Ruthless Savior: A Captive Series Standalone

by Julia Sykes

  “Eat.” I bit out the command, frustrated with her fearful reaction. Even though I didn’t like it, intimidating her was necessary. Marisol couldn’t survive on her own, and I’d do whatever it took to keep her here with me.

  My tactic worked. As soon as the terse command left my lips, she immediately jolted and grabbed the sandwich. She shoved it into her mouth with too much force, but as soon as the food hit her tongue, she closed her eyes on a low moan and slowed to savor the flavor. I wasn’t much of a cook, and the meal was beyond basic. She must’ve been starving.

  I swallowed down a growl, restraining myself from scaring her again.

  Later, I’d make her tell me more about her past and how she’d ended up fleeing for her life. Her situation must’ve been truly hopeless for her to risk the journey on her own. Her reckless actions could only have been fueled by desperation and terror. She’d been running for a long time, but I’d make her see that she didn’t have to run anymore.

  I wouldn’t let her.

  Chapter 9

  Marisol

  I lingered in Raúl’s mind-bogglingly enormous shower for a long time, but the hot water supply seemed to be endless. The pounding heat against my sore muscles felt like the most exquisite massage. My body ached from the unrelenting tension of my fearful flight from Raúl, and the powerful spray slowly soothed me.

  I was careful to keep my head free from the strongest parts of the water pressure, mindful of the cut that’d split open when Daniel had shoved me against the glass coffee table. The area was still tender, but the pain was muted by the exhaustion that’d rolled back over me.

  The gnawing hunger in my gut had finally eased, sated by the sandwich Raúl had made for me. Now that I’d eaten and rehydrated, weariness settled into my bones. As the water relaxed me, my eyelids drooped, and it became harder to open them again every time I blinked. Even the sharp sting of soap hitting the scrapes on my knees wasn’t enough to jolt me to full awareness.

  I couldn’t remember when I’d banged my knees. During the fight with Daniel? Or the attack by the thief in Juárez?

  It didn’t matter. The cuts and bruises would heal up. For now, I had food in my belly and a safe place to sleep. The plush, enormous bed in the next room tempted me out of the warm shower. It was Raúl’s bed, but that didn’t deter me. Earlier, I’d balked at the prospect of being kept in his bedroom. But at this point, I could’ve slept on a concrete slab. I believed that he wouldn’t molest me, and I so desperately wanted to sink into that soft bed.

  The fluffy white towel that waited for me on a hook outside the shower was the most decadent thing I’d ever wrapped around my body. I blew out a long, satisfied sigh as I allowed myself several minutes to luxuriate in the lush pleasure of a bath linen that probably cost more than my most expensive party dress back home.

  The thought of my beloved, abandoned home cut through my indulgent moment like a knife to my heart, and I quickly finished drying myself off.

  One of Raúl’s huge, black shirts waited for me on the counter. He’d provided me with spare toiletries, but of course, he didn’t have any women’s clothes stored in his home. From what I’d seen so far, this house was almost aggressively masculine— all hard, cold lines framing cavernous, empty spaces. I hadn’t noticed a single trace of a soft, feminine touch.

  I’d never wondered about Raúl’s relationship status before, but a strange sense of calm blanketed my frayed nerves at the confirmation that another woman hadn’t left her mark on his personal space. My fierce protector was focused solely on me.

  The warm glow at my core should’ve disturbed me, but I was too tired to worry over it. I had a safe place to sleep tonight. That was all that mattered.

  Even when I’d been held hostage in Stefano Duarte’s building, Raúl hadn’t been close enough to defend me if someone had chosen to attack me in the night. I’d lived in the staff quarters, surrounded by strangers who had no moral issue with working for a dangerous drug lord. I hadn’t experienced a peaceful night’s sleep since I’d fled from my family home.

  But tonight, Raúl was the only person nearby, and I had no doubt that he’d destroy anyone who might dare to threaten me. The promise of deep, restful sleep was a lifeline I badly needed.

