by Donna Young
“He told you about Stravos.” It was a statement, not a question. “Did Cristo tell you I said no?”
“But you changed your mind.”
“Cristo changed it for me,” she admitted bitterly. “With veiled threats and—”
“Did he hurt you?”
“No.” Comfortable that the bruises were well hidden beneath clothes and makeup, she did not hesitate to lie.
“Let Cristo think I will do more,” Rosario stated, disgusted. “Captain Stravos is a squat little man with bad manners and very little intelligence. I can handle him.”
“He is a man with some power and many connections. That is enough,” Solaris commented. “I will help you. Protect you. Just say the word.”
“You are asking too much. Cristo would see you killed, Solaris. And I don’t think I could bear that.”
“Yet you bear his beatings, his insults.” Solaris’s anger deepened his voice. “You are his wife, but he treats you worse than his whores.”
“But he does not force himself on me,” she said softly, her hand on his arm soothing. The strength of it beneath her finger-tips comforting. “Also, I have my son to think about.”
Temper warred with common sense. She wanted to rage at Delgado. Tell him his precious son belonged to another man. But in her position, she understood the fine line she walked. What it would cost Argus if Cristo ever discovered the truth.
“He has a daughter also. Will she suffer the same fate as you?”
“Argus seems to think so,” she commented.
Cristo never mentioned Alejandra. When the girl returned, she could only imagine what her father had in store for her. After all, if he can pimp out his wife…
“Do not fool yourself, Rosario. Cristo expects you to welcome the advances of Captain Stravos,” Solaris continued.
“I will be charming and keep the little man happy. I will ply him with wine and a good cigar. Find him a nice place to pass out when he’s had too much. I will not let him touch me.”
“That is good. Because if he did, I would have to kill him,” Solaris promised.
“Cristo killed his first wife, didn’t he?” Rosario asked quietly, finally putting her worst fear into words.
“Yes, he did.”
“And he will kill me eventually, too,” Rosario considered. But anger infused her next words. “He thinks.”
“No,” Solaris vowed. “That he will not do. Not while I am here.”
“And you will stay here,” she replied, her confidence born from the love between them. “With me, until my son is grown.”
“Your son has been keeping company with our prisoner, Jason Marsh,” the giant commented. “You wouldn’t know the reason for that, would you?”
“Why should I? Cristo took him down to see the man shortly after he captured him,” Rosario replied after a moment. “Argus told me he liked Jason. They share common interests.”
Solaris swore. “And you didn’t object, Rosario?”
“What should I do, follow my son down to the tunnels? Tell his father?” she snapped back. “In many ways, he is like his father, Solaris. I can only tell him not to do something. That is all. Whether he listens to me, is up to him.”
“He shouldn’t be down in the cellar. He might get hurt, or worse.”
“Yes, I know.” Rosario frowned. “Jorgie might discover him there and he will tell my husband.”
“Cristo knows of the visits, but not who was visiting. I didn’t know it was Argus until after I reported the incident to Cristo.”
“And now?”
“Keep him away from Marsh, Rosario. Or he will suffer the consequences,” Solaris warned. Then he stepped in front of her, blocking her from anyone who watched. Slowly, he raised her right sleeve, exposing her wrist. Dark purple bruises mottled the delicate skin. The giant’s eyes flashed with anger but he did little more than let his thumb skim over a few of the marks. “And no one knows better than you, the damage Cristo can do to his son when displeased.”
“Argus understands, too, Solaris,” she murmured and looked at the walls and the gates surrounding their home. “Thank you for the walk.”
The giant bowed, dropped her wrist and walked away.
THE MORNING SUN SLICED ACROSS the top of the security wall. Jorgie pushed his sunglasses higher. Pain shot through his forehead. He scowled and pinched his nose between his thumb and forefinger. The damn thing hurt like a son-of-a-bitch.
He dropped his hand to his side, promising himself that if he ever got his fists on Calvin West, the man would suffer more than a broken nose.
