“No! But that…doesn’t mean…I…have to like…it.”
One hand dropped to her mound. “Spread your legs wider, Angel. Good girl. I’m going to make you come screaming.”
She did as he commanded, and he rewarded her by stroking her clit. “More. Fuck me harder.”
“I’ll fuck you hard, Angel.”
He pushed her down until her chest pressed against the mattress, gripped her hips, and hammered into her fast and deep. “Come for me, Angel.”
Angelique fisted the covers as she moved with Mitch. She was close to another scalding orgasm, but she couldn’t quite get there and she screamed in frustration.
“You need more, baby?” Mitch growled. “I’m going to give you more.”
He slowed his pace for a moment; then she felt something cool against her anus. She held her breath.
“Yes,” she hissed.
His soft laugh sent a thrill up her spine; then a finger caressed the tiny rosette. “Before this trip is over, I’m going to fuck this pretty pink hole again,” he promised her. Then that teasing finger slid deep and he ground his cock into her. “Now you come, baby.”
She couldn’t have fought it if she’d wanted to. His thick cock speared her as another finger slid into her ass. The heat of orgasm washed over her, curling her toes.
“Ah…gaaah!” Her whole body contracted along with her pussy, and she wailed as Mitch’s cock thrust deep one final time and his voice mingled with hers in completion. “Christ,” Angelique murmured when she was capable of speech.
“Never forget how good we are together, Angel.” He shifted, stretched out on the bed, and pulled her up to lie against him.
“How could I when you won’t give me the chance? I just…I can’t justify your lifestyle with my feelings for you. Sex with you is like…a supernova. I’ve never denied that, but I can’t live with what you do, Mitch. I just can’t.”
His chest expanded under her cheek. “I understand but…while you’re here, while we’re away from the camp, can’t we just be two people who enjoy being together? Can you give me that much?”
“I don’t know. I… You confuse me so much. It’s hard for me to reconcile how a man can be so giving and kind to the people of Manos de Ayuda on the one hand, yet do the bidding of the worst criminals in Colombia on the other. I—I never stopped wanting you, Mitch, but I can’t be with you. Do you understand?”
He sighed. “You want me to leave now?”
She nodded, her throat thick from trying to hold back her tears. “Yeah, I think I do.”
“All right, I’ll go, Angel, but only if you promise to stay away from Alejandro Medina.”
“Who?”
“The man on the beach. He’s very bad news, Doc.”
Angelique nodded and rolled away from him. “Done.”
Acosta stood up, reaching for her. “Then it’s good night for tonight, Angel.” He pulled her against him, kissing her long and slow. “You don’t know it, but we’re meant to be together.” He touched the crescent-shaped scar next to his eyebrow, the one he’d received when she’d punched him with her gold ring. “You’ve marked me, and soon I’ll mark you.”
“Oh, Mitch, you already have.” She pulled away from him and scurried to the bathroom. She didn’t come out until she heard the door close behind him.
Chapter Nine
When Angelique woke in the morning, the first thing she thought of was the way Mitch had kissed her good-bye. Long, slow, and deep. The kind of kiss that curled a girl’s toes and left her feeling light-headed. That was one of the things she’d liked about him in the beginning. The man liked to kiss, and he had a real talent for it. Anybody, she’d reasoned, who kissed like that knew how to fuck, and Acosta was no exception—as he’d again demonstrated so aptly last night. She rolled out of bed and filled the tub. The phone rang just as she was about to settle in for a good soak. It was Marina.
“Hey, sugar, you ready for a day of shopping and pampering? Emilio has meetings all day, so I thought we’d go to the spa and then do some shopping.”
Angelique laughed. “Sounds wonderful. I was just getting ready to take a bath. When should I be ready?”
“Hmm,” Marina said. “How about right now? I have an appointment for us at the Copacabana Spa. We’re getting the works, which includes a lovely aromatic bath. We’ll be there for several hours; then we’ll hit the shops, and later this evening I thought we’d go to one of the street carnivals to get us in the mood for the Samba Parade.”
“Sounds decadent, but I’m game. I haven’t done decadent for a while. I’ll dress and meet you downstairs in a few minutes.”
