The Protected

by Shiloh Walker

  He wanted to get her out of this alive.

  If she was right . . . what had her so worried? Who had her so worried?

  In the end, though, he supposed it didn’t matter.

  They were here.

  They had a goal.

  And Vaughnne was a woman he’d decided he needed to trust. Perhaps if he’d trusted her, as she’d asked him to do from that day on the street when Alex was so ill, some of this, perhaps all of it, could have been avoided.

  Please . . . you must promise me . . .

  Consuelo had whispered those words to him, a few short years ago. An eternity ago. A lifetime ago.

  Keep him safe. No matter what it takes, mi hermano, you must keep him safe from his father . . . starting now.

  So he had. He’d started then, doing the very thing that would keep Reyes from finding them. Doing everything he had to keep the monster from tracking them down.

  “He must die,” Gus said quietly as he continued to speed through the night instead of pulling the car over. He passed by the area where he’d planned to ditch the car. They continued to drive through the night, chasing the moon. “No matter who is there, what is there, no matter what happens, he must die. It is the only way Alex will be safe.”

  “I know.”

  * * *

  BRUISES were expected.

  The cable ties around her wrists and ankles were expected.

  Even the brutal backhand was expected.

  Nalini blinked the cobwebs from her mind and focused on the man in front of her just as he was drawing back his fist again. Pain exploded through her face as he struck her again, but she swallowed back any sound she might have made. Head averted, she sucked in a breath and ran her tongue over her teeth, checked her jaw. Nothing felt broken.

  She wiggled her wrists, but there was absolutely no give in the restraints. No give in the restraints, and she didn’t have a lot of options around her, either. They’d moved her at some point. She didn’t like the looks of the small, dark room she was in, either.

  For some reason, it made her think of a coffin. Or a grave.

  A place where she was going to die, she realized. Die, restrained to a stupid chair with a couple of cable ties, all because she hadn’t gotten the hell out of there fast enough.

  Damn, what she wouldn’t give to be a bad-ass bitch like Black Widow just then. Just bust up the chair and bust up the bastard in front of her while she was at it. Wasn’t going to happen that way, though. She was going to die here, and she wasn’t going to see her mission through. The son of a bitch she’d been chasing for so long was going to get by unscathed for what he’d done. Ignacio was going to survive this. They all were. Everybody but—

  “Look at me, puta.”

  Slowly, she swung her head around and stared at Ignacio’s right-hand man. His name was Jorge. He was mean as a snake, and although he pretended otherwise, he was too smart. He was also wearing a pair of gloves. That was a problem. If there was skin contact for even a second . . .

  Through her lashes, she stared at him for a minute, holding her breath, hoping he’d edge close enough.

  But he was careful, keeping just enough distance between them that she couldn’t wiggle around to touch him, not even a bit.

  “The señor says I can do whatever I want with you now,” Jorge said, smiling at her.

  “Whatever?” She doubted that. She suspected Ignacio had figured out how she worked and he wasn’t going to risk having her pull Jorge in. She licked her split lip, the taste of blood a metallic wash on her tongue. “He said you can do whatever to me and you decided you were going to just hit me?” She laughed and tugged at her bonds. “He told you to beat the shit out of me, didn’t he?”

  He shot out a hand, fisting it in her shirt.

  “You stupid little bitch. I’m going to have a lot of fun with you, you know that?”

  “This?” Despite how much it hurt, Nalini made herself laugh. “This is how you have fun? Whoever taught you about women seriously neglected their lessons, hijo de la chingada.”

  His face went red.

  Nalini just smiled, keeping her mask in place.

  His hand shot up to her face and squeezed, squeezed . . .

  Through the pain, she tried to focus. So hard to do it. His gloves. Damn the gloves. No skin-to-skin contact.

  “That’s enough for now, Jorge. I want to ask her some questions.”

  With blood pounding in her ears, fear cloying in her throat, Nalini sucked in a breath as Jorge’s hand fell away from her face. Turning her head, she stared at Ignacio as he appeared in the doorway of the dim room. The star-studded sky was at his back, the moon shining down on his black hair, casting his face in shadow.

