I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Jesus, you’re one of them.” Pushing away from him, horror filled my vision at the bare-chested god of a monster crouched in front of me.
“Don’t be so self-righteous,” he whispered, leaning forward and boxing me against the bed once more. “I saved your ass.”
“What did you give me?” I cringed, turning my chin away from his penetrating gaze.
“A little M99 combined with sedatives and opioids to counteract the side effects with some diprenorphine afterward to ensure you actually woke up.”
I cut my eyes at him. “How very serial killer of you. Dexter fan, are we?”
“You’re very mouthy for a half-naked woman cuffed to a bed.”
“How the hell did you even get that drug? So, you’re a criminal and a practicing vet?”
“Ah, Cereza, I do love that mouth, but at this point, I’d suggest you shut it before you cross a line you don’t want to.” The gold flakes in his blackened eyes glittered with an underlying ruthlessness I’d yet to see.
I jerked on the cuff. “Fuck you.”
He smiled a wicked grin that lit my skin on fire, infuriating me at my body’s duplicity against my mind. “Not today. But if you cooperate and beg just the right way, who knows what might happen?”
Every stream of blood in my body pooled south at his seductive words. I closed my eyes, summoning images I’d forced in the dark. “I could never want you.”
He cocked his head to the side. “What do you want, Cereza?”
“I want my brother back, you son of a bitch.”
His lips twitched. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear it was out regret. But if the last half hour taught me anything, it was that nothing was as it seemed. People I thought were friends were enemies, and no one could be trusted. I was alone to save myself.
Without thinking, my hand flew to my chest and rubbed the St. Michael medallion. My father raised us Roman Catholic, but other than the required holiday mass and forced attended service, I’d never bought into religion. Maybe my mother walking out right after my birth had something to do with my issues with her god.
However, sitting in the small, dark room, I found myself repeatedly touching the symbol of the religion I’d turned my back on, hoping the courage and protection my father promised it’d bring would save me.
Something had to.
Val watched me with curious eyes. Leaning closer, he raised a hand to my face. Instinctively, I flinched, convinced a blow to my cheek was coming for my insolence. Gently, his thumb traced a wetness trailing from the corner of my eye down the side of my hairline.
I hadn’t realized I was crying.
I’d promised myself I’d stay strong for Nash. Vengeance would be my comfort until I saw his killers suffer. My failure caused more tears to fall. Val’s eyes softened, and before I could stop him, he tilted his mouth and pressed his damp lips where his thumb had been.
A shudder tore through me as his lips caressed my cheek, then as quickly as they warmed my skin, they were gone. He stood silently and walked toward the door. Mesmerized at the grace of a man who had evil running through his veins, my pulse sped up as I focused on his defined back. The most magnificent and nauseating tattoo spanned the entire width of his back from shoulder to shoulder and the length from his neck to his lower back. Numbers, dead flowers, swords, a demonic-looking bird, along with a lot of Spanish I’d never understand swirled in bright colors and harsh black lines. Without asking, I knew none of it got there on a drunken whim, each needle purposeful and full of meaning. Part of me wanted to know, and the other was afraid to hear the answer.
Disgust for my lustful thoughts consumed me. How could the man responsible for the torture and murder of the one person who’d protected me my whole life, elicit such a reaction?
Nash had barely been gone twenty-four hours, and I’d already been disloyal to his memory. With my free hand, I untied his blood-soaked shirt off my cuffed wrist and balled it up.
“Hey, Danger…”
Paused at the door, Val glanced over his shoulder and lifted an eyebrow. I threw the shirt, hitting him in the face.
“Just so you know, I’m getting out of here with or without you.”
Fisting the shirt, his nostrils flared as he unlocked the door with a key from his pocket and slammed it behind him. I slumped against the bedframe as the lock reengaged.
My head pounded in pain. My skin still bled. My body shivered with cold. My stomach growled with hunger, and my heart ached with sorrow. The stark reality that this was bigger than what I initially thought sobered me.
My revenge had become a suicide mission. I’d avenge Nash’s death, but I wouldn’t make it out of this alive as the captive of a drug cartel. I’d keep my promise to avenge my brother’s death with my own.
Even if I was attracted to the one man I should hate more than anyone.
Chapter Thirteen
Eden
I woke up shivering, but it wasn’t from the damp air. I’d fallen asleep on the floor, leaned against the bed with my cuffed wrist behind my head. How much time had passed since Val left? I had no idea, but my fingers were numb from the unnatural angle of my hand, and my lips cracked with dehydration.
I didn’t expect him to walk out on me, although I kept myself under no illusion that he’d let me go. I wasn’t stupid. The man I thought could be my savior was one of my captors. I just didn’t know how he ranked in the hierarchy.
Still, I thought maybe he’d turn around when I threw his shirt and at least give me some form of common comfort.
A real room. Fresh clothes. Another caress of his hand.
His touch had been the only thing in the past twenty-four hours that remotely came close to easing the ache where my heart used to be. The thought totally mind fucked me, because his hand had a part in its removal in the first place.
Every time I thought of being in the cantina, I felt sick, so I forced myself to concentrate on pumping life back into my cold and pale skin. Wiggling my fingers, pins and needles shot through my arm, and I winced at the sensation. I’d never been so uncomfortable in my life as I sat upright, my stiff body screaming in protest. A quick glance at my wrist confirmed that the bleeding had stopped, so at least I knew I wouldn’t die of blood loss.
Small favors.
The sound of keys rattling in the door pulled my attention away, and I balled myself up, not sure who’d be walking into the room. Out of the two, I’d prefer Val over Emilio. The dynamics of my relationship with my boss had been forever altered. Besides that, he seemed more of a loose cannon.
I held my breath until the door creaked open, and a young man about my age with a strong muscular build and shoulder-length, dark hair slipped through carrying a plastic tray. He eyed me curiously but glanced away once our eyes met.
“Jefe says you need to eat,” he said, placing the tray in front of me.
I ground my teeth and turned away from him. “I’m not hungry.”
That was a lie. I was starving. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten.
He ignored me and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’d eat, if I were you. You don’t want to piss him off.”
I shifted a glare toward him. “Who is ‘him’? Emilio? Val? Some other Carrera man hiding in this house who’s yet to make sure I’m being a good prisoner? Tell me.”