Disclaim (Deliver #3)

by Pam Godwin

  He ripped the shirt from neck to thighs, baring round, perky tits and dusky nipples. His pulse kicked up, rushing a torrent of heat to his cock.

  Her free arm shot up and hugged her breasts. “What are you—?”

  “You wouldn’t believe the places I find bugs.” He battled her gaze, never looking away.

  “Bugs?” Lines formed on her forehead.

  “Listening devices, GPS chips, countermeasures… They hide in the tightest crevices.” Matias clasped her inner thighs and spread them apart, relishing the quiver across her skin.

  “You think someone shoved a mic up inside me?” She injected a squeak in her voice and blinked rapidly.

  She might’ve been angling for the scared little girl look, but there wasn’t a hint of worry in her eyes. That meant he wouldn’t find a bug between her legs. Probably not a hymen either, but he’d wait until they were alone to check that.

  “Some chips are implanted in the skin.” He trailed his fingers over her panties, along her ribs, and paused at the undersides of her breasts. “Lower your arm.”

  She heaved out a breath and gripped the armrest, her other hand twisting in its locked position against the chair.

  Wedging his hips between her legs, he took his time reacquainting himself with the velvety texture of her golden skin. She’d bloomed into flawless proportion, the firm weight of her tits perfect handfuls and peaked with taut nipples begging to be clamped.

  There were no incision marks, no bugs, but it was the twitch in her eye that confirmed he was searching the wrong place. A twitch she’d tried to hide as a kid whenever he’d flirted with the older girls who worked in the grove.

  She wasn’t scared. She was pissed.

  Curious how she hadn’t applied the martial arts training she’d learned over the years. He’d given her plenty of opportunities to lock him in a leg choke. Maybe she was waiting to attack him when they were alone, when he wouldn’t have back up. Or perhaps Nico was her only target.

  Matias moved up her chest, hands roaming over the exquisite lines of her collarbones, along her neck, and paused at her pouty lips. “Open.”

  Her jaw lowered, but he didn’t miss the half-second of hesitation or the flicker in her chocolate gaze. An anxious crack in her facade. After all this time, he could still read her.

  He gripped her wrist and held it to the armrest. His other hand flattened her back against the seat.

  “Picar.” He nodded at the doctor. “Dale pues.”

  She whipped her head around and glared at the syringe in Picar’s hand. “What is that? What are you doing?”

  “Something to help you sleep.”

  “No, I don’t need that.” Eyes wild, she bucked in the seat, going nowhere. “Don’t you fucking drug me!”

  Picar leaned over and pierced the needle into her pinned arm, his hands steady despite her thrashing and spitting. When the syringe emptied, he gathered his things and hobbled toward the rear of the cabin.

  Her lungs pumped for air, her expression furious, but her body began to weaken, slumping beneath the weight of the sedative.

  “Se arrepiente de esta. Enorme missst…take.” Her head rolled, and she snapped it upright. “I hate you.”

  “No, you don’t. You hate that you fear me.” He brought his mouth to her ear. “Step inside and show me your teeth.”

  “Youuu chucha mmmwotherfruck…errr.” She blinked heavily, her tongue lolling in her mouth. “Ima gonna…picar yerrr bwalllz off…n’kwill…” Her chin hit her chest. “You…dead.”

  He buckled in her limp body, brushed the hair from her face, and sat back on his heels.

  She’d vacillated between weak and pissed, scared and brave, as if trying maintain her ruse with Nico but falling off-kilter with Matias. He knew she was still uncertain about his role in this.

  He sensed the little girl inside of her warring with the grown woman. The girl longed for him to be the boy she remembered while the woman knew the truth. But her reality was probably confusing the two, leaving her unbalanced, guarded, and consumed with hatred.

  He’d anticipated all of this, and though her hatred felt like a thousand knives twisting in his heart, it was a necessary part of the plan.

  If she thought she hated him now, God help her. She had no idea what was coming.

  DISTORTED SOUNDS STIRRED at the edges of oblivion. A throb penetrated the darkness and hammered through Camila’s skull.

  Matias fucking drugged me!