  Then he came inside, shutting the door at his back.

  He had showered and changed, dressed in a suit that cost more than she would have made in a month working for Jones in the Bureau.

  Jones. She’d needed that out and she hadn’t had time to so much as call.

  Life really was a bitch, she decided. A mean, sucker-punching bitch.

  As he came to a stop in front of her, she spat out a mouthful of blood at his feet. Nalini watched his eyes narrow in distaste as he moved his shiny, slick shoes back from the small bit of saliva and blood.

  So careful with his clothes, with his shoes, with his home. So arrogant.

  People around him scraped by for every damn thing they had. People died acting as his mules . . . died or were jailed, and they took the risk because they felt it was their only option.

  A monster, that was what stood in front of her. One who sent mercenaries after his son, so he could . . . what? Use that kid?

  The frustration she’d been feeling abruptly died.

  Okay, so she hadn’t gone after the bastard she’d promised herself she’d find. But she hadn’t wasted the past few weeks, either. This son of a bitch wasn’t going to touch the kid, and she’d had a bit of a hand in that. She’d help save a kid from dealing with some of the hell she’d had to deal with. It was enough.

  Ignacio’s face smoothed and he came closer, sat on the bed across from her. “You have proven to be such a problem, Nala . . . or is that your real name?”

  “A name,” she said, heaving out a sigh. “What’s in a name, really?”

  Jorge moved to stand behind her, tangling his hand in her dreads and twisting so hard her scalp screamed at her. She smiled through the pain. “Is that the best your trained monkey can do, Iggy? Come on. I had schoolyard punks pound on me harder than this.”

  There was a table just outside the narrow pool of light, and she watched as he turned and reached for something. Her gut clenched as she saw what it was. A knife. A big-ass machete. “We’re going to talk, Nala. About my son. How you know about him. Where he is. How I can find him. And for every time you fail to answer me, I’m going to cut off a finger. If we go through all your fingers, then I’ll move to your eyes. I’ll save your ears and tongue for the last. Am I understood?”

  Horror twisted inside her, but she didn’t let herself babble in fear.

  In the end, there wasn’t a damn thing she could tell him, really.

  The boy was probably safe, but she’d deliberately avoided learning anything about him. Defeat settled over her and she slumped in the chair. “You might as well start cutting, then. Have fun getting bloody. I don’t know where he is, who has him . . .” Then she lifted her lashes and stared at him. “Even if I did? I’d lose my eyes, my ears, my heart, my kidneys, every damn thing I have before I’d turn some poor kid over to the likes of you.”

  Ignacio simply smiled.

  TWENTY-ONE

  “WE walk from here.”

  From where he’d stopped the car, he could see Reyes’s villa.

  His gut was tight and every sense was on red alert.

  It was too quiet.

  Too quiet and the skin on the back of his neck was crawling, like something or somebody was breathing down on him.

  But there was nobody t
here.

  He wanted to ask Vaughnne if she felt something, but she was focused on the big house, sprawling out under the silvery sheen of the moon. It was as though something had enchanted her, and she just couldn’t pull herself away. Even as he went about readying himself, checking his Kevlar vest, knives, the Sig Sauer, slipping the strap of the Heckler & Koch MP5 over his shoulder, Vaughnne was moving toward the house.

  “Vaughnne.”

  She didn’t even slow down.

  “Esta chingadera,” he muttered, grabbing the vest he’d found among her belongings and heading off after her. He caught her arm right before she started down the hill. The scraggly, low-lying bushes would offer them some concealment, but she was not barreling toward that house without some sort of protection. What had he been thinking, bringing her here . . .

  Abruptly, Vaughnne stopped and looked at him. “Whatever happens, you didn’t make me come, got it?” She caught the vest from his fist and pulled it on.