A feral smile twisted his mouth into a cruel jagged line. If there was something that Jorgie specialized in, it was dishing out pain.
It was one of many jobs he performed for Cristo Delgado, along with being in charge of the villa’s security and the drug lord’s personal bodyguard when necessary.
But the two responsibilities he considered perks were torturing prisoners for information and keeping an eye on the locals.
Which included inspecting the servant shifts everyday.
Many of the local women spent their lives working hard, yet never rose above the country’s poverty. Many sought a way out, even if that way meant sleeping with Delgado’s men.
As head of security, Jorgie never lacked for female company.
He made it a point over the last few years to recognize everyone who worked for the villa and their families. It was he who Delgado turned to when disciplinary actions were required. And he knew that his boss was always impressed when Jorgie could recall the names and faces of those Delgado chose to punish.
Jorgie watched Consuelo approach through the gates. Pregnancy only enhanced the exotic features, her round belly swayed with feminine stride, igniting a fire that burned deep in Jorgie’s loins.
Once Jorgie had acted on his desire for the woman. After her shift, he’d ordered his men to bring Consuelo to his bed. But before Jorgie could get his hands on her, Solaris countered his order and told Consuelo to go home to her family.
Then in no uncertain terms and in front of his men, the giant told Jorgie that he was not to touch Consuelo. Miguel’s association with Padre Dominic would make it difficult for Delgado if the priest found out about any abuse.
Solaris had warned Jorgie that if anything happened to the couple, Solaris would hold him personally responsible.
Jorgie hated being ordered by anyone but Delgado himself, but he didn’t dare go against the mercenary. Instead, he chose a different way of showing his displeasure. He used Consuelo’s oldest son for target practice. And took great pleasure in the fact that Solaris could do nothing when he’d found out. Jorgie claimed the boy walked in the path of the bullets.
A lie of course. Jorgie and his men jumped the boy, shot him and left the body where the family would find him.
And laughed all the way to the cantina.
Jorgie straightened from the wall. He noticed a new girl followed Consuelo through the gate. The wind plastered the white cotton sleeveless blouse and dress against her. He caught the graceful sway, the long legs silhouetted beneath.
Jorgie smiled. Things were looking up. He stepped in front of them both.
“Who is your friend, Consuelo?”
“This is my cousin, Maria,” Consuelo answered stiffly. She held up her hand. Gauze covered her from wrist to her finger-tips. “I hurt myself this morning. Maria is visiting and offered to help me do laundry tonight, so I would not be replaced. We need the money, Señor Jorgie.”
Jorgie took his knife from his belt and slit open the gauze. Underneath the bandage was a wound at least three inches in length. “How did this happen?”
“Cooking. My baby distracted me with her cries and my knife slipped. If I get it wet, I will need stitches.”
Jorgie understood that most of the locals did not see doctors. It was far too expensive.
“Uncover your head girl and look into the light,” Jorgie ordered Maria.
The woman removed a wi
de red scarf from her head and looked straight at his chin. Her hair was tied back in a short, silken ponytail, leaving her features unobstructed. Beautiful.
“Report to my office after your shift with your cousin, Maria. I will need to ask you more questions. Understand me?” Jorgie looked at Consuelo, daring her to object.
Maria put her hand on Consuelo’s arm, stopping the pregnant woman from saying anything.
“Yes, señor,” Maria answered, her voice a mere whisper.
And subservient. Jorgie felt the heat rise from between his legs and looked forward to spending time with the woman alone.
“As soon as my shift is finished.”
“Not a minute later,” he warned.
Chapter Sixteen
Lavender silk and brocade draped the windows of the bedroom, pooled at the bottom on moss-green carpet. Tapestries of all sizes and bold hues covered the pillows and shaped overstuffed chairs.
Argus loved his mother’s room. One of the few rooms in the mansion that held warm memories. He’d played on the floor, rolled in the sunshine that spilled across the rugs.