  She lay on her side, the surface beneath her hard and smooth. No longer on the airplane?

  Shoes scuffed nearby, voices jumbled in and out of her awareness, and…

  Was that a whimper? Another woman?

  Her pulse echoed in her head as she wrestled through the fog of sedation. Her eyelids weighed a hundred pounds, refusing to open. She tried to move her aching arms, but they wouldn’t budge in the cuffs behind her. Focusing on her legs, she gave each a lethargic twitch. No restraints there.

  She could still defend herself. Maybe after she mustered the strength to open her eyelids.

  Where was she? Was Matias with her? The dull murmur of voices continued, but she couldn’t hear him.

  She managed a few sluggish blinks, wincing against shards of light. The waxy scent of wood polish infiltrated her nose, and with it came traces of cigarette smoke and sweat.

  Pushing down the impulse to struggle, she forced herself to remain still, listen, and take inventory. Movement rustled in front of and behind her, but without footsteps or clear voices, she couldn’t pinpoint the number of people, who they were, or how close they stood.

  The whimper had come from the floor behind her. Other captives? The smoke meant there were probably men present, but the scent wasn’t overwhelming. Maybe one smoker?

  Her bare thighs chilled in the air-conditioned room, and the bottom edges of her panties were parked uncomfortably high on her ass. At least, her shirt felt dry and clean against her skin. Wait… Matias had ruined her shirt.

  Long sleeves covered her arms. If Matias had switched her top, what else had he done while she was unconscious? Her fingers curled, rattling the shackles.

  Another whimper sounded behind her, lifting the hairs on her arms. Definitely a second woman. Maybe more. She couldn’t think about what that meant. Not right now.

  Holding her eyes open, she waited for the bright wash of pain to recede. With her cheek pressed to the ground, she took in the wood flooring that stretched out in front of her. A couple yards away, two sets of black boots and a pair of shiny loafers stood still, toes pointed in her direction.

  The voices fell quiet.

  A shiver swept down her back. Was Matias among them? Christ, why couldn’t she lift her head?

  Elegantly carved baseboards encircled the perimeter of the room, broken up by wide doorways bracketed with white pillars. Couches, chairs, and low tables sat off to one side in an array of straight, modern lines and monochromatic fabrics.

  Bands of sunlight striped the floor and warmed the backs of her legs. She’d been unconscious the entire night? Long enough to be transported to Colombia, if that was where they’d taken her.

  Panic rose, quickening her breaths. The GPS chip!

  With focused concentration, she moved her sandpaper tongue against the molar and prodded around the edges of the filling. It still felt weirdly numb but…intact. Hope bottled up in her chest. He hadn’t found it.

  Maybe she wasn’t compromised after all. If Matias believed she’d been captured and stripped of her volition, her plan was still viable. Except there was a nasty, decaying hole in that theory.

  She’d asked Matias to dispose of Larry McGregor. Although she’d never given a name during their phone conversation, it was safe to assume Matias identified the body as the man who was supposed to deliver her. Fuck.

  So he knew she was playing him. Did he tell Nico or was he playing his own game?

  With a heave of determination, she rolled to her back, groaning as her listless body landed o
n her shackled arms.

  Turning her head, she came face to face with a dark-haired woman on her knees. Mouth gagged with a black bandanna and tears streaking from her wide eyes, she couldn’t have been older than thirty.

  She’s my age. Definitely not the prime age for sexual slavery. Maybe these fuckers weren’t picky about who they chose to destroy.

  Camila’s breath emerged on a guttural growl. Her blood boiled, saturating her muscles with heat as she tensed to fight, to defend.

  Too soon. She needed to get her bearings, gather her wits, and reevaluate her plan.

  The woman wore nothing, her beautiful bone structure, swarthy skin, and full-figured curves on display for whoever was in the room. And she wasn’t alone. Another Latina woman knelt beside her, and behind them lay a blonde curled on her side with her eyes squeezed shut. All three were naked, gagged, bound, and reeked with enough sweat and fear to sour Camila’s stomach.

