Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 107118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
“So you killed her?” I whispered, nausea fighting its way up my throat.
“I’ve killed for less.”
Hands grabbed me and dragged me from Cowboy. I fought and fought them until a fist swiped across my face. I tried to keep consciousness, but when the second blow came, it was useless. The last thing I remembered seeing was Cowboy being dragged behind me . . . and a light in the house, with shadows searching for the second part of my heart.
Please, I found myself begging Hades of all people. Don’t let them find him. He’s been through enough. And as the van door shut and darkness engulfed me, I added, Ky . . . please let Ky find us again.
*****
I opened my eyes, bright sunlight making me squint. My head ached, my jaw throbbing as if I had been hit. I tried to push the fog from my brain. Visions and images came crashing to my mind like a film reel coming loose at a drive-in movie. Hush . . . Clara . . . horses . . . Pablo . . . Garcia . . . Garcia . . .. Garcia . . .
I shot up from whatever I was lying on. My head whipped around the room. White walls, white tiled floors, and a familiar white bed.
My hand hit my chest. I fought for breath. My lungs were failing to receive the memo that I needed air. My palms fell forward and hit the mattress. The smell of sandalwood.
Juan . . .
I moved off the bed, wincing at a pain in my arm. I glanced down and saw a pinprick on my bicep. Drugs. I had been drugged. Then my eyes traveled south.
I choked on a desperate cry. Red. I was dressed in a red dress. “I like you in red, bella,” Juan said on our first date. “You were wearing a red bikini on the beach. It was what drew me to you.” He smiled and toyed with the strap of my dress. “Red is the color of a confident woman. I don’t see too many of those in my line of work.” He leaned in and kissed me, stealing my breath. When he pulled away, he said, “I have become quite mesmerized by you, mi rosa negra.” He kissed me again. He smiled against my lips. “I think I will always keep you in red.”
I clawed at the straps. I had just moved them down my arm when a door opened behind me. I froze, my eyes locked on a painting on the wall, of a villa somewhere in the Mexican countryside. The door shut, and as the footsteps came closer, I knew they’d belong to a pair of Prada shoes, shined to perfection. I knew the man in them would be six-foot-four, have a thick crop of dark hair, and have the most handsome eyes and smile I’d ever seen.
And I knew that man was the devil incarnate.
The bed dipped, and I froze. I didn’t even blink as I felt warm breath drift over my shoulder. As I smelled sandalwood . . . and as hands took the straps that were hanging down my arms and lifted them back to my shoulders.
I began to shake, one limb at a time. Wherever he touched became a mass of shivers, my strength buckling in his heavy presence. “Bella,” he whispered. I closed my eyes. The voice that had haunted my nightmares for years was suddenly alive. “You still smell the same.” He ran his stubbled cheeks along the back of my neck. Every hair I had stood on end.
His hands ran down my arms. Then, he took a deep breath and firmly said, “Turn your head.”
Too frozen too move, I couldn’t do as he asked. Tired of waiting, Juan spun me around. I kept my eyes downwards, and I heard the smile in his voice. “Look up, bella. Don’t force me to hurt you.”
His thick Mexican accent felt like thorns stabbing into my ears. Nevertheless, I raised my eyes. Pure fear ran through my veins when his face came into view. I sucked in the breath that I thought would never return. He smiled, his eyes glazed. I knew that look.
It was the look he gave me when I first met him on the beach.
But I had been mesmerized by his eyes when I was seventeen. By his smile and lean, toned body; his accent that, at the time, I believed was the most beautiful accent in the world . . . until I heard Cajun French sailing from the mouths of two men whose smiles were genuine and pure. One free, one guarded, but both striking lightning into my soul.
“Where is he?” I tilted my chin in defiance.
Juan’s smile fell. His head tipped to the side, assessing me. He ran his tongue over his teeth and shook his head. “I see,” he said and got off the bed. I kept my eyes on him. I never let them move. I knew how he worked. One moment he was nice; the next, a true monster. He dusted off his jacket. “I suppose you are asking about the biker in the Stetson?” It felt as though my heart stopped beating as I waited to hear about Cowboy. As I waited, watching Juan’s eyes for any sign of deception, to find out if Cowboy was alive. I nodded, and waited . . . Juan leaned forward, and the devil he disguised with good looks and designer suits flashed through. “Detained for now . . .” He stood and straightened his tie. “But won’t be breathing too much longer.”