  “I thought you didn’t read minds.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t. But what you’re thinking, for once, is actually written all over your face. I’m here because I gave my word I’d watch over that boy. And I know too much about Ignacio Reyes. People have been chasing after him, trying to shut him down for years, and they are no closer to doing it now than they were a decade ago. If we’re going to make Alex safe, then we have to do it the hard way.”

  He lifted a hand and touched her face. “It’s my problem, Vaughnne. My responsibility, and I’ll accept the risks. If you cross this line, there may be no turning back for you. You don’t need to do this.”

  A sharp scream, female and full of pain, rang out from the house.

  Vaughnne swore and turned. “Yeah. I do.”

  * * *

  FEAR was a strange thing.

  Sometimes it was like an icy tickle down the spine.

  Other times, it was a dragon screaming inside her brain.

  And it could hit on so many things in between.

  Right now, her fear was a nasty little twist in her gut, and in the back of her mind, there was a voice, almost like she was talking to herself. Hurry, Vaughnne. Have to hurry. Have to hurry!

  There was another scream and everything in her wanted to run, barrel into that house.

  But she couldn’t. Had to be smart. Had to creep across the ground, following Gus’s oddly reluctant lead. All along, he’d been warning her, making her very aware of just how far he’d go, what lines he’d be willing to cross—just about all of them. And now they were here, and he wanted her to . . . what? Leave? Let it go?

  While he went on ahead and probably got himself killed, she knew.

  He was ready for it. She wasn’t stupid. She knew the look on a man’s face when he was ready to face down death. She’d seen it more than once. There had been a time or two when she had worn that look.

  But she hadn’t come down here to walk away now.

  Another scream rang out, and they were close enough now that she could hear a voice as the scream faded—it had come from the building ahead, set apart from the big house. So close. It was so close.

  Where is everybody? she asked, searching the perimeter.

  He’d already done a check for the guards and hadn’t seen a damn soul. That bothered her. A lot.

  He looked at her and shook his head minutely, but she didn’t know how to take that. Did that mean he didn’t know? There wasn’t anybody? What?

  They inched forward another few feet, following the sound of that voice.

  Low and smooth, it sounded like the voice of an educated male, the accent all but gone. “Come now, Nala . . . there’s no reason for this. If you answer my questions, I will not hurt you . . .”

  Nala—

  That name sounded an alarm in Vaughnne’s mind.

  But then she heard the voice. A woman’s. Ragged and hoarse, but familiar, all the same. “Why . . . don’t . . . you go fuck . . . yourself?” she panted.

  Nalini—

  Shit . . .

  She looked at Gus. He’s got one of the agents in there, Gus. I know her.

  Gus didn’t respond.

  At all.

  The sound of Nalini’s next scream was almost enough to freeze the blood in Vaughnne’s veins.

  Desperate and so full of pain.

  Her muscles bunched, tensed. Gus must have sensed what she wanted to do, because his hand came up and gripped her arm, his fingers squeezing with deliberate strength.

  She let him guide her over to the building, all but hugging it as she listened to Nalini inside. Begging now . . . She was begging, whimpering, and crying.

  Where the hell is everybody? You acted like he’d have a small army here, Vaughnne said, searching the night-dark terrain, but she saw nothing. The buildings were there, but there were no people. Save for those they could hear behind them.

  The screaming had stopped, dying away into low, soft sobs.

  “Do I start cutting off fingers now, señor? Cutting up her pretty face didn’t do much,” somebody said.

  Reyes? Vaughnne wondered. She had to see him. If she saw him, she could get a link in on his mind. That was all it would take.

  “Nala, you are so foolishly stubborn. Talk to me, and this can end. Here, we can do something easy; it will not hurt the boy. Just tell me this. How did you manage to send my men away?”

  Next to her, Vaughnne felt Gus tense. She was terrified now. Nalini had monsters in there with her, but if Gus thought she’d endanger that boy . . . She won’t say anything, Gus. She won’t.

  His long, lean body vibrated next to hers and she could feel him readying himself.

  I have to see inside, damn it. I can’t work if I can’t see in there. Her ability was limited that way; the first time she used it, she had to see somebody. And once she saw whoever was torturing Nalini, the bastard was going to hurt.