  These women were human beings. They had names, birthdays, and favorite songs. Somewhere out there someone was missing their daughter, sister, friend. Hell, these women were old enough to have children.

  And now, they would only have pain.

  Camila shook with the force of her fury as memories broke open in her mind. The coarse bricks against her back as she hung from chains. The violet wand burning between her legs. The ring gag. Van’s engorged cock. His come in her throat.

  The musty stink of the attic adhered to her nostrils and coated her taste buds. She tried to hack it from her system, coughing and wheezing past the dryness in her mouth.

  She touched the modified molar with her tongue. At least now, the people in her life knew her location. They would save these women if she failed.

  Behind the women, the room spilled into a roofless inner courtyard. Lifting her head, she leaned up on her elbow to see more.

  There were no doorways to block the view. The entire wall was missing. Spanish tiles wrapped around an Olympic-sized infinity pool that merged into the most breathtaking landscape she’d ever seen.

  A dense jungle of broad-leafed tropical trees and heavy undergrowth stretched to the horizon, cascading upwards over sloping hillsides that rippled into mountain ranges that must’ve been hundreds of miles away.

  She’d never been to the basin of South America, had never even ventured outside of Texas, but she was certain she was staring at the Amazon rainforest.

  Dizziness sailed through her, threatening to rob what little strength she’d summoned. Running would be a wasted effort. The compound was likely swarming with armed guards. She wouldn’t even make it out the door. If she did, she wouldn’t survive a night in the jungle.

  Didn’t matter. She hadn’t come here to escape on the first day.

  Pushing up to a sitting position, lightheaded and nauseated, she turned away from the unfathomable view and the terrified women and focused on the enemy.

  A man in a black suit stood a few feet away, his eyes inky and unreadable, with a promise of callousness in his resting scowl. In his mid-thirties maybe, he kept his beard and mustache trimmed as short as the black curls on his skull. He might’ve been attractive if it weren’t for the menacing glare that deepened under the mantle of his thick brows.

  “Welcome to Colombia.” He didn’t grin, didn’t change his expression in any way, but his accented voice confirmed he was Nico Restrepo.

  Matias stood a couple of feet behind Nico. Her heartbeat quivered with both relief and disappointment. He would either help her efforts or try to stop her.

  He wore black fatigues and a white t-shirt, with hands behind his back and his stance wide and confident. He didn’t look at her, but his nostrils flared. He must’ve been aware she was peering at him through her lashes.

  And she was wearing his long-sleeved shirt.

  Why wasn’t she nude and gagged like the other women? Was he protecting her in some way? If that was the case, why was she on the floor, bound with the others, as if awaiting sentencing?

  Whatever was going on, she didn’t want to give them a reason to muzzle her, so she kept her mouth shut as she sat taller and waited for Matias to meet her eyes.

  When he did, he rubbed a palm over his thigh, his golden gaze unbending and infuriating. What was he thinking? Was he trying to give her a warning? A silent command? What? The longer she stared at him, the more something didn’t feel right, but goddamn, she could stare at him for hours.

  Whiskers shadowed his strong jawline. Muscle roped around his forearms and flexed beneath the faded ink of his tattoos. His broad chest, narrow waist, and powerful thighs drew her focus to the considerable package between his legs. If the kiss they’d shared earlier was any indication, she bet he fucked as hard as he looked.

  Heat flooded low in her belly, and her nipples hardened. Why did he have to be so distractingly attractive? She pressed her lips together.

  His face tightened, and he looked away.

  Shit. She shifted her attention to the third man who stood beside him, and her breath strangled.

  The corners of his pale mouth tipped into a smile that had been sewed together with heavy black thread. It was like something out of a Tim Burton film. His nest of wild black hair, ghostly complexion, and purple bruises beneath his eyes only made his needlework smirk more disturbing.

  Were the stitches self-administered or some kind of punishment? Jesus, how did he eat? She shuddered. No wonder he looked deathly anorexic.

  “You already met Matias.” Nico lifted his phone and nodded his chin at the Goth guy. “This is Frizz. Don’t let his youth fool you. He has a supernatural talent with sharp objects.”

