Everything hurt. An aching, stinging, heavy hurt that made me want to give up and sink back down into the black nothingness I just came from. Frustrated, I tried to move, but my limbs felt numb and uncooperative. I blinked, the room dark except for two overhead swinging lights. The place looked industrial. Almost like a…
Warehouse.
Ignoring the pain, I pressed my palms onto the cold concrete and pushed myself up, praying the images flashing through my head were residual pieces of a nightmare and not memories. But the clearer they became, the more I remembered, and the more I remembered, the harder I shook.
The late-night text that came through on my phone from Cristiano.
Running to the back door to meet him, only to come face-to-face with Ignacio.
The sting of the needle as he plunged it into my neck.
Then pain when I awoke to the burning orange ember of a lit cigar inside a different warehouse.
And the moment I wanted to die as I heard Santiago’s faint cry.
I closed my eyes, remembering how Ignacio took sadistic pleasure in telling me no matter what I did, the people I tried to protect were going to die right along with me.
All because I’d been played for a fool.
Cristiano was Ignacio Vergara’s son, and even he was a pawn.
I tried to block out his words, but he forced me to listen. His boy. His heir. His pride. For years, he’d lied to me. He knew I was Adriana Carrera.
I brought all this to Val’s door. That hurt worse than any pain Ignacio could inflict.
I’d lose my family again.
It was too late to save me, but I’d die a thousand deaths before I’d let anything happen to Santiago. No child should ever suffer like I did.
Or because of what I did.
Someone would come for me. Ignacio enjoyed playing with his puppet too much to leave me alone much longer. I only had one shot. One chance to find Val’s son, and I refused to fail him twice.
I needed a weapon. Unfortunately, captors didn’t make a habit of leaving sharp objects lying around their captive’s cages. I’d have to improvise, but there wasn’t even a chair to break. No table. No window.
I scrubbed a blood caked hand across my forehead. “Great. Any more bright ideas, Adriana?”
I stilled, my hand sliding down my face.
Bright.
Rolling my eyes toward the ceiling, I watched as the two hanging lights swung back and forth.
Two lights. With two bulbs.
Two glass bulbs.
I glanced down at my flimsy tank top and tiny shorts I’d pulled on after leaving Brody’s bed, and for the first time since waking up in this hellhole, I smiled.
Before running to meet “Cristiano” at the back door, I put on the first shoes I could find.
High-heeled sandals.
Unbuckling the straps, I slipped them off and climbed to my feet. Aiming the heel toward the bulb, I threw hard, missing the target by about two feet and snapping the heel off as it crashed into the wall. With a deep breath, I grabbed the second one. Drawing my arm back, I threw twenty-four years of pain into the air and watched it return well over twenty-four shards of glass.
Someone was coming.
Warm blood trickled down my wrist as the piece of glass I tightly fisted dug into my skin.
I didn’t mind. Blood reminded me I was still alive, and pain was fleeting. I’d felt less. I’d felt more. None of it mattered. All that mattered was who was on the other side of that door and how close I could get to them.
I waited. I forced everything out of my head except the turning of the doorknob. I learned the hard way that letting my guard down was a mistake, and emotions had no place in cartel life. So, I shifted on the balls of my feet, my knees protesting my crouched position against the far corner wall. No pain, I reminded myself, squeezing harder, blood now dripping off my fingertips.
The door cracked, and I clenched my teeth.
Why didn’t he just come in and get it over with?
Finally, it swung open and a muscular figure stepped inside the now barely-lit room. I saw nothing at first but an outline of a soon-to-be dead man. However, the closer he came, the more the remaining overhead light swung, illuminating the shadow hiding his face.
The more the shadow lifted, the harder I squeezed, and the thicker the river of blood ran.
The permanent scowl he wore was dangerous, remorseless, and calculating. Tall and muscular, with skin dark enough to earn a rank but light enough to raise an eyebrow. He looked more like an underwear model than a ruthless killer.
And underestimating him had been my downfall.
“Cristiano,” I breathed, venom lacing my voice.
His icy blue eyes turned toward the corner. “Mari, thank God!”
I let out a low laugh. “Not God. Thank your papá.”
He froze, emotions spinning across his face like a roulette wheel. Finally, the ball settled in the resigned slot, and his smirk fell. “You know.”
“Oh, your father and I had a very eye-opening chat.” Standing, I moved toward him. “I learned so many things about you.”
“What did he tell you?”
“Enough for me to know every word out of your mouth since the day we met has been a lie.” Adrenaline pumped through me, fueling my anger. “Brody tried to tell me. He said you were dangerous. He told me I was blind, and you were giving me just enough information for me to hang myself.”
“Mari…”
“I defended you! I told him he was wrong, and I knew you. I knew you wouldn’t hurt me. God, I was a fucking idiot.”
“Brody was wrong! I would never hurt you! I was trying to protect you, but you ran off to Houston, and…”
The jagged piece of glass I’d been holding clattered to the floor as my fist connected to his nose. “Don’t you dare say his name. You will never be the man Brody Harcourt is!”
Cristiano swore under his breath. “Will you fucking listen to me? Brody and I—”
“Did you and Ignacio get a good laugh after you sent your text?”
He held his nose, blood pouring between his fingers. “What text?”
“Don’t play dumb. I’m not in the mood. I was worried about you, and this is what I get for it.”
“I didn’t send you a text, Mari!”
“Adriana!” I screamed.
“Adriana, whatever he told you, he’s lying. He took me from the club and held me in this warehouse. But I got away, and I’ve been trying to tell you Brody is the one who sent me here.”
“Do I look like an idiota to you? Brody doesn’t trust you. He’d come for me himself.”
“He did! They all did. Brody sent me because I know this place.”
“Right.”
Sighing, he walked toward me, and I backed up. Without taking another step, he lowered his chin, shaking his head as if reveling in a private joke. “He said you wouldn’t believe me, so he told me to tell you not to make him come all the way in here just to force you to tell him everything that came after te amo.”
The words were both a jolt of lightning and a bullet to the heart. I love you. They were the words I said to Brody after we made love. The only ones he understood. There was no way Cristiano could’ve known that.
I stumbled backward. “No…”
“That man loves you, Mari, and it’s written all over your face how much you love him. I know you don’t trust me right now, and I’ll explain everything to you, but you have to come with me. If not for me, then for him.”