Moving into the field had been a stupid idea. Reckless. And my involvement in this secret mission for Jason was even more reckless.
But it was too late to go back now. As the FBI’s best tech analyst, I had a special skill set that Jason needed. I might have transferred to field agent six months ago, but that didn’t mean I’d forgotten all my hacking skills. There was no one else who could do this job for Jason, so I’d step up and be the hero. Heroine. Whichever. Was it sexist to apply gender to the term? Probably. I couldn’t keep track of social norms.
When the elevator finally came to a stop and the doors opened, Jason gestured for me to exit first. I knew he was trying to be a gentleman, but I’d have preferred to follow him. As it was, I had to scoot past him, my body almost making contact with his.
He didn’t seem to notice my discomfort. Or if he did, he was accustomed to it and didn’t really think much of what most people would term Sam’s odd behavior. Well, that was the nice term.
Weirdo. Freak.
The derogatory name-calling didn’t faze me. Not one bit.
“Talk,” Jason ordered when we were safely in the privacy of the car. I hadn’t trusted anyone in the field office. Well, no one but Jason. If we were overheard discussing our secret operation, we could be betrayed.
Dex wouldn’t betray us. I knew the truth, but I wasn’t willing to pull him into this. For one, I was still struggling with the personal sense of betrayal he’d inflicted when he’d fallen in love with Chloe instead of me. For another, Jason had insisted on keeping our op as under-the-radar as possible. This wasn’t an official investigation. That meant limiting our manpower. Womanpower. Person-power.
God, this sexism thing was hard.
“Sam,” he said my name sharply, calling my attention back to him. I could tell he was getting impatient with my wayward thoughts.
“Right,” I said quickly. “Division 9-C has their own hacker. They set up false identities for Natalie. There’s an electronic footprint somewhere. I’m working on tracing it, and that will lead us to more information on the organization they represent. Their hacker is good, but I’m better. I just need a little more time.”
“And how do you know you’re better?” Jason challenged.
“Because I’m me,” I said coolly, utterly confident in my capabilities. “You focus on protecting Natalie, and I’ll focus on getting us a new lead.”
His hands tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles going white. No doubt, he was remembering the terrible things that had been done to Natalie, the woman he loved. He might have finally rescued her from the people who had tortured her and twisted her mind, but that didn’t mean she was safe. The people who had so ruthlessly used her—the clandestine Division 9-C and the organization they represented—were still out there. There might not be physical leads, but there had to be traces of them buried deep in the web somewhere.
We finished driving to our destination in heavy silence. I wished I knew what to say to alleviate some of Jason’s tension, but I didn’t really know where to begin. So I twisted my hands in my lap and tried to calm my whirring thoughts. Per usual, they were firing in several directions at once. I had the Division 9-C hacker to consider, Jason’s feelings to fret over, and our current investigation into Cristian Moreno.
We pulled up outside a nondescript townhouse, positioning our sedan half a block back from our target. This fieldwork was actually kind of boring a lot of the time. We settled in to wait and watch. I’d so much rather be behind my computer, but at least I wasn’t having to interact with anyone but Jason. And he was content to focus on our investigation instead of idle chatter.
We’d gotten a lead that this townhouse was being used by Cristian Moreno in his Bliss trafficking. He seemed to have smaller distribution centers set up all over town. It would have been so much easier to raid a massive warehouse, but Moreno wasn’t stupid enough to keep his product all in one place.
Chicago police had arrested a man for dealing Bliss in this neighborhood two days ago, and he’d directed us to this townhouse as the place where he picked up his product. We could have raided the building, but we wanted to monitor the situation for a few days first. Taking out one small distribution center would be a win, but we might be able to find the larger network if we identified Moreno’s people coming and going and tracked them from the premises.
Overall, it was a pretty boring day. Watching people and taking notes wasn’t all that interesting. By the time Jason dropped me off at my own townhome, I was eager to get back online and do something that was actually mentally stimulating.