  Her lips tingled as she imagined him attacking with a lightning fast needle. And what did Nico mean by already met Matias? Did he not know they grew up together? If Matias was hiding things from him, maybe she could use that to her advantage.

  “I have an impatient buyer in the pipeline.” Nico swiped the screen of his phone, wearing a scowl that bordered on boredom. “He’s bald, fat, and looking for love.” He rolled his lips. “Well, maybe not love. Let’s call it commitment.”

  Who the hell was he talking to? Matias stared at the floor. Frizz’s threaded grin was aimed at no one in particular. The three women behind her sniveled and shook in their chains.

  Camila returned her attention to Nico, her pulse beating a frantic tattoo.

  “I need to sell one of you.” Nico cocked his head, his gaze flat, dead, as it rested on Camila. “I really don’t care who, so you tell me. Which one?”

  Her mind spun, trying to make sense of his question. He wanted her to choose a girl to sell. A tremor bowled through her, rocking her body. No fucking way.

  Nico snapped his fingers, and Frizz stepped forward.

  Dread swelled in her gut as Frizz’s emaciated frame ambled through the room. He twirled a finger through his crazy hair and—with the stitches just loose enough to pucker his lips—he whistled something eerily cheerful.

  “You’re not getting it, niñita.” Matias lifted his head and met her eyes. “If Nico tells you to do something and you ignore him, he simply cannot let that slide.”

  The brown-nosing hijo de puta! How could he not see this as anything but horrifically fucked up?

  She twisted around, her heart lodged in her stomach as she followed Frizz’s movements. What’s he going to do? Oh God, what is he whistling?

  When he crouched next to the blonde behind her, his creepy tune cut off. With a sick stomach, she suddenly recognized the melody as the Kill Bill whistle.

  Frizz wrenched the blonde off the floor by her hair and hauled her over his knee, face up. In the next breath, he held a curved surgeon’s needle above her frozen nude body. Black string threaded through the needle’s eyehole and ended at a knot that pulled tight against her lower eyelid, which he held pinched between his fingers and pulled away from her eye.

  The woman screamed against her gag, her eyes bulging and her lashes batting against the taut thread.

  Camila’s stomach t
urned, and saliva flooded her mouth. How the hell had he pierced and threaded her skin that fast?

  “Stop!” She swung back toward Nico, hands jerking against the cuffs as she grappled for a way to stall them. “If you…you disfigure her, you can’t sell her.”

  Nico lowered into an armchair against the back wall and lit a cigarette, scratching his trim beard.

  “Lucky for us…” Matias approached her, his lean, arrogant stride twisting the hatred inside her. “Mr. Bald-fat-and-committed isn’t a picky guy. He only requested tight holes. We can close up the slits he won’t be fucking.”

  All three women burst into pleading, wailing sobs. She wanted to join them, to give in to the hopelessness burning up the back of her throat. But she couldn’t. She refused to surrender.

  “We’d love to keep all of you.” Matias circled behind her.

  She shifted to her knees, following him with her eyes.

  “But we can’t run a business without profits, can we?” Matias ruffled the hair on the women he passed and returned to stand before Camila. “Times are hard, and to stay competitive, we have to sell the merchandise. It’s basic economics. Supply and demand. I don’t make the rules.”

  Every word he said fractured something inside her. The demon in front of her wore a Matias-shaped mask, but beneath it lay the soulless reflection of pure evil.

  She searched his eyes for a phantom echo of the boy she once knew and found no remorse. Not a hint of goodness in the fiendish smirk he so easily donned on his too-attractive face. It left her feeling more cold and alone than her darkest nights in Van’s attic.

  This wasn’t him. Matias was gone.

  Unbidden, a trail of fire crawled up her throat, and her eyes blurred with tears.

  “Deciding someone’s fate can be taxing.” He gripped her chin, squeezing painfully. “All those messy emotions get in the way. It sucks. But it’s time to woman up and choose.”

  Her skin crawled where he touched her, and she jerked her head away.

  Frizz held the blonde over his bent knee, his hand poised to finish the stitch over her eye. Fuck him to hell and back.