“Mama?” He walked quietly to the oversize bed, not wanting to create any unwanted sound. His mother was extremely sensitive to loud noises.
He touched her shoulder, grateful for the warmth beneath his fingertips. His greatest fear would be to find her cold. And dead.
A soft groan reached him. Brown eyes blinked, then steadied on him. But drugs had left them bloodshot and foggy, the rims of her eyes puffy and smeared with mascara. His father’s drugs.
“Are you all right, Mama?”
“Yes, my darling.” The words were slurred. She struggled to sit, but the covers weighed her down. “What time is it?”
“The evening. You missed dinner so I was concerned.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek, blocking out the sour scent of sweat and wine.
“What day is it?”
He adjusted her pillow behind her head. When he was done, she took his hand and pressed it against her cheek.
“Wednesday,” Argus replied. “Father said you and he will be going into the city tomorrow to fetch Captain Stravos.”
“That is true.” Reluctantly, she let go of her son’s hand and patted the space on the bed beside her. “Sit next to me for a moment, Argus.”
“I only have a few minutes, Mama,” he warned her gently. “Papa will be upset if I am late for my studies.”
“Your papa is busy, he will not know,” she scoffed. “Just be the clever boy I know you are and don’t get caught, Argus.”
“I won’t,” he promised. “Will you be okay while I’m gone?”
“Yes, mijo. I will. We are returning soon after. This will not be a long visit.” She kissed the back of his hand. “And you?”
“Papa’s driver is taking me to the mission tomorrow. I will be staying with Padre Dominic for a few days. I promised to help him with the new shipment of supplies for the locals.”
“That is probably for the best. I worry about you getting into mischief down in those tunnels.”
“I like him, Mama.”
“I know you do. But Solaris is aware that Jason Marsh has a visitor. You must be careful there, too.”
“I will be.”
“I know you will, mijo.” She closed her eyes and dropped her hand from his. Within moments she was asleep again.
Argus felt the fear trickle through him. He tucked the blanket around her and left the room quietly. Afraid or not, he needed to take care of her and his sister.
“REPORT TO ME,” JULIA MIMICKED with derision. “Over my dead body.”
“It just might be if we are not careful,” Consuelo insisted. “You must watch for the cameras and avoid them at all costs. We will have to leave with the first group and hope he does not see us from his office.”
“And where is it?”
“The first floor, near the security barracks.” Julia pulled out a crude map of the compound and villa that Consuelo had drawn for her.
“Would he be holding Jason there?”
Consuelo shook her head. “No. They usually hold enemies down in an old cellar they converted into prison cells. But it is hard to get to, and heavily guarded when he has a prisoner there. But no guards have been down there for about two weeks. Not one.”
“Two weeks,” Julia repeated, considering. “Exactly two weeks?”
“I believe so, but I would have to check with others to make sure. Why?”
“Maybe Delgado is keeping them away from Jason on purpose.”
“If that’s so, he must not believe that your friend is in any condition to escape.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
THE TWO MEN HIKED THE DISTANCE from the grass hut to Delgado’s compound in record time. Sometimes running through the jungle when they hit a clear path, but mostly hacking through the dense brush and overgrowth with machetes.
Just as the sun sank beneath the treetops, Cal found a position that overlooked the front of the compound.
Miguel held the binoculars to his eyes. “They should be coming out soon. An hour at the most.”
Cal nodded, preferring to monitor the compound through the sight on his rifle. “If they don’t, we’re going in.”
Miguel slowly lowered the glasses and studied his friend. “I haven’t known you for a long time, Cal. But I know about men and women. The anger is coming from more than frustration. It’s coming from the heart, is it not? Or worse, maybe. Like mine, it is coming from fear.”
“It’s coming from the fact that Julia has no regard for her own life, damn it,” Cal snapped. “And the fact that I’m supposed to keep her safe in spite of herself.”
