by Pam Godwin
Self-preservation was the first law of nature. In the presence of this man, she felt that law in the marrow of her bones.
“Tomas.” Pushing to his feet, he opened his pants. “Move the food to my room.”
She closed her legs and curled up on her side, knowing full well he wasn’t finished with her.
“Hold these on your face.” Tomas pressed two ice packs into her hands. Then he pushed the cart out of the bathroom.
John stripped off his pants and briefs and faced her with his fists on his hips. He just stood there, head cocked, as if he didn’t have a huge, raging erection jutting between them.
“Get those on your face.” He nodded at the ice packs numbing her fingers.
She blinked, thunderstruck, and slowly raised the cloth-wrapped pads to her cheeks. Before she could form a question, he strode to the wall of shower heads and yanked on the faucet.
With his back to her, she found her gaze drawn to the perfect form of his body. The strong column of his neck, slope of broad shoulders, chiseled torso, well-muscled legs… She swallowed, drinking in his dangerous masculinity.
He leaned toward the wall, head down, bracing himself on strong, corded arms. She shouldn’t be staring at his ass, but God help her, it was tight, firm, chiseled to perfection, with two little divots denting either side of his tail bone.
Why was he built so beautifully? Not only that, how did he know how to touch a woman with such flawless mastery? His skill was so over-the-top he could coax multiples from a quadriplegic and use that American twang to charm the panties off a deaf woman.
It didn’t make sense. None of it added up.
He bought trafficked humans, for Christ’s sake. Was that how he’d learned the art of seduction? He must’ve heard the pained, helpless cries of dozens of slaves.
Abruptly, he shut off the water and prowled toward her. He’d showered without bothering with soap? Even more curious, his dick was now flaccid.
He wasn’t as endowed as Tomas—no one was—but his size was impressive, nonetheless. Thick and veiny with a plump head, his manhood hung against heavy balls, the root surrounded by a sparse nest of copper hair.
She didn’t want any of that anywhere near her.
When he reached her, she flinched and blamed her jumpiness on her pounding headache and blinding exhaustion.
He collected the ice packs and lifted her from the settee. Goosebumps prickled his flesh, and cold water dripped from his body to hers. Ice water.
“You took a cold shower?” She hugged her chest, an awkward position in the cradle of his arms.
“Remember…” He turned toward the door, his voice low at her ear. “Outside this room, they’re watching and listening.”
Her brows pulled together as he carried her out of the bathroom.
Everything he’d just done to her had been in private. Had that been deliberate? Except… Wait. The door stood open. It had been closed until he’d nodded at Tomas to open it. Right before he’d forced her to orgasm.
They can’t hear us in here?
Only when you scream.
Boy, had she screamed. She must’ve sounded as if John were beating her, and he’d encouraged the noise. Almost as if he’d orchestrated it. But for what purpose?
He carried her into the bedroom, both of them nude. Whoever monitored the cameras would’ve heard her shrieks and assumed he fucked her in the bathroom. Hell, he’d even taken care of his erection.
But why go through all the trouble when he could’ve just raped her?
Something was rotten in the state of Denmark. What, exactly, she didn’t know, but this man wasn’t who he claimed to be.
If he thought he had her fooled, he was an idiot.
“There’s another steak.” Luke set aside her finished plate, bone-tired yet too wired to close his eyes. “You need the calories.”
“I can’t eat another bite.” She slumped against the pillows on his bed, her lashes fluttering closed. “Hand me the tequila.”
“You’ve had enough.” He’d allowed her a few sips to take the edge off the pain. “You need water.”
“Shut up and let me sleep.”
Amusement tugged at his lips. She’d been awake and holding a conversation for hours with that concussion. It was probably safe for her to rest. She needed it.
In the next day or so, her face would be black and blue. For now, the ice had reduced the swelling enough that he could almost make out her features.
Christ, she was magnificent. Rough-hewn but at the same time delicately formed. With shimmering raven hair and flashing brown eyes, she was captivating beyond what he’d imagined a cartel slave could be. Or any woman, for that matter.
No wonder Hector’s sons were so possessive of her. Were. Not any longer. She belonged to him this week, and during that time, no one would fucking touch her.
Sitting beside her hip, he adjusted the sheet over his nude lower half. Without a doubt, Vera had tuned in from the monitoring room, listening to the screams from his bathroom. She’d shown too much animosity toward this girl to not be glued to the cameras.
If his efforts to make Vera jealous and cozy up against him didn’t pan out, he had a backup plan with the little fighter. Being imprisoned here for almost three years, Gina knew things about the compound. Hell, she’d seen what lay outside the wall.
She cracked open an eye, then the other, giving him a full-blown glare, frosty and vibrant with malice. “Who are you?”
“A man who doesn’t deserve that look.”
The evening could’ve gone much worse for her, and she knew it.
Delaying the need to cause her more pain was the best he could do tonight. Tomorrow would be a different story.
Tomorrow, he would learn everything she knew, even if he had to fuck it out of her.
What made that more depraved was that he looked forward to it. To capture her tiny waist in the grip of his hands and impale her on his cock… He couldn’t wait. Heat snaked through his groin at the thought of claiming her.
