The Bargain

by Lisa Cardiff

  Whispered fingertips along my arms.

  A soft humming.

  And, like magic, oblivion claimed me.

  Chapter Thirteen

  A draft of cool air roamed over my skin when the blanket lifted from my body. Instantly alert, I cracked one eyelid. Moonlight filtered into the room, casting eerie shadows on the stucco walls.

  Ryker lifted his shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor, revealing smooth, golden skin. Funny, I had sex with Ryker, but I never saw him naked. I didn’t even know if he had hair on his chest. He didn’t. He had a faint line of hair starting beneath his navel and disappearing under the waistband of his swim trunks. Apparently, he planned to go swimming and leave me in his room.

  I closed my eyes again, partly because I didn’t want him to realize I was awake, and partly because I wanted to shut him out of my mind and my life. His feet shuffled over the floor, and then I finally heard the sound I was waiting for…the click of the door. I was alone in his bedroom.

  I stalled for several long minutes to see if he’d return. The deafening silence of the room and villa echoed unnaturally in my ears. In fact, I could almost hear the tropical wind as it caressed the trees outside the window. Cautiously, I sat up, taking in the luxurious surroundings. I hardly noticed them when Ryker carried me here hours ago, but their warmth seemed strangely out of place given what little I knew of the Vargas Cartel. For some reason, I thought the decorations should reflect the ruthless nature of its inhabitants.

  I ran my hand over the cut on my neck. It still throbbed, but less than when it happened. And that was a blessing, because I intended to seize my moment of freedom and disappear into the night.

  Tightening my robe around my waist, I walked to the bathroom in search of my shoes and my dress. I scooped up the wet, shredded dress from the tile floor, and I slipped on my sandals. I shuddered envisioning roaming the wilderness wearing it. I’d prefer being stark naked. I ripped a strip of material from the hem, balled up the dress, and tossed it in the direction of the trashcan under the floating travertine countertop.

  Using the torn fabric, I crafted a headband to keep my hair out of my eyes. Normally, I liked the way my long bangs framed my face, but I needed to see every detail if I planned to outthink and outrun Ryker and his band of merry murderers.

  Stalking back into the bedroom, I flung open Ryker’s dresser drawer, tossing clothes on the floor until I found something suitable to wear. I slipped on a plain, black t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts with a drawstring. As much as I hated to take anything linking me to him, I’d wear Ryker’s clothes if it meant I’d have a chance to escape. And that faint spicy, sea salt scent lingering on his clothes could go fuck itself.

  Once I had clothes to wear, I searched the entire contents of his dresser looking for a weapon. Not finding anything in his dresser, I moved to his nightstand. Except for a lone Bible, the nightstand was empty. The irony of finding a Bible in his nightstand didn’t escape me.

  Maybe Ryker spent his nights confessing his lengthy list of sins as he recited verses of forgiveness. Momentarily defeated, I sat down on the bed. I needed something useful. My mind rattled through the options: a knife, a bat, a metal closet rod—and then I remembered my dad kept a gun tucked in the side rails of his bed frame.

  Sliding to the floor on all fours, I ran my hand along the side of the mattress. Bingo. Cautiously, I pulled the gun from its hiding place. A Glock 26. I pumped my free arm in the air. Thank you, Dad, for making me take a gun safety course before I went to college.

  Clenching the gun in one hand, I pointed the barrel toward the corner, making sure to keep my finger away from the trigger guard. I didn’t need to shoot myself in the foot. Ryker would probably let me bleed to death. I pressed the magazine release button and pulled out the magazine. Yes. It was my lucky day. The gun was loaded. I slid the magazine back into the gun and stood up. Showtime.

  With as little noise as possible, I turned the doorknob, and inch-by-painfully-slow-inch I cracked the door open. When I didn’t hear anything, I slipped out the door with my back pressed to the wall.

  The plaster walls were humid and sticky, sweating against my skin and clothes as I slunk through the hallway. My ears strained, processing and interpreting every creak, shift, and murmur in the otherwise unnaturally silent villa.