“Do not get me wrong, Cal. I’m not happy with Consuelo, either. But both women are intelligent. They might be taking a risk to free her husband—”
“Ex-husband, damn it.”
“Ex-husband,” Miguel corrected, then glanced at the ground, hiding the tug of a smile. “But they are doing no less than what we were planning on ourselves. And using a more clever cover. After all, Consuelo does work for Delgado. Maybe we should be patient and wait to see how successful they are before we go charging in like two fearful lovers.”
THE SCENT OF DECAYED EARTH AND human waste thickened the air into a fetid tar that choked Julia’s lungs and clung to her skin.
She clawed at the walls, cringing when the slime slicked her grip, the brick cut into her fingers.
Consuelo had warned her to expect the worst. That the whispers of the servants were filled with fear and tales of rotted bodies washed with blood.
The cellar had two entrances. Each led to a maze of underground hallways.
The first entrance was located deep within the villa’s kitchens at the back of the main house. The other entrance was outside. Not more than twenty feet into the compound’s courtyard at the base of the villa’s southern wall.
Julia decided instantly that it would be easier to enter through the kitchen, simply because the household servants didn’t carry machine guns. The courtyard guards did.
Actually, she navigated the mansion with little problem. She made no eye contact, made no conversation. She kept her head down, her hands filled with a basket of linens, her feet moving at a swift pace. If the security cameras picked her up, she would look like most of the women that worked at the villa.
It had taken Julia most of the day to sneak away from the laundry room. Consuelo reminded her to be back before the compound’s siren marked the end of the shift in an hour. Otherwise, she’d be caught for sure.
An hour wasn’t much time.
The kitchen proved a little more difficult. Not wanting to draw attention, she put the basket under a nearby serving table, then managed to stay within the corners and crevices of the room and hallway until she reached the entrance.
Julia reached the bottom of what must have been two dozen steps and studied the narrow, bricked tunnel.
At the end, a light glowed a dim, jaundiced yellow from an
old bulb that hung from the ceiling on a single, thick wire.
Quickly, she made her way to the end, her nerves jumping in tempo with every step. Whispers bounced off the walls. Julia froze, her ears strained. A small rush of air tickled the back of her neck.
The hushed tones were urgent, almost fearful. Slowly, she crept forward. The passage split into a fork. The words were almost distinguishable, but the echoes did little to tell Julia their origin.
Julia continued, choosing the passage on the right. It took little more than ten feet before she realized the voices were fading, lost through the walls of the tunnel.
Dread filled her gut but she reversed her steps and followed the faint sound.
JASON MARSH SHIFTED ON THE CEMENT. The cold crept into his muscles, made them stiff. His shoulder throbbed. Delgado’s men had dislocated it, leaving it useless.
How many days had it been now? Seventeen? Had it been a week since the last beating? Jorgie did such a good job, Jason fell unconscious halfway through. He had no idea how many hours he’d lost before he woke again.
Almost three weeks either way. They hadn’t found the MONGREL. Otherwise, he would be dead by now.
In the still of the cellar, he heard the soft whisper of rubber against dirt.
“Jason?”
“Argus,” Jason whispered, his lips crusted with blood, cracked open and bled. “I told you not to come down here anymore.”
He struggled to his feet, sucking in air as bone ground against bone. He gritted his teeth against the pain, then pulled his chains until he reached the prisoner bars. “If your father catches you down here—”
“He and Mother are leaving for Caracas tomorrow morning. Right now, he can’t be disturbed. He is busy with last minute details,” the boy said, obviously parroting his father’s words. “And Mother is…sleeping.”
Sleeping? More likely passed out somewhere, Jason thought.
The boy was tall, thin and gangly, with pointed shoulders and a long, thin nose. His hair stood like a bristle, neatly trimmed to an inch of his scalp. Designer labels marked his clothes. The blue jeans alone probably cost more than most farmers made in the area in a year.