He wanted to do it now.
With her long black curls spread out over the pillow, she conjured images of a dark angel. The bedsheets tangled around sleek, enchanting hips, leaving the rest of her bare like a sacrificial offering for his gaze. Small firm breasts, flat belly, bronze legs, so smooth and enticing… She had a body that wouldn’t quit. Strong, divine, untamed beauty.
The urge to slide his fingers up and caress the reddened skin around her eyes and cheekbones was hard to resist. But she would fight the affection. With the cameras in full view, he didn’t want to have to discipline her, which he would do to maintain his cover.
As it was, this girl was already onto him.
The moment she’d realized he wasn’t fucking her tonight, her hatred had twisted into bewilderment. Fatigue played a part in her confusion, but he’d felt a shift in her.
She wanted to trust him.
If only he could do the same. He’d tried to test her loyalty, asking if he should send her back to Hector’s sons. Her don’t care response wasn’t assuring. Until he knew with certainty she wouldn’t stab him in the back, he couldn’t tell her who he was. Blowing his cover was the quickest way to ruin the mission.
Despite all that, he loved her explosive temper and quarrelsome nature. She wasn’t afraid to throw a bare-knuckled punch or get in his face and run off her mouth.
A mouth that had forgotten how to soften in a smile.
He wanted to force his tongue between her clenched teeth and duel it out.
He wanted to kiss her.
Even after consuming more whiskey and half of a steak, he still tasted her on his lips. He couldn’t recall ever contemplating the flavor of a woman’s body before. Perhaps because no one had ever tasted so forbidden, like honeyed sin and fiery rebellion.
Shutting the door on those thoughts, he turned on the television, switched off the lights, and slid into bed beside her. After a few adjustments, they lay beneath the covers, face to face, eyes locked.
&nb
sp; Tomas had already retired for the evening, confirming that the devices in the ceiling had night vision. But the sounds from the TV should drown out a whispered conversation.
A late-night talk show flickered on the screen. The soundtrack of studio laughter detached itself from the weighty silence between him and Gina.
He wished he knew her real name. He wanted to know everything about her—where she came from, how she ended up here, her schooling, job history, hobbies, family, boyfriends, all of it.
She regarded him with similar interest, her dark eyes pooling with dazed curiosity, lips swollen, and forehead creased as if fighting the lethargy taking hold.
“You can’t fall asleep?” he asked.
“Not lying beside a rapist.”
“Deal with it.”
“Yeah.” Her jaw stiffened. “It’s what I do.”
“Do any La Rocha members force you to spend the night in their beds?”
“Never.”
“This is the first time you’ve slept beside someone since you’ve been here?”
“I’m not sleeping.” She squinted. “So that first hasn’t happened.”
“You going to stay awake for a week?”
The slits of her eyes become impossibly narrower.
“Tell me, Gina. Where do you wish to be right now?”
“A thousand miles away.”
“Only a thousand?” He kept his voice soft, tucking their privacy inside a whisper.
“More like eight-hundred miles.”
“That’s specific. Given your accent, your home is in Mexico. Exactly eight-hundred miles from here?”
“Where is here?”
“You tell me.”
“You writing a book?”
Irritatingly gorgeous pain in the ass.
“We can talk.” He reached beneath the covers and tweaked her soft, warm nipple. “Or we can fuck.”
As expected, instant hostility fired in her eyes, and she slapped his hand away.
She’d endured his level of douchery from countless men since she’d been here. Three years was a long time, fighting for survival night after night in a cartel compound. The fact that she was still breathing meant she’d learned not to show the slightest weakness.
He appreciated her strength and stood behind it one hundred percent. But to finish this job, he would have to break through that stubborn armor.
A foot of silence separated them. Might as well have been eight-hundred miles.
With a quick reach of his arm, he caught her around the waist and yanked her flush against him. Chest to chest, skin on skin, he felt every inch of her nudity along every inch of his.
Her gaze held, widening only slightly as he hardened against her thigh.
“Ignore it.” He pulled the sheet up to their faces and whispered against her lips. “Tell me the location of this place.”
Now she stiffened, and her breathing shortened. “I don’t—”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not. I swear, I don’t know.” She looked off-kilter and desperate—this woman who fearlessly stared down cartel gangsters.
She was telling the truth.
“What about Vera?” he breathed against her mouth. “Does she know?”
“Ask her yourself.”
He was hard. She was hours past passing out, and they were both gloriously naked. So flipping her onto her back and pressing his erection against her cunt required no effort. She struggled, her movements clumsy, and he waited her out, letting her breathing escalate.
She didn’t have to like him. By the end of the week, he’d make sure she didn’t.
At last, she stopped resisting and sank into the mattress. “Maybe.”
“Yes or no.” He kicked his hips, threatening her entrance with the head of his cock.
“Yeah, motherfucker.” She bared her teeth, a startling white contrast to her dark complexion. “She knows.”
That was the confirmation he needed. If Vera gave him the coordinates, he would leave. Let them put a hood over his head and escort him out. Then he would return with an army.
He slid off her hot body and adjusted them on their sides, settling into the same position as before. “Is anyone looking for you?”