* * * *
Marina hadn’t lied when she said the three-hour spa treatment would leave Angelique feeling rested and rejuvenated. Her skin practically glowed, she was softer than the proverbial baby’s bottom, and she’d been waxed within an inch of her life. She pulled on her white cotton short shorts and a stretchy turquoise one-shouldered top that made her boobs look great, and joined her friend in the waiting room.
“You see,” Marina said with a sweeping gesture. “I told you it would be worth the time it took. You don’t look like you’ve been working in one of the most dangerous areas on the Ecuadoran border. You look rested and quite beautiful. Now let’s go have some lunch and do some shopping.”
Angelique slung an arm around Marina’s shoulder, and the two walked arm in arm to the waiting limo. The bodyguard assigned to them by Marina’s doting husband opened the door, and the two women slid inside.
“Where to, señora?” the driver inquired.
“To the Rua do Lavradio, I think, for some lunch and poking about the antique stores.” She turned to Angelique. “Rua do Lavradio is the first residential street built in Rio. It’s a long cobbled road with the most beautiful colonial buildings. A lot of them have been turned into bars and restaurants, but there are quite a few antiques stores as well. It’s Saturday, so Feira do Rio Antigo is in full swing today. You’ll love it, Ange; it’s bustling with people selling clothes, art, and antiques. The bars and restaurants all have outdoor tables and chairs, so we can enjoy a bite to eat, then hit the market.”
The day was sunny and warm as Angelique and Marina sat at an outdoor table at Victor Bar e Restaurante enjoying large salads and glasses of white wine. The streets were packed with people; vendors and shoppers vied with cyclists and loud, smoky motorbikes. Everyone was smiling or laughing, reveling in the blue sky and sunshine. God, she loved Brazil. The women were gorgeous and not at all afraid to flaunt what the good Lord gave them. And the men were appreciative.
With lunch taken care of, the two women plunged into the crowds, making their way to a variety of stalls. The stoic bodyguard dutifully followed as they looked through stacks of books, framed art, and knickknacks of every kind. Angelique spied a vendor selling sundresses in every hue and pattern imaginable.
“I’m going across the street to look at those dresses,” Angelique told her friend. “Where I live at the moment, I need clothes that keep me cool.”
Marina was paying for a purchase. “I’ll be right there as soon as I pay for this belt for Emilio.”
The bodyguard moved to stop her. “Miss Vernet, Mr. Ruiz would prefer that you—”
“It’s all right. I’ll be in full sight every minute.” Angelique darted through a group of shoppers and crossed the street. She browsed through the rack, smiling and waving as Marina and her guard started across the street. She held up a bright yellow sundress with a bold floral print. “What do you think?” she called to her friend, then frowned at the look of horror on Marina’s face.
The bodyguard bellowed a warning as a man wrapped an arm around her chest and pulled her tightly against him. “I think you will look very beautiful in that dress, señorita, but no more shopping for you.”
Angelique turned her head. “I beg your…” She saw the syringe a heartbeat before the man jammed it into her neck and depressed the plunger. “What the fuck?” Then the
world dissolved into chaos. Marina’s cries came to her as if from a great distance. The bodyguard fell to the ground, twitching. Angelique blinked rapidly, trying to shake off the sensation of falling; then she was falling. And the world faded to black.
* * * *
Angelique woke, woozy and nauseous. Where the hell was she, and why was it so dark? The darkness surrounding her was so complete she couldn’t see the hand she held in front of her face. Memory leaked through the confusion, and she remembered. Marina’s terror when she realized what was happening. Their protector convulsing in the middle of the street. Then the pain as the needle plunged into her neck. How long had she been out? Her mind summoned a small plane, turbulence that caused her to vomit, a man’s voice swearing at her. Then the needle again, and her captor had tossed her into the trunk of this car like a piece of luggage. With those flashes of recall, Acosta’s warning came to her, along with the word every visitor to South and Central America feared.
Kidnapped.