  Then, I heard hushed voices. At least two men hovered near the end of the hallway, speaking Spanish. Not for the first time, I cursed myself for not continuing with my Spanish classes after high school. I closed my eyes concentrating on the words, but they blurred together. I heard Senator Deveron’s name and the word hijo, which meant son. Other than that, I couldn’t decipher anything.

  I tried to keep my breathing slow and quiet, but my heart had a mind of its own. It thudded wildly in my chest, and my mind flew through my options. None of them were good. I could sneak back into Ryker’s room and let fate take its course, or I could wait until the men relocated to another room…or found me. Ryker’s words about Ignacio being a businessman first and selling me into the sex trade floated through my mind, and I shivered. Fuck no. I couldn’t stay here. I had a chance to escape, and I needed to seize it with both hands.

  Pointing the gun toward the end of the hall, I remained flush against the wall. Sweat coated my hairline, and my entire body shook so hard, I had to support the gun with both hands to keep it steady. Time crawled, and just when I thought my heart fully intended to burst in my chest, the voices faded then disappeared entirely. My feet whispered down the corridor, simulating a delicate ballet prance.

  One step.

  Two more steps.

  Five steps.

  I counted every step, feeding off the power and control each one offered.

  When I reached the end of the hall, I peeked around the corner. Empty. Thank God. Finally, some luck had flipped in my favor. I didn’t hesitate for one more second. Leading with my gun, I tiptoed into the vaulted living room.

  My eyes skated over the large, overstuffed white sofa, the rattan chairs, and finally, the long wall of glass doors at the back of the room. There it was…freedom, dangling less than fifty feet in front of me. I could do this. I could really escape.

  The thought injected adrenaline into my previously sluggish veins. I ran, hoping, praying, and pleading with every stride that the doors weren’t connected to an alarm system—and if they were, that some overworked soul had forgotten to set it. My sandaled feet slapped against the tiled floor, echoing off the voluminous beamed ceiling.

  My momentum nearly propelled me into the wall of glass, but at the last minute, my foot clipped a chair leg. I lost my footing and fell to my knees. My head snapped forward, and my teeth collided with the tip of my tongue. The distinct copper taste of blood flavored my mouth.

  Shit.

  Shit.

  Shit.

  Afraid to move, afraid to breathe, my eyes tracked the shadows through the room waiting for someone to find me. Long minutes had passed before I had enough courage to rise to my feet. This time I didn’t rush it. I twisted the lock to the right as slow as possible to minimize the sound. When I heard a click, I expelled every last molecule of air from my lungs and pushed the door open.

  I didn’t wait for the alarm or any other sign of life from the villa. I ran, not even bothering to close the door behind me. Almost immediately, sultry jungle air wrapped around my skin like a wet blanket, strangling my chest and weighing down my steps.

  Twigs snapped under my feet, the dense foliage scraped my skin, and rocks infiltrated the hard soles of my sandals. Without the benefit of any light from the villa, I could barely see five feet in front of me, but I didn’t hesitate. For the first time in over a week, I was free, and I refused to stop running until I’d put a couple miles between the villa and me.

  At home, I jogged eight- to ten-minute miles every other day, but that was in a park with paved pathways and relatively linear routes. Given the rough terrain, I needed to run at least thirty minutes before I slowed
to a walk. That might give me the lead I needed to find a town or someplace with a phone.

  What seemed like an eternity of cuts, scrapes, and one nearly twisted ankle later, my body rebelled, refusing to continue for one more second. With my lungs burning and my chest heaving, I stopped, bending at the waist, cursing my need for water. My throat was so dry I could hardly swallow.

  Stupid.

  Fucking stupid.

  Beyond fucking stupid.

  Disbelief ricocheted through me. I hadn’t bothered with any supplies except a gun. I couldn’t exactly drink the bullets. Silently, I cursed my dad for not forcing me to take a wilderness survival course in addition to the gun safety class. With my limited knowledge of the area, I’d be lucky if I ever found a road, much less one that led to somewhere other than the depths of this godforsaken jungle. Most likely, I’d wander further and further into the jungle until I collapsed dead from exhaustion, and whatever wildlife frequented this area would eventually pick my bones clean. I shuddered as I imagined rotting away in the jungle.