Surprise popped into her eyes, and she jerked away as though she’d been burned.
He dragged her back. “Family?”
“I have one person. One person left in my family, and I won’t let you near her.”
His interest wasn’t in her family. He just needed to know her stakes in this, that she had something to fight for. A life she missed. Someone she loved. If she valued this person over the cartel, maybe he could trust her. Unless the cartel was using her family member to threaten her.
Shifting her lower beneath the covers, he whispered under the veil, “Is this person safe from La Rocha?”
In the dark, her inhale shuddered, and a sheen of distress wet her eyes. “No.”
Fuck. “Where is she?” He could’ve kept his whisper flat, but his anger got away from him.
She heard it, blinking rapidly, and seemed uncertain how to respond.
He needed to explain away his concern, but this girl was too smart. Too perceptive. And maybe, seeing someone pissed in her defense was exactly the kind of thing that would penetrate her shields.
So he remained quiet, watching, waiting to see what she would do next.
It took a year and a day before she reached for him. Tentative fingers crept over his jaw and pulled back when she felt the rigidness there. He tried to relax, loosening the tension in his face.
Inching closer, she touched him again. His neck this time, her warm hand sliding to the hairline on his nape. Her eyes didn’t waver from his until she set her mouth against his cheek and breathed in and out, deeply, slowly.
She was testing him. Or testing herself. How long could she hold him like this before he flipped her over and fucked her? If he didn’t do what she expected, could she trust him enough to finish the conversation?
Maybe she wasn’t thinking any of this. She could be lying to him, manipulating him. Working for the cartel. His intuition disagreed, but he couldn’t do this job on gut instinct and emotion. There was too much at stake.
Her fingers twitched against his nape, almost caressing as if seeking the contact. Then she leaned back just enough to search his eyes. Her lips parted to speak, but her voice hid in her throat.
“Tell me.” He kept his expression unreadable and his gaze attentive.
“La Rocha…” She swallowed, her voice barely audible. “They took my mother. She’s a successful actress. Well-known and well-connected.”
“Who is she? Give me her name.”
She clamped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide and head shaking side to side. “Don’t. Not that. I’ll shed every drop of blood in my body before I tell you.” She glanced up around the fold of covers, her gaze on the ceiling. “They might kill me anyway.”
Not on his watch.
He touched her chin, drawing her face back under the sheets. Then he guided her hand to his neck. “Is your mother connected to someone dangerous?”
“Lots of someones.” Her lashes lowered, and her fingers fell away. “I think I can sleep now.”
He missed the warmth of her touch instantly. When she rolled and gave him her back, he missed the feel of her body against his. But he allowed her some space to get comfortable.
Shutting off the TV, he blanketed them in a dark hush and waited.
Soon her breathing slowed into the even rhythm of slumber.
Slowly, careful not to wake her, he curled around her tiny frame, with her back to his front and his arm locked around her like an anchor.
Her chest rose and fell with a shuddering inhale before returning to a soporific tempo. She felt so fragile in his embrace, so sweet and sexy. He couldn’t stop himself from kissing the bare top of a graceful shoulder.
Breathing in the scent of her skin, he ordered his mind to shut off. But he couldn’t sle
ep.
Minutes blurred into hours, and he lay entwined with a stolen girl while thinking about another one.
Blonde hair. Glassy eyes. Strangling beneath his hand. Squirming. Dying. Unable to gasp. Everything inside him wrangled and twisted anew.
From this night forward, a nameless dead girl would be the only thought he took with him into the hinterland of sleep. She would forever haunt his dreams, breed his nightmares, and admonish him of the decision he’d made.
He would never forget.
She’d been watching him sleep for an hour. Long enough for the first light of dawn to form a glaring halo behind the curtains. His arm lay heavily around her, holding her against his hard chest. It felt horrible.
Horribly safe.
No, not safe. His strange behavior and little mercies were an illusion. A trap. This man had an agenda, one that didn’t include protecting her. Certainly not from himself.
With her face inches from his, she must’ve turned toward him during the night. Toward him. Why would she do that? Even unconscious, she knew better.
Why the fuck was she still in bed with him?
At any point, she could’ve lifted his arm and crept away. For a vigilant, calculating predator, he slept like the dead.
His hair, thick and tousled, glimmered differently in the morning. Metallic lowlights of ruby and brown threaded with strands of copper, creating a tapestry of red hues.
Not a single tattoo on his smooth fair skin, a body hardened to steel, and cold sharp eyes of emerald intelligence, which hadn’t cracked open yet.
Blondish-red fuzz roughened his chest and forearms, just a little. Just enough to remind her of his masculinity.
She didn’t need the reminder.
Last night was seared forever in her memory. The suction of his mouth between her legs. The deep rumble of his American accent in her ear. The taste of his whiskey breath that still lingered on her lips.
I need to get out of here.
Holding in her next inhale, she made her escape. Out from beneath his arm, down to the floor, she crouched low, waiting.
He didn’t stir.
Her muscles protested every movement, stiff and sore, but remarkably better than last night. She scrunched her face, testing other injuries. No swelling that she could tell. No hunger pangs, either. That was a novelty.