadly. Something primal he had no control over.
Images of Maria tied to that bed flashed
behind Oz’s eyes, in a collage of terror. Her silent screams of agony while he’d been locked in that basement played through his mind like a mantra.
Still, Oz fought, pounding his knuckles against the bones of Homero’s face. Nothing mattered in that moment but feeling the satisfaction of Rivera’s death.
Somewhere in the far reaches of Oz’s mind, he could hear voices, could feel the hand touching his shoulder, the bones crushing in Rivera’s face, but his rage demanded more. His rage wanted vengeance, restitution.
“He’s dead, Oz.” Maria’s voice suddenly penetrated his fury.
A shudder passed through Oz’s tensed-up frame. He threw his head back and roared, unable to hold back the rage he felt upon seeing Maria’s body lying on that bed.
Arms came around him in a crushing hold, and Oz was abruptly jerked away.
“It is over,” Gryke rumbled next to his ear.
Oz’s vision slowly began to clear. He stared at the blood spatter on the wall in front of him before lowering his gaze to an unrecognizable Rivera sprawled out on the floor at his feet.
“Maria,” Oz breathed, swiveling his head in her direction.
She sat on the side of the bed, a sheet wrapped around her body and tears swimming in the one eye that wasn’t swollen shut.
Oz pulled out of Gryke’s hold and staggered to Maria’s side. He bent and scooped her up into his arms. “I’m taking you out of here.”
Maria laid her head against Oz’s shoulder. “My clothes are in the bathroom.”
“I will get them,” Gryke assured her.
Fiona suddenly appeared in the open doorway, her gaze landing on Oz. “My God. What happened?”
“Rivera is dead,” Oz stated in a wooden voice, some of the adrenaline leaving his body.
Gryke joined them at the door. “I have her clothes. We must make haste before we are discovered.”
“There are nine men in the lobby,” Fiona whispered, stepping aside to allow Oz to pass.
Gryke followed close behind. “What about the other three?”
“They’re dead.” Fiona rushed ahead of Oz to open the door to the stairwell.
“You killed three men?” Gryke asked in surprise.
Fiona simply stared at him.
“I did not hear any shots fired.”
“Guns are not always my weapon of choice,” Fiona countered.
Once in the stairwell, Oz turned to face Fiona and Gryke. “There’s a service entrance on the bottom floor, directly across from the door that leads to the lobby. We make our way back to the house, grab what supplies we can, and take the dinghy back to the yacht.”
“What about Carlito?” Fiona whispered, her eyes flashing. “He still lives.”
“He won’t for long.” Oz adjusted Maria in his arms. “I’m not risking him getting his hands on Maria again. Once I have her safely on board the Apocalypse, I’ll return for him.”
“As will I,” Gryke softly growled.
Fiona nodded. “I’ll join you.”
Oz shook his head. “I would prefer you stayed on board with Maria. She’s injured.” He couldn’t bring himself to think about what Rivera had done to Maria before he and Gryke arrived.
Moving quietly down the stairs, Oz stopped in front of the door that led to the lobby. He could hear muffled voices raised in anger, Carlito’s included.
Gryke eased the service door open and poked his head outside before giving the signal to follow.
Oz preceded him over the threshold, glanced both ways, and ran with Maria in his arms, not stopping until he reached the tree line.
Gryke jogged up next to him, handed Fiona the clothes he still held, and extended his arms out in front of him. “Let me take her. Your shoulder is injured.”
A growl rose up in Oz’s throat. He wasn’t relinquishing Maria to anyone.
Gryke nodded his understanding. “We must hurry.”
Oz felt as if his legs would give out at any moment by the time he reached his private getaway. He bent and gently laid Maria on the couch. “I will only be a minute. You’re safe now.”
“I’ll help her dress,” Fiona offered, rushing into the room with Maria’s clothes in her arms.
Oz joined Gryke, who had already run to the basement. The two of them grabbed as many weapons as they could carry, along with ammo, and rushed back up the stairs.
Relieved to see Maria dressed and sitting up on the couch, Oz stored a couple of handguns in his pockets before handing the rest to Fiona.
“Let the cat out,” he barked, bending to lift Maria into his arms once more.
Pain sliced through his shoulder with the added weight, but he ignored it. He would walk through hell if it meant getting Maria to safety.
Chapter Twenty
Maria inwardly moaned with every step that Oz took. Her insides were on fire from the beating she’d taken from Homero’s nightstick. She was fairly sure he’d broken some ribs.