  I rested on a nearby rock and surveyed my surroundings. What was that phrase my dad always used? Work smarter not harder. Yep, that was it. It was exactly what I needed to do. Now that I had put some distance between the villa and myself, I needed to open my eyes, take in my surrounding, and plan my escape.

  Complaining wouldn’t get me anywhere. My stomach rumbled, my mouth resembled cotton, my feet throbbed, and my eyelids weighed a thousand pounds. So what? I was free.

  Squinting, I tried to scout a landmark or trail leading anywhere but back to the villa. I didn’t see much of anything except dark shadows and more trees and underbrush. But then, I heard a noise. It sounded like the low hum of a convoy of trucks or other motorized vehicles.

  My body froze. For a few beats, the frantic pounding of my heart muffled whatever I thought I heard, but it didn’t last long. The hum of vehicles turned into a muted roar, drowning out the sounds of the night and my thundering heart. I tried to convince myself my mind was playing a trick on me, but that didn’t last longer than a few seconds. The faint glow of headlights in the distance lit up the inky black sky. I counted them.

  One set.

  Two sets.

  Three sets.

  Four sets.

  Hunger, thirst, and tiredness forgotten, I sprinted in the opposite direction of the lights, eating up the terrain one giant stride at a time. I didn’t know if the convoy had anything to do with the Vargas Cartel, but I immediately dismissed the idea of waiting around until I figured it out.

  The ground was slippery beneath my feet. Branches whipped my face, probably leaving marks, but cuts and scratches healed, and they wouldn’t kill me. On the other hand, the Vargas Cartel or any other criminal element roaming the jungle in the dead of the night might do exactly that. I suspected Ignacio’s little slice along my neck would be tame in comparison to what would happen if they captured me again.

  Not more than ten or so minutes later, I tripped over an exposed tree root, and I flew face first into the dirt. Every inch of my body ached, and bone-deep shooting pains radiated through my ankle. I wiggled it. Holy shit. I bit back a scream. It killed. I wasn’t going anywhere tonight unless I crawled on all fours, and even then, I wouldn’t get far. During the fall, tiny rocks had torn the skin of my knees and palms.

  I rolled to my side and cradled my body against a tree trunk. Dirt and leaves coated my skin, and as I closed my eyes, I said a little prayer that it would be enough camouflage to conceal me for a while.

  I needed to rest for a few minutes…

  Maybe an hour.

  Chapter Fourteen

  My eyes fluttered open briefly and then closed again. I was hot. No, hot didn’t adequately describe it. I kicked off the damp sheet smothering my body and flipped onto my stomach, but the position didn’t reduce my discomfort.

  My body vibrated with pain. My stomach felt empty, and my eyes were dry and gritty. I groaned, rolling onto my back again, not opening my eyes.

  “Are you in pain?”

  I shot up in the bed, instantly awake. I scanned the room, but nothing looked familiar. Transparent netting hung from the ceiling, enclosing the bed in a haze of billowing white material. Bright light poured in through the open windows, and shadows of palm trees danced along the light yellow plaster walls. It looked like it was still morning, but I couldn’t be sure.

  And then I saw him. “Ryker?” The words came out strained and barely recognizable to my own ears.

  He stood up from a dark brown wooden bench beside the bed and pushed aside the netting. His eyes scrutinized every inch of my body. “You should sleep longer,” he finally said.

  I shook my head, trying to remember how I ended up here. I remembered falling in the jungle and deciding to rest. I suppose I fell asleep instead. “How?” My voice cracked.

  “I found you.”

  I didn’t respond. Instead, my mind circled repeatedly, chasing down my lost memories. I had a vague impression of being in the back seat of a jeep-like vehicle. The sky was just starting to transform from black to gray as my body rolled from side to side with each jarring bump, but beyond that…I didn’t remember anything. I nodded. “Where am I?” The rudimentary furniture didn’t resemble anything I’d seen in the villa, and the room had a window, so I wasn’t in another windowless prison cell on the villa grounds.

  He ignored my question and sat on the bed next to my hip. I scrambled away, but his hand came down hard on my thigh, stopping my retreat. Heat rushed through me, and goose bumps erupted on my leg despite my determination to remain unaffected by him. No. Not again.