  I tugged Raúl’s shirt over my head, loving the simple luxury of the soft material draping over my bare skin. I didn’t have any spare underwear, but the shirt that fit his massive frame swaddled me, dropping all the way to my knees. It was more comfortable that the nicest sleeping gown I’d ever owned, and it was definitely long enough to cover my most vulnerable areas.

  The unfamiliar comforts provided by Raúl lulled me deeper into relaxation. I realized that his rich, earthy scent clung to the shirt, and I breathed him in greedily. My eyes slid closed on a low moan. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this secure, and the release from unrelenting, fearful vigilance was a heady rush.

  A sharp knock on the bathroom door jerked me from my blissed-out state. “Marisol.” His deep voice rumbled through the wooden barrier, somehow managing to caress my skin.

  I floated to the door and turned the knob as though in a dream. Even the sight of his muscular frame looming directly in front of me didn’t rouse a spark of concern.

  His luminous eyes flared, and they traced the curves of my body in a slow, hungry perusal. His attention fixed on my breasts, and his jaw sharpened. I could feel my nipples peaking against the soft fabric of his deliciously scented shirt, but I couldn’t bring myself to cover myself in a shy show of modesty. I was too tired to bother, and the decadent slide of cotton over my sensitized nipples felt nice; a low, pleasurable buzz.

  After several long seconds, his mesmerizing gaze lifted to my face. Whatever he saw in my eyes made his mouth drop in a small frown, puckering the scar on his upper lip.

  “Let’s get you in bed.” He extended one of his huge hands, and I placed my much smaller one in his palm without hesitation. His thick fingers wrapped around mine in a firm, warm grip that reassured me. He was strong enough to protect me, but he wouldn’t turn that strength on me.

  My feet dragged across the plush, cream carpet, my exhaustion wrapping leaden chains around my ankles. Dimly, I noted that his bedding was the same tone as it was in his room at Stefano’s: sleek, steel gray. I’d thought the color impersonal, but it matched the harsh masculinity of the rest of his home. As did the black iron bedposts, which were blocky and imposing. The overall effect was rigid, but the severe style suited him.

  I didn’t care how imposing or potentially intimidating Raúl’s bed was; all I cared about was that soft mattress and the massive pile of plump pillows.

  By the time we reached the bed, Raúl simply picked me up and placed me on the silky sheets. The thick duvet he draped over my body enfolded me like a warm cloud, and my eyes slid closed as a contented sigh hummed through my lips.

  I was dimly aware of the mattress shifting beneath me, followed by Raúl’s hard chest pressing against my back. His corded arm hooked around my middle, and he nestled my body into his. The simple intimacy of human touch seeped into my skin like a calming drug, and I fell into sleep without a single niggling doubt about Raúl’s presence in bed beside me.

  Chapter 10

  Marisol

  I watched Raúl move around his huge kitchen, while I remained cocooned in a somewhat surreal state of mind. Everything from the overwhelming luxury of the space to the fact that my huge, scary captor was preparing breakfast for me was too bizarre to be real.

  The gleaming stainless-steel appliances, frosted glass cabinets, and stark white marble countertops gave the impression that a professional chef lived here. But Raúl barely seemed to know how to scramble an egg, judging by the acrid burning scent that permeated the air between us.

  I leaned over the kitchen island, propping one hand beneath my chin to observe the strange scene playing out before me. My other hand idly brushed over my skirt, my fingers tracing the little dots of textured cotton on the pretty cora
l sundress. It had arrived for me this morning, along with dozens of other gorgeous clothing options. I’d never had such an expansive wardrobe in my life, and Raúl’s casual offering of so many fine things only heightened the dreamlike quality of my situation.

  Indulging myself in the fantastical scenario, I openly studied my brooding, beautiful captor. With his bulging muscles and fierce frown, Raúl was intimidating even when he was cracking an egg. His sensual lips seemed to caress even the most colorful curses, which were dropping from his tongue in a steady, frustrated stream.

  I ogled him for several minutes before his attention finally fixed on me. He paused for a moment, two steaming plates filling his massive hands. His green eyes glowed, and his nostrils flared.