I dropped into my ergonomic chair and blew out a long sigh. It felt damn good to be back in front of my personal computer. Away from people.
I was so eager to get back to my coding that I didn’t even bother to change out of my work clothes and into comfy sweats before turning on my computer. Unfortunately, a chat box popped up as soon as I logged on.
Dex Scott wants to video chat.
I frowned and hit the ignore button. I didn’t have time to talk to Dex. I had to find the Division 9-C hacker.
Besides, I didn’t want to talk to Dex. I was too fried, too raw to face him. He’d barely paid attention to me since I’d made the reckless decision to become a field agent. Sure, he still contacted me to play an online game from time to time. When he wasn’t fucking Chloe. Otherwise, he barely interacted with me at all. Especially not in the office, where he’d made it clear he didn’t approve of my choice to transfer into the field.
He was a damn good agent. Far better than I would ever be. I’d longed to train with him when I’d transferred to field agent, to feel his huge body against mine when we sparred.
But he’d refused to help train me.
My cheeks heated and my sex clenched at the thought of him training me. After hacking into his internet search history and tracking his sexual predilections for years, I knew my gentle giant of a friend harbored decidedly darker fantasies: domination, bondage, discipline.
I’d never thought I’d be interested in such depraved acts. Truthfully, before I met Dex, I hadn’t thought much about sex at all. The girls in my dorm at college had teased me for being an asexual, socially awkward geek. It hadn’t bothered me.
Really. Not one bit.
A part of my brain acknowledged the silent lie in my mind.
I’d also tried to lie to myself about Dex for years: that he would come to care for me; that he’d finally realize I was hopelessly in love with him. I craved to be the object of his darker desires.
The beeping emanating from my speakers became incessant.
Dex Scott wants to chat.
I turned off the chat app. Talking to him hurt too much. I needed space to avoid the pain.
Shoving him from my mind, I threw myself back into my work, sinking into the deep web.
I was so absorbed in my task that I didn’t hear the lock click back or the soft sound of my front door rubbing across the carpet as it opened. I was jolted out of my work when the back of my neck tingled, an animal response to a lurking threat. A gloved hand clamped over my mouth, muffling my shocked gasp. A sharp sting penetrated my neck as the needle sank in.
The world turned surreal as the drugs instantly cocooned me in soft, dark clouds, and I floated into nothingness.
Chapter 2
The safety of my home had been shattered. Someone had drugged me, taken me. My memories of how I’d fallen into Cristian Moreno’s clutches were hazy, but there was no denying my terrifying new reality: I was in the hands of the vicious Colombian drug lord, and his knife was at my throat.
Toxic fear engulfed me, freezing the scream that had escaped me for mere seconds. Cristian stepped behind me so his brother’s camera could get clearer footage of the horror I was enduring. His big fist tangled in my hair, jerking my head back so I had no choice but to stare up into his cruel black eyes.
The cold tip of the knife scraped upward from the center of my throat, grazing over my skin as it tr
aced a path under my chin. I stopped breathing when the flat of the blade swiped across the line of my lips. A high whimper slipped through them, the resultant vibration threatening to make the knife pierce my skin. As it was, the tightly packed nerve endings on my lips sparked as the cool metal kissed them.
The knife left my mouth, but I didn’t have time to suck in a panting breath before the frigid blade returned to my throat.
“You were in my territory today, watching my people. One of my men followed you home. Who are you working for?” he demanded.
“I’m FBI,” I said, my voice barely more than a whisper. With the knife at my throat, I could scarcely draw the breath I needed to speak.
He frowned at me. “A sniper made an attempt on my life a few days ago. The feds wouldn’t assassinate me. Who are you really working for?” The blade sliced a thin, stinging line across my throat.
“I really am FBI,” I said in a rush, the truth spilling from my lips. If he knew I was a federal agent, he wouldn’t dare hurt me. “My name is Samantha Browning. I’m a tech analyst. Well, I was. I’m a field agent now. I’m not trying to kill you. We’re investigating you. You have to know you’re on our radar. Please, I swear I’m FBI.” I was aware that I was babbling, but I couldn’t stop pleading for my life.
