I didn’t need drug therapy. I needed dick therapy.
Then, when I was twenty-four, after three years of changing who I was to conform to someone else’s ideal, my husband sank a knife into my back and his dick into my best friend. I swore the day I found them I’d never put my trust in another human being and slept with as many men as possible. My therapist called it “Detached Overcompensating Behavior Therapy” and shoved antidepressants down my throat.
I didn’t need drug therapy then either. I needed dick therapy.
Lying in the small prison with four walls and a mattress, a sadistic chuckle fell from my chest. The one person that meant anything to me was gone. There was no therapist here to label me or shove pills at me, yet somehow, I’d still managed to find dick therapy.
Running my hands down my face, my eyes landed on small droplets of blood on the floor. I knew they weren’t mine and reminded me that once Val’s post orgasmic sex high wore off, he probably spent the afternoon figuring out the best way to kill me with the least amount of exertion.
A full body shiver ran through me. Even after sleeping for an hour, exhaustion had permanently set in. My body ached, and the pain in my arm radiated up my shoulder. Cradling my elbow against my chest, I cleared the few steps from the bed to the door. Logically, I knew it was pointless; however, I still closed my fingers around the doorknob, jerking furiously.
Nothing.
“Val! Open the door. You can’t keep me in here. Val!” Releasing the knob, I slammed my hand against the wood. “Val!” Pounding until my palm stung, a strangled cry tore from my throat as I slid to the floor.
Touching the St. Michael medallion, I closed my eyes, and leaned my forehead against the doorframe. Heaviness gathered in the corners of my eyes as a wave of fatigue threatened to pull me under again. Haze clouded my vision, and I welcomed the blackness, surrendering to it.
The peaceful calm had almost claimed me under when a pop pop pop from outside the bedroom wall jolted me back into consciousness. Fear paralyzed me as I recognized the sound. They weren’t fireworks. I’d heard the same sound in a pantry closet while Nash took his last breath. Peace flew out the window and panic overtook me.
“Val!” Scrambling to my knees, I pounded on the door with renewed force. “Val, open the door! Please!” Tears ran from my eyes as I beat the door with both fists.
Several blasts ripped through the house, and the force knocked me back onto my palms. Within seconds, the door flew open, and Val burst in, his eyes wide and wild. Dressed in black athletic pants and a thin white T-shirt, his unkempt hair dusted over his eyes as he bent down and hooked a muscular arm around my upper back.
“Get up!” he hissed. “We have to go.”
“What’s happening?” I felt myself panicking.
“We’re under attack, no time!” Jerking me up, he pushed us both toward the door. In a daze, I resisted, staring blankly back into the bare room. “Eden!” he commanded.
He never used my given name. That got my attention.
I stumbled into the hallway, and Val’s hand braced the base of my spine as men dressed in black clothing flanked us. It was too dark to get a look at their faces, and honestly, I didn’t care to see them anyway. Val’s hand tightened around mine as he dragged me through the house.
He moved his hand to my neck and shoved my face toward his chest “Keep your head down!”
My stomach twisted in knots. “Where are we going?”
“Somewhere else.” He sounded calm, and I desperately wanted to look in his eyes to make sure his eyes matched his voice. But his hold tightened, keeping me literally and figuratively in the dark.
“We’ve got you covered, jefe. There are four out front and two in the house. Stay down around the next corner. On my command, dive low and to the right into the car. I’m right behind you.”
Ignoring instructions, my head popped up. “Emilio?”
Cursing, Val gripped my hair and bent me forward. “Cereza, get down!”
“Stop yelling at me!”
“Stop trying to get us killed!”
Heated taunts echoed from inside the house. “Where are you, you chickenshit? Face us and bring that puta too, El Muerte!”
My heart pounded as he expertly maneuvered us around the corner and out a side door. Once outside, a blast exploded beside us, and Emilio let out a low groan.
Val paused, turning around. “What happened?”
With a hand on both of our backs, Emilio shoved us toward the car, his face twisted in pain. “Go! It’s just a nick.”
“Emilio…” Val called behind him, a sheen of sweat coating his forehead.
“Get in the fucking car before I kick your ass, Carrera.” Clenching his teeth, Emilio held his side as his tanned skin turned a grayish-white color.
Without another word, Val picked me up at the waist and threw me in the back seat of a dark colored sedan. The pain on my boss’s face etched in my mind, and despite the disdain I felt for him, I crawled toward the door. “You can’t just leave him!”
Planting one foot inside the vehicle, Val propelled himself forward, knocking me onto my back. With the door closing behind him, the car lurched forward and peeled away from the house.
“Get off me!” I screamed, beating my fists against his chest.
“Stay down and shut up.” Covering my mouth, he pressed his full weight onto me, pinning me where I lay.
As gunshots popped off in the distance, a tear rolled from each corner of my eyes.
I hated Emilio Reyes.
But even I knew that wasn’t a nick.
The buzzing became clearer as the room came into focus. Blinking repeatedly, I swallowed, my mouth feeling like I’d stuffed a bag of cotton balls down my throat. I attempted to find my voice as the buzzing morphed into voices.
“How the hell did they find us?”
“Don’t know. Only the top level knew the safe house location. At this point, the only logical explanation is to start looking for a mole.”
The sound of sloshing liquid filled the room as the voice switched back. “Fucking hell. I want everyone’s house searched. No one is excluded, is that understood?”
“Si, jefe.”
With a fully functional brain, I shifted a gaze around the unfamiliar room. The guy who’d brought me food at the other house, Mateo, nodded as he exited the doorway, his eyes sagging from fatigue. A concentrated stare fell to my left, and with one glance, I quickly averted my eyes to the floor.
Val.
He sat in a chair four feet away from me, his hair disheveled, and a heavy five o’clock shadow covering his face. His hands cradled a half-emptied bottle of tequila between his legs. My lips twitched as multiple conversations ran through my mind regarding his disdain for assholes who drank tequila out of the bottle.
I guess desperate times call for desperate assholes.
Remembering the frantic exit from the safe house, I stretched, attempting to sit up and get a handle on my new surroundings. A sharp burn in my right arm caused me to cry out as I realized I was, once again, cuffed to the bedframe.
“You’ve got to be kidding me…”
Val steadied his eyes on the closed door in front of him and turned the bottle up, taking a generous drink. “Nope.”
Drawing in a deep breath, I released it before speaking, reining in deep rooted anger. “Val, in the last forty-eight hours, I’ve been kidnapped, drugged, restrained, held prisoner, and shot at. Where the hell would I go?”