Fear constricted her chest, and for the longest moment it seemed as though she’d forgotten how to breathe. She wanted to pound on the trunk and demand they let her out. She curled into a tight ball, squeezed her eyes shut, and willed the nightmare away, hoping that when she opened her eyes, she’d find out this wasn’t really happening. That she wasn’t trapped in this small, dark space hurtling toward some unknown fate. She counted to ten and opened her eyes to the same pitch-blackness and covered her mouth to hold back a sob.
Over and over the memory of a crime documentary assailed her—never let an abductor get you into a vehicle, because once they do, you are at their mercy. She gave herself another few moments to wallow in fear, then forced herself to take deep, cleansing breaths and relax her body. Yes, she was at their mercy at the moment, but she would do whatever it took to get away. She reached out, searching the trunk for anything she could use as a weapon, and found her purse. Relieved, she dug around inside until she found the tiny penlight she always carried with her. She flicked it on and studied her surroundings.
“All right,” she whispered to herself. “Think, Ange. What do you know that can help?” And then it came to her. All American cars built past 2001 had mandatory emergency release latches for the trunks. She tried not to get her hopes up, but she nearly shouted with joy when she rolled onto her back and there it was, glowing in the dark, the emergency trunk release latch. Now for a weapon. She was afraid to wriggle and contort too much because she didn’t want her abductor to know she was awake, though with the bumpy roads they were driving on, that probably wouldn’t be a problem. She turned back onto her side and directed her light around the trunk’s interior. There was some kind of leather pouch Velcroed to the side wall of the trunk. She tugged at it until it released, and pulled it toward her. Inside the pouch was a flare gun and flares. “Okay, this might be useful.”
As a projectile weapon, there wasn’t much fear of bodily penetration, as flares were fairly low velocity, but burns were a distinct possibility, especially if the flares contained phosphorous, a fact she wouldn’t be able to ascertain unless she fired the thing at someone. Still, it was the only weapon at hand, and it would have to do.
Her chance at escape from the trunk came a short time later when the driver was forced to slow down. From the pounding she was taking, Angelique could only assume they were traveling poorly maintained secondary roads. Also, judging from the way she had to brace herself, they were heading into the mountainous regions. Her gut told her it was now or never, so she grasped the emergency trunk release, pulled, and was stunned by the moonlit landscape before her eyes. She couldn’t help it; a soft moan escaped her. There was jungle on either side of the road.
The driver slammed on the brakes, and Angelique nearly tumbled out onto the pavement. She scrambled over the lip of the trunk, flare gun in hand, the spares stuffed into the pockets of her denim shorts. The driver and passenger flung open their car doors, exiting the vehicle as Angelique backed away from them, thankful for the full moon that allowed her to see her enemy.
Both men were short and stocky with dark skin and hair. She pointed the flare gun at the gap between them as they began to approach her, both men laughing and muttering in Spanish that she was a stupid whore if she thought to defend herself with a flare gun. Squint-eyed with anger, she fired and quickly reloaded.
The driver screamed as the flare set his clothes alight. She turned and fled as his companion slapped at the burning material, running down the uneven road, not daring to look over her shoulder to see if the passenger was pursuing her. On she ran, listening for the sounds of footfalls behind her, tripping once, her momentum making it impossible to break her fall. She got up, and continued to sprint through the moonlit darkness. Hope of escape flickered the farther she got without the sounds of pursuit. Her breath sawed from her chest with harsh puffs, but she kept moving. Her hopes of escape were dashed when headlights illuminated the roadway from behind her. Would her captors run her down? She didn’t hesitate; she veered off the road, skidded down the steep incline on her ass, and plunged into the darkness of the thick vegetation.
Angelique was terrified of the jungle. There were a million different ways to die in the Amazon—snakebite, poisonous insects, jaguars, parasites, and that was just to name a few. Maybe she wouldn’t have to go that far in. Maybe the driver’s partner would leave her to get his friend to a hospital. But he didn’t. He slammed the car into park and started down the incline after her. She ran, but she didn’t get far before he grabbed a handful of her hair and dragged her backward.
“No!” Angelique screeched. “Nooo!”