He considered me for a long, terrifying moment, weighing my fate. “You’re a tech analyst? That means you have access to all the evidence the feds have on me. If you’re telling the truth about who you are.”
“I am,” I said quickly. “You can’t hurt me. If you do, my friends will come after you.”
“I think I’ll give you to my brother, after all,” he mused. “He’ll make sure you’re telling the truth. I’d rather not mutilate you, if you’re going to be useful to me. Andrés has more creative ways of breaking women. And I’ll keep our little video to ourselves. If you are who you say you are, I’d rather your friends at the FBI didn’t know I have you.”
The knifepoint pressed against my cheek, just below my left eye. The pressure increased slightly, and I felt warmth bead on my skin. It slid down my cheek like a crimson tear. My eyes watered, and Cristian’s handsome face wavered above me.
“Maybe I’ll give you a scar to match my brother’s first,” he mused.
A deep growl sounded from a few feet in front of me, and I knew it came from Andrés. I couldn’t so much as glance in his direction; Cristian’s long fingers in my hair kept me immobile.
A sharp grin lit his features with amusement. “Apparently, he wants you mostly intact. Should I give him what he wants?”
The fearsome growl sounded again, a wordless warning. I shuddered, equally as frightened of the prospect of his desire to have me as I was of the knife piercing my cheek.
“Not the face, then,” Cristian said decisively. “But I think I’ll let Andrés see what he’s getting to work with.”
The knife left my face, but the blade instantly hooked beneath the top button of my shirt. It gave way easily as the sharp steel tore through thread. He continued to move the blade downward, trailing a sickening path between my breasts, over my navel, down to the top of my slacks. The fabric fell open with a flick of the knife, leaving me exposed in my white cotton bra.
A plea for mercy locked in my throat. I couldn’t speak, could barely breathe. My mind began to shut down, the adrenaline created by fear clouding my brain.
Cristian’s fingers tightened in my hair, giving me a bite of pain. “Stay with us, Samantha,” he ordered smoothly.
The world sharpened around me with cruel clarity just before pain sliced into me. The tip of the knife grated a torturously slow line along my right collarbone. The cut was shallow, but blood welled up as the blade scraped bone. The scream that had been trapped inside me burst out as pain seared through me. He hooked the blade beneath the little strip of cotton at the middle of my bra, parting the fabric and exposing me.
My scream choked off on a sob as terror mingled with humiliation.
“What do you think, hermanito?” Cristian asked with mild interest. “Is she pretty enough for you? She’s not a great beauty, but her nipples stand out nicely against her pale skin.”
My skin turned frigid, my flesh pebbling as ice sank into my veins. I vaguely recognized that I was going into shock as my entire body began to shake violently.
“And her eyes are quite lovely,” he continued in detached observation. “So much fear there. You like when they’re frightened, don’t you, Andrés?”
His low grunt in reply rolled around my mind, but my capacity for conscious thought had been ripped to shreds. The knife left my breasts to slice through the ropes that bound my wrists behind me. I slumped forward, my watery muscles incapable of holding me upright.
Strong arms closed around my shoulders, bracing me before I slid to the floor. I was dimly aware of my body being lifted. My head lolled back, and the last thing I saw before my mind short-circuited was Andrés’ fearsome, scarred face looming over me.
***
Stinging pain on my chest yanked me back to awareness, and I bolted upright with a gasp. Panic blinded me, but firm hands gripped my upper arms, pressing me back down against something soft that cushioned my body. I was no longer sitting on the unyielding metal chair. I recognized the feel of a mattress beneath me, and my torso was pinned down against it by a strong, masculine hold.
I squirmed and kicked, instinctively trying to fight my way free. I became aware of cool air against my breasts, and I realized I was still exposed. My heart hammered against my ribcage, and I doubled my efforts to fight off the man holding me down, my fingers clawing blindly. His hands easily encircled my wrists, trapping them at either side of my hips.