  My cheeks heated, but I simply blinked at him, maintaining a casual bearing. Now that he’d fixed that burning gaze on me again, my situation began to feel far more real. How long had I been shamelessly staring at him?

  I tried to keep my features blandly innocent. He didn’t know I’d been watching, did he?

  Because if this was reality, it was beyond embarrassing that I’d been gawking at my powerful captor.

  Or was he my host? He approached me and set a plate of eggs on the counter, arranging my homecooked breakfast beside the glass of orange juice he’d provided for me before he’d started cooking.

  This was all too bizarre. Ever since I’d known him, I’d been his hostage, forced to live in a drug lord’s fortress and work as Carmen Ronaldo’s maid. I’d betrayed him and put his life at risk.

  How long ago had that been? Two days? Three?

  And now, I’d tumbled into what was surely some alternate reality where surly Raúl let me sleep in his sinfully comfortable bed, bought me beautiful clothes, and prepared my meals with his own hands. All while asking for nothing in return.

  A dozen little needles pricked at the back of my mind, demanding my full attention.

  He must want something in return. Raúl didn’t strike me as a charitable man. He expected me to reciprocate in some way he hadn’t decreed yet.

  I eyed him warily as he slid into the seat next to me and proceeded to dump hot sauce on his eggs without comment. Once his plate was more sauce than egg, he offered the bottle to me with a low grunt.

  This felt more like my familiar captor, despite the unbelievable setting. This was how we’d communicated for weeks: him offering me small kindnesses accompanied by rumbling, caveman sounds.

  I took the bottle from his hand with a murmured “thanks.” He responded with another grunt, but it was closer to a purr this time. His face was only visible in profile, but I noticed his lips quirk up at the corners.

  He gulped his coffee, closed his eyes, and let out a deep, satisfied hum.

  I quickly turned my attention to my own plate, my cheeks flaming. This suddenly felt indecent, like I was a voyeur watching a beast in his natural habitat.

  When the first bite of scrambled eggs hit my tongue, I understood Raúl’s liberal application of hot sauce. The consistency was unpleasantly rubbery, and he didn’t seem to have added any seasoning whatsoever. Didn’t the man not even understand the use of salt and pepper?

  He glanced over at my plate, and I realized that most of his breakfast had already disappeared in a few shoveling mouthfuls. I quickly lifted another forkful of the chewy mess, eating with as much gusto as I could manage. Really, I’d made do with far worse—and sometimes nothing at all—over the last several months. I mustered up a small, appreciative noise, despite the fact that my tongue was burning from the hot sauce.

  Is this stuff nuclear?

  I waited until his lips curved into a smile again before gulping down my orange juice.

  “More?” he asked, pointing at my empty glass.

  I hesitated, not wanting to offend him. But my mouth was on fire, and my eyes would start watering if I didn’t do something to mitigate the pain. “Do you have any milk?”

  His heavy brows drew together, and he grabbed my plate, carrying off the last few morsels of sauce-covered egg. Before I could worry that I’d been too obvious in my discomfort, he returned to me with a tall glass of milk.

  “Sorry,” he offered when he pressed it into my hand. “I forgot how hot that stuff is.”

  I tried and failed to stifle a moan as the cool milk soothed my scorched mouth. In an attempt to gloss over my unspoken distaste for the meal he’d prepared for me, I gestured at the bottle of thick green sauce. “Where did you find this stuff? It’s really, um, intense.” There wasn’t a label, so I’d had no warning that it contained what could only be described as masochist chilies.

  His chest expanded, and he seemed to grow a few inches taller. “I make it myself. I have a hard time finding any that’s hot enough for me.”

  It took concerted effort to stop myself from rolling my eyes, but I couldn’t entirely contain the small smirk that played around my lips.

  I shouldn’t have been remotely surprised that a beast of a man like Raúl would express his machismo even in his culinary preferences. But it was such a silly trait. I wouldn’t have imagined my taciturn captor capable of expressing pride in his ability to endure pain with his food choices. There was something pure and almost childish about it. I could imagine him sitting around a table with his buddies, proving his superior manliness by guzzling gradually hotter and hotter options until he arose victorious; the most manly of all men with the highest pain tolerance for food that he ostensibly enjoyed.