  Slowly, Gus’s fingers uncurled from her arm and she crept forward. Mentally, she reached out to the other woman. Man, Nalini, you landed yourself in a shitload of trouble. How did you manage that?

  She didn’t know if Nalini recognized her, and she wouldn’t get much of a response, either. Nalini’s gifts didn’t work like that.

  But she couldn’t let the woman think she was in there, alone and left to die, either.

  A harsh, low groan left the woman, still hidden by the walls that separated them. The window was a few feet ahead and Vaughnne had to inch forward every damn millimeter, watching where she placed her feet, watching everything around her. Her skin crawled.

  Nalini, where is everybody?

  “You . . . moron,” Nalini said. There was so much pain crowding her voice it hurt to even hear it. “Haven’t you . . . figured out what I do? I made you send them away. They wouldn’t . . . listen to me.” She broke off for a minute, panting.

  There was a whisper of sound and then the man’s voice. “Hold off, Jorge. I want to hear this. This . . . this could be useful.”

  Nalini laughed. “Oh, I’m not going to be useful . . . to you. At all. Trust me. Anybody who touches me does it . . . at his own risk. You had your hands . . . all over . . . me. I made you . . . send . . . them all away. They are too scared not to listen. Except Jorge, apparently. He came running . . . back, the jackass. Like a little . . . puppy. I bet . . . if you asked him to suck you off, he’d . . . do it.”

  “Puta.”

  Ah. That must be Jorge . . . Vaughnne eyed the distance to the window. A foot. She was going to be in range soon. Very soon.

  Did you hear?

  She glanced back over her shoulder, saw the slow dip of Gus’s head. But something told her that he didn’t buy anything out of Nalini’s mouth; he didn’t trust her. He didn’t trust anybody but he’d never trust something coming from Nalini now. She was being tortured and Reyes thought she knew something about Alex. To Gus, that made her suspect.

  * * *

  NALINI was almost numb as Ignacio waved Jorge away. “Now, now . . . I’d promised we wouldn�
�t hurt her if she answered the question. Although, Nala, I do not care for your foul mouth.”

  “Yeah?” She sneered at him. “Too fucking bad.”

  “This really is your last chance. The injury to your face can be . . . well, it may or may not heal well. If I start cutting off fingers, Nala, you’ll never be able to use that beauty of yours to blind a man again.”

  She smiled, the cut on her lower lip splitting wide. He planned on killing her—did he really think she was that naïve? “Did I blind you, Iggy?”

  Damn it, Nalini. Shut up. The voice . . . Nalini frowned as it came to her mind again and she almost believed it wasn’t wishful thinking. Maybe . . .

  Something danced just out of the corner of her eye. A flit of movement, a dark shadow lost to darker ones outside the window.

  “Iggy . . .” She sucked in a breath. “Maybe I can help. A little.”

  A pleased smile curved his face.

  I’ve got a line in now, Nalini. Get ready.

  She closed her eyes and wondered just how in hell she was supposed to get ready? “Yeah. Whatever . . .”

  In the next second, Ignacio jerked upright like a marionette yanked on his strings.

  His eyes rolled back in his head and he clamped his hands over his ears. A rapid-fire spate of Spanish exploded from him, and her pain-flooded mind took a few seconds to translate.

  What is that terrible noise? Shut it up, Jorge!

  She thought that was what he said.

  Jorge answered back, shaking his head. “No, no oigo nada.”

  “You . . .” Ignacio whispered, his eyes wide and glazed while he continued to cover his ears. “You are . . .”

  He went white.

  Jorge fisted his hand in her dreads. “Whatever you are doing, puta, stop it, now.” He pressed the edge of his knife against her neck.

  And then, a muffled pop sounded.

  It was followed by a thud.

  Nalini was only vaguely aware of the fact that Jorge’s hand had fallen from her neck. All she could see was the man—long, lean, and lethal—coming through the window with death in his eyes.

  Death . . . in his eyes, in his hands. On his soul.