Breathing in Oz’s scent, Maria rested her face against his neck, grateful beyond words that he’d arrived before Rivera could rape her.
Oz carried Maria to the shoreline, holding her close while Gryke dragged the dinghy they’d left hiding in a copse of trees into the gulf.
Maria watched as Oz stepped over the side and took a seat. Gryke and Fiona quickly followed.
Gryke grabbed the oars and rowed with powerful strokes toward the silhouette of the yacht anchored in the distance.
The moon’s glow reflected off the water, giving the gulf an eerie appearance.
Maria didn’t care. She would face every shark the gulf possessed if it would ease some of her pain.
“Let me carry her up the ladder,” Gryke demanded, rowing the dinghy up next to the yacht.
Oz shook his head. “I’ll take her. Just make sure the boat is tied off so we don’t lose it.”
Maria bit back a cry as Oz stood and lifted her higher into his arms. “Hold on, baby. It’s almost over.”
He climbed the ladder and stepped onto the deck without missing a beat.
Maria scanned her surroundings through the one eye she could still see from, half expecting Rivera to jump out of the shadows.
“He’s dead,” Oz assured her, reading her thoughts. “He’ll never hurt you again.”
Moving swiftly down the hall, Oz opened the door to his room and gently laid her on his bed.
He sat on the mattress next to her hip. The sorrow swimming in his eyes tore at her heart.
“Did Rivera—“ Oz cleared his throat and tried again. “Did he rape you?”
“No,” Maria whispered through numb lips. “You got there in time.”
Oz’s eyes slid shut, and his head dropped forward. “Thank God.”
After a long moment of silence, he lifted his head and met her gaze. “I need to check your injuries. But first I have to get us far enough away that we can’t be seen from the shoreline.”
Maria attempted to nod, but settled for blinking her least injured eye.
“I’ll be okay,” she wheezed, touching his hand with her fingers. “Go, do what you have to do.”
Oz slowly stood, swaying on his feet. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Maria watched him go, waiting until the door closed behind him to allow the tears to fall from her eyes.
She would have died had Oz not shown up when he did. But not before being passed around to a dozen of Carlito’s men.
The memory of Xavier’s hands cruelly touching her breasts, masturbating over her naked body played through her mind in nightmarish clarity.
With a whimper of disgust, Maria rolled painfully to her side, grabbed the wastebasket, and vomited up what little contents her stomach held.
She wasn’t sure how long she lay there, heaving in excruciating torment before Oz returned to the room.
“Jesus,” he growled, rushing to her side.
He helped her onto her back, brushing the hair away from her face. “Lie still.”
Maria took shallow breaths, attempting
to breathe her way through the pain while spots of gray danced before her eyes.
Oz abruptly appeared in her line of sight. “Easy,” he murmured, wiping her face with a cool, damp cloth. “Here. Swallow these. They’ll help with the pain.”
He carefully placed his arm behind her neck and lifted before coaxing her to open her mouth. He placed two small pills on her tongue and rested a glass of water to her tender lips.
“Good girl,” he praised her as she swallowed the pills.
Lowering her head back to the pillow, Oz inched his arm out from under her. “I need to remove your clothes to check your injuries.”
Maria stared up into his tormented eyes. Eyes that begged her to trust him assured her that he would never harm her. “Okay…”
With infinite care, Oz removed Maria’s clothing piece by piece until she lay completely naked before him.
His hands shook as he gently ran his fingers over her flesh, probing near the bruised areas.
Maria couldn’t contain the cry that escaped when he examined her ribs.
“I’m sorry,” Oz whispered, pulling his hands away. “Your ribs are either broken or severely bruised. Where else does it hurt?”
Maria swallowed around a throat gone dry. “It hurts all over, but that’s the worst place.”
Oz dragged his palms over her thighs and down her calves. “Can you move your feet?”
Maria wriggled her toes and carefully bent her knees.
“And your arms?” Oz prompted, not meeting her gaze.
After moving both arms, Maria held completely still while Oz checked her face and eyes.
He finally sat back and lifted his gaze to hers. Maria could swear she saw a suspicious moisture in his beautiful green eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” he began, his voice breaking. “I would give anything for this not to have happened to you.”
Maria felt around the bed for his hand, covering his with hers. “It’s not your fault. I should have listened to you.”
“I shouldn’t have left you,” he rasped, bringing her hand to his lips.
He softly kissed her palm, rubbing it along the side of his face.
“You killed Homero.”
Oz nodded. “And I would do it again, only slower this time.
Oz: A SciFi Alien Romance (Enigma Series Book 5) Page 8