  “Is something funny?” he drawled, but he seemed to be suppressing a smile, too.

  “I just didn’t picture you as the type to make your own hot sauce.”

  He chuckled and shook his head ruefully. “I might be a shitty cook, but I’m not entirely useless.”

  “I don’t think you’re useless,” I clarified, my tone light and teasing, even though I meant every word. Raúl had proven many times over that he was a very capable man in other ways. “You keep me safe,” I added more softly, the truth leaving my lips without thought.

  He stepped closer, entering my personal space. All levity left his expression, his features settling into serious, stony planes. “That’s right. I keep you safe.”

  His huge hand settled atop mine on the counter. The warm weight trapped my much smaller hand, but the firm, unyielding pressure pushed a gentle wave of calm through my body.

  Light flashed through his intense, forest green stare, and his square jaw took on a commanding tilt. “You’re staying here with me, Marisol. I want to make sure you understand that. You’re not my hostage anymore—the cartel has no hold over you. But I do.” He leaned in slowly, so his body heat pulsed against my skin. “You will not run from me again.”

  Instantly, the comforting weight of his hand became confining. I tried to pull free, but he held me fast, his face hardening to granite.

  “I will not let you go.” Each word was enunciated with the weight of an oath.

  My breath caught in my throat.

  This is the price. This is how he expects me to repay the luxuries he’s offered me.

  I was the payment. My freedom. My body.

  Nausea churned my stomach, and I turned my face away. “You promised you wouldn’t.” The whispered plea was roughened by pain. For a few, blissful hours, I’d believed that he wouldn’t violate me. I’d known this was too good to be true.

  But the crumbling sensation in my chest served as a cruel rebuke for my foolish delusion. I shouldn’t have allowed myself to hope for even one second that I’d be completely safe with Raúl. He was a vicious drug lord without morals or empathy. How could I have expected anything different?

  His thick fingers curled beneath my chin. I flinched at his touch, but he persisted, cradling my jaw to forcibly redirect my gaze to his. He still handled me as carefully as if I was made of porcelain, but his firm refusal to permit my evasion was enough to coerce my compliance.

  “I meant what I said. I will never hurt you like that. I will never rape you.” He growled the fierc
e declaration, but his hold remained gentle on my face.

  I blinked rapidly, struggling to clear the oncoming wash of tears from my eyes. I wanted so badly to believe him, but no one gave something away for nothing in return. That wasn’t how the world worked.

  “But you won’t let me leave,” I said softly. “I know what that means. I know you want me.” I’d seen the hunger in his eyes ever since he’d captured me, and when he’d overwhelmed me with his soul-searing, domineering kiss, there’d been no doubt of his desire.

  His sharp stare pierced my chest, pinning me in place. “And I know you want me, too. I won’t have to force you.”

  My heart skipped a beat, and my mouth went dry. When he looked at me like this—like he knew every single one of my erotic secrets—my body couldn’t help but respond. All the traitorous pleasure points I’d forced myself to forget had been reawakened by his possessive kiss.

  The return of my sensual nature was so intense that it felt like an overwhelming, uncontrollable force of nature; something that surged within me, overriding reason and driving me to reckless wantonness.

  It scared me. I couldn’t trust myself when lust overtook me. I’d thrown myself into it with wild abandon once before, and I’d lost everything because of my selfish indulgence. Riding this wave of treacherous ecstasy was a giddy, thrilling, addictive adventure. I’d embraced it without a second thought when I’d fallen for Gehovany, too naïve to understand that something that burns so white-hot will ultimately destroy.

  And now, I felt the swell of that wave with Raúl, excited by the fiery chemistry that I shared with a dangerous man. Even though he’d been nothing but good to me so far, he was an undeniably bad man. He was a criminal, and I’d seen him commit murder right before my eyes as though it was nothing.