“Scream all you want, American puta. If Alejandro didn’t want you, I’d kill you and leave you in the jungle to rot. Maybe I do that anyway, eh? Fuck you while I carve you up with my knife. All that blood, how long before you attract the scent of a jaguar? Not long, I think. Now move, or I promise you I will take great pleasure in killing you slowly.” He loosened his grip on her hair and gave her a shove. She stumbled, fell onto all fours, and he gave her vicious kick. “Get up and move, bitch.”
Angelique closed her hand around piece of downed wood and gripped it tightly as she pushed herself to her feet. She turned, a screech erupting from her throat as swung the wood club. And, saints be praised, it connected with her tormentor’s jaw. His head snapped sideways, and he lurched backward, tripping over a stump. Angelique took the brief opportunity to race out of the dank jungle and scramble up the shoulder to the road. If she could just make it to the car. He’d left it running, thinking she’d be easy to catch. If she could get behind the wheel, she might be able to drag the injured man onto the road and save herself yet.
She had almost made it when she was hit from behind. Her captor picked her up and slammed her against the car. He bent her over the back fender, putting his mouth close to her ear.
“I’m going to shove my dick so far up your ass it’ll come out of your mouth,” he snarled, shoving a hand between her legs.
Angelique grunted in pain as he pressed his left arm against her spine. “Your dick isn’t big enough to shove anywhere except your boyfriend’s mouth, asshole.”
He uttered a howl of anger and flipped her onto her back, planting his fist in the center of her face. White-hot pain exploded as her nose, the cartilage crackling from the force of the blow, gushed an eruption of blood and snot. Fuck, that hurt. And he didn’t let up. He rained blows upon her body like a prizefighter, only stopping when his friend called out to him in agony. He let her fall to the roadway as he took a moment to check on his companion, then dragged her bare-legged across the pavement and tossed her into the backseat. “Fix him, puta, or I’ll kill you before we ever reach Colombia.”
* * * *
Acosta was beside himself when he learned Angelique had been snatched off the streets of Rio. “Benito García is behind this, I know it,” he shouted at Emilio.
Emilio steepled his fingers and nodded. “I am afraid you may be right, my friend, but he t
akes his orders from Medina. I have a few calls in to see what I can find out. You must be patient, Mitchell.”
“Fuck that,” Mitch growled, jerking his fingers through his tangled hair. “They can’t have gotten that far, Emilio. I need to move fast. I need to find her before García hurts her.”
Emilio rose from behind his desk and walked around to place a hand on Acosta’s shoulder. “We will find her, Mitchell. This I promise you. Now sit, have a drink, and wait until your friend, Seth, gets here. Hopefully we will have some information by the time he arrives. My man tells me that the chopper has left Ecuador and is en route. He will be here in a couple of hours, eh? Until then we must remain calm.”
Mitch sank into a chair, head in his hands. “If he hurts her. He hates her, Emilio, for humiliating him in public. She’s not a petite little thing, but she’s fine-boned and…I saw what he did to poor Amelita.”
Emilio sat down on a chair beside him. “My friends in the government are checking all hospitals and pharmacies in Brazil. It will take time, but if she needed care or…or she was left somewhere, we will find out, my friend. Likewise, they are checking purchases for medical supplies such as bandages and antiseptics. We will find her, Mitchell, I promise you that. Angelique is like a daughter to me. I will never stop looking for her. Never.”
Mitch gained his feet. “I need some air. If you hear anything…I’ll be in the garden.” He hurried from the room, tormented by the thought of his Angel needing antiseptic and bandages or, worse, lying by the side of the road, dead by the hand of Benito García.
He pushed through the French doors leading to the paved courtyard and made his way to the exotic garden Marina had brought back to life when she’d married Emilio. He knew where he was going, to the very heart of the garden. Angelique had told him once that it was her favorite place on the vast estate. He took a seat on a bench beneath a pergola covered in passionflower vines. One day he would make love to Angelique in this very spot.
If anything happened to her… He was no fool. He knew what could happen to her. García was a vicious son of a bitch who made his living by providing women to FARC and ELN guerillas. But even that wasn’t the worst of it. If the sex traffickers got a look at her, she’d be destined for the harem of some wealthy sheik, never to be seen again.
Beyond Redemption Page 9