  His eyes dropped to my leg, and he smiled a lush, upward curve of his lips. My breath caught in my throat. His touch wasn’t particularly predatory or sexual, but my body didn’t get the message. Alert and standing at attention, my body wanted him even as my mind screamed a loud, resounding, no fucking way.

  “Are you thirsty?”

  I wanted to tell him no, but I was so thirsty and hungry I caved. I nodded. “And hungry.”

  A lazy grin floated across his lips, and my treasonous heart fluttered with mischief. “Good. Breakfast should arrive in a few minutes.” His hand roamed down my leg to my knee and then my foot. Red lashes and purples bruises blanketed my legs from my knees to my feet. “You didn’t answer my question. Are you in pain?”

  “I’ll live,” I said, snatching my foot out of his hand. His touch scrambled my brain and turned my thoughts inside out. “Well, maybe not now that you found me,” I amended with a shrug of one of my shoulders. “Are you going to kill me? Punish me?”

  His eyebrows lifted, but he didn’t respond because someone with less than perfect timing knocked on the door. I wanted to know what he planned to do to me.

  “That’s your breakfast.” He stood up, but after few steps, he paused with his hand on the doorknob. “You can scream or say whatever you want when I open the door. It won’t matter. This bed and breakfast is under the protection of the Vargas Cartel.”

  I scrambled out of the bed. “And what does that mean?”

  “That they exist because we let them exist.” My blank look didn’t escape his notice. “The owners of the bed and breakfast pay the Vargas Cartel a monthly quota or tax to ensure their business isn’t disturbed. The owners won’t jeopardize the arrangement to save some random American girl.”

  “Like in the old movies about Al Capone where businesses had to pay for protection from the mafia.”

  “Exactly. The Vargas Cartel taxes bars, discos, and hundreds of other small businesses.” Ryker shrugged. “It makes the businesses complicit in the crime network and secures the cartel’s territory.”

  I folded my arms across my chest, as my optimism of finding help dwindled with every word that left Ryker’s mouth. “How did you explain showing up last night with an unconscious woman, or is that a normal occurrence for you?”

  He glanced over his shoulder. “I told them you’re my girlfriend.”

&n
bsp; “Asshole,” I mumbled under my breath, but my insult didn’t faze him. He chuckled as he opened the door.

  “Ricardo. Buenas tardes,” Ryker said when he opened the door. “Gracias por complaciente mi novia y yo.”

  “¡Por supuesto!”

  ”Look, Hattie. He brought you food,” Ryker said, glancing over his shoulder before he returned his attention to Ricardo. “Gracias.”

  The man smiled at me, a wide welcoming smile, displaying a gold-capped front tooth. “Su novio es hermosa.”

  “Si, gracias.”

  Ryker pivoted to me again. “Say thank you to Ricardo.”

  “Why?”

  “He said you’re beautiful.”

  I folded my arms across my chest. “I guess he’s into the dirty, unkempt look.”

  “You look fine. I cleaned you up last night.”

  I gawked at Ricardo. He had a huge smile on his face. He probably thought he’d earned a lifetime of favors by accommodating the son of the head of the Vargas Cartel and his girlfriend. “Gracias,” I muttered, trying to smile, but I think it came out more like a grimace given the look on his face.

  Ryker handed me the tray of food. “Will this work?”

  “I prefer a lighter breakfast, but it will work.” It was a lie. I’d eat my hand if I had to, but I hated accepting anything from him, even if I was desperate.

  Ryker raised one eyebrow. “Lighter?” he questioned.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. I usually eat yogurt with chia seeds and fresh fruit.”

  “I don’t think they have that,” he snapped before accompanying Ricardo out of the room, closing the door behind him.

  The room didn’t have a table, so I sat down on the bed and surveyed the food—eggs, toast, ham, and freshly squeezed orange juice. It would do just fine.

  By the time Ryker returned, I had scraped my plate clean. As he sat next to me on the bed, I kept my eyes lowered, staring at my bare plate and empty glass like the answer to the universe would be found somewhere in the crumbs or film of orange liquid coating the bottom of my glass.