“Calm down, cosita, or I’ll have to restrain you.” I recognized the soft Colombian accent.
Moreno had me. He’d hurt me, stripped me…
Oh god. He’d given me to his terrifying brother. Andrés.
And now I was half-naked and helpless in his steely hold.
I couldn’t stop thrashing, my muscles rippling with effort to break free. My stomach twisted, nausea rising as the full horror of my situation came down on me.
A low sound of disapproval grated against my mind. His grip instantly shifted, tugging my arms over my head. He secured them there with one big hand. Something cool and supple encircled my right wrist. Metal jingled against metal as he buckled the cuff into place.
I twisted my entire body, trying to angle myself so I could kick out at him. Desperation clawed at my insides, and all my training left my head as animal terror took hold. My awkward attempts to resist him made no effect, and he quickly secured my other wrist.
Working in silence, he caught my left ankle, pulling it diagonally toward the bottom corner of the bed. My eyes finally focused and I watched in helpless horror as he bound my legs to either side of the four-poster, spreading me wide. I still wore my slacks, but I felt terribly exposed and vulnerable.
I thrashed against the restraints, but he pressed his big palm against my bare abdomen, pinning me down against the mattress and effectively ending my struggles. All I could do was jerk uselessly against the cuffs. Fear coursed through me. My fight-or-flight instincts had settled on flight, but there was nowhere for me to go. That didn’t stop my body from twisting like a wild thing, panic beating against the inside of my chest.
His dark eyes watched me with calm certainty as he simply waited. I wasn’t sure how long it took for my muscles to burn with exertion, and I finally gave up, my limbs trembling where they were stretched above and below me, laying me out before him.
“Are you done?” he asked coolly.
“Fuck you,” I seethed, my acid tongue the only weapon left to me.
Keeping me pinned in place with one hand, his other swiftly came down and cracked across the outer swell of my breasts, one after the other in rapid succession. My sensitive flesh instantly began to burn, and I cried out. I couldn’t escape the pain; I was trapped in place for the harsh censure.
&nb
sp; Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes, and he finally stopped.
“I won’t tolerate insults,” he said, still unnervingly calm. It almost would have been less disconcerting if he’d shouted. “You will speak to me with respect. Do you understand?”
“No.” The refusal came out as a horrified moan.
“You will understand soon,” he said, utterly confident. “You’re frightened, but you will learn. For now, I’m warning you not to curse at me again. Tell me you’ll obey.”
The tears came faster, spilling down my temples and falling into my hair.
His face shifted to a forbidding mask. “Tell me.”
I couldn’t manage more than a fearful whimper, but I nodded shakily. I didn’t want him to slap me again, and I recognized that there was nothing I could do to prevent him from doing it if he decided he wanted to.
His countenance softened, his scar easing so it wasn’t as pronounced. “In the future, I will expect a verbal answer. You belong to me now, Samantha. Defiance will lead to punishment. Obedience will be rewarded. You choose whichever you want. I might seem like a harsh Master, but I’m fair. Your behavior has consequences, either painful or pleasurable for you.”
“Please,” I forced out past the lump in my throat. “I can’t… I don’t… Don’t…” I began to pant out the fragmented words as my breathing turned shallower, until I was gasping but not drawing in air.
His hands bracketed my face, shockingly gentle. “Breathe,” he ordered, his accented voice low and soft, as though trying to soothe a frightened animal.
I certainly felt like a panicked, primal thing; trapped and terrified.
His fingers threaded through my hair on either side of my head, massaging gently.
“Breathe with me,” he cajoled. He drew in a slow, deep breath and then blew it out on a long exhale. “Again,” he commanded, and I vaguely recognized that I’d obeyed and matched his breathing, my lungs too desperate for oxygen to resist. I sucked in another shaky breath, mirroring him. We repeated the process several more times, until I was able to breathe almost normally. I sank down into the mattress as my body went limp, all the fight going out of me as exhaustion sapped my mind.
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