Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 88918 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88918 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
“Liv explained the risks.” Van sat back, legs sprawled wide, taking up too much space. “I’m not going to Caracas to die, Tate.”
Bullheaded dumbass. He pinched the bridge of his nose, warring with the emotions that always accompanied interactions with Van Quiso. Tate forgave his former captor years ago, but had he ever admitted that aloud? Part of him wanted to hang onto the grudge, because what kind of man would he be if he made allowances for the monster who raped him?
The other part of him recognized this as what it was. An opportunity to wipe the slate clean. He wouldn’t forget those weeks in Van’s attic. He couldn’t. But he could hold out an olive branch to the man.
“I forgive you.” Tate lowered his hand and met Van’s eyes. “For all of it. I mean it. You. Are. Forgiven. So take your wife home and sleep easier knowing one less person in the world wants to castrate you.”
“Yeah? Well, here’s the thing.” Van plucked the toothpick from his mouth and pointed it at him. “I’m not doing this for forgiveness or preservation or whatever rose-colored reason you concocted in your head. I’m doing it because it’s the right thing to do, and I have the experience to impact how this turns out.” He turned his silver-bladed eyes to Cole. “When do we leave?”
CHAPTER 4
Deafening screams of agony chased Lucia out of the basement, sharpening the cramps that plagued her insides. She yanked off the balaclava face mask and dropped it in the hall.
Though she’d done nothing more than operate the camera this morning, she stayed long after the recording ended, ensuring she was the last one to leave the chamber. Tiago’s stooges enjoyed forcing themselves on the female captives, but it was Lucia’s ass on the line if the victim was too broken or lifeless to exchange for ransom.
The click-click of her heels along the spiral stone stairwell conjured power and confidence. She tried hard to exude that perception, even when she was alone, but she couldn’t stop herself from gripping the handrail and using its support for the upward climb.
Fuck, it hurts.
It always started with a rush of saliva over her tongue. Nausea and excruciating stomach pain came next. Then the loss of coordination and the tingling sensation of impending paralysis, like now.
Her ankle twisted, and she righted it, dragging herself around the final bend on the stairs. The doorway to the main floor came into view, and standing just beyond it was Tiago.
She breathed a sigh of relief.
His authoritative stance, hard lines of his lean body, unflinching intensity of his gaze—all of it embodied strength. Strength she so badly needed to scale those last few steps.
Her pulse weakened, and her legs wobbled as she struggled to close the distance. Tiago didn’t move, didn’t stretch out a hand to help her. He simply watched her, his disarmingly handsome features void of emotion.
When she finally reached him, she handed over the burner phone with the video footage from this morning. He turned, passing it off to one of his lackeys.
The video would be sent to the victim’s father, who would watch a faceless man rape and kick his daughter repeatedly with steel-toed boots. The woman was an American college student, whose vacation was cut short when she stumbled into the wrong alley. If her father didn’t pay the demand, her pretty face would be blown away by a shotgun.
“You look pale.” Tiago brushed the backs of his fingers across Lucia’s cheek with aching tenderness.
If he didn’t have an armed guard standing beside him, she would’ve drawn one of the Berettas from her waistband and shot him in the face.
“I feel worse than usual today.”
“I thought you might.” He offered her a bent elbow and stroked the hand she curled around the crook of his arm. “I’ll take care of you. I always do, don’t I?”
“Yes.” She canted against him as her abdomen clenched through a wave of pain. “Thank you.”
He wrapped an arm around her waist and led her through the dank halls toward his bedroom. Two armed guards flanked them. Others loitered in the doorways, lounge areas, and dining hall. All men.
Tiago kept women in the compound to entertain his gang, but the girls weren’t free to wander. Only she had that luxury. Because he knew she wouldn’t flee.
She leaned against his side and did her best to match his long-legged gait. Raised by Colombian parents, she could speak Spanish, but Tiago always reverted to English with her. He did so now as he told her about the new recruitments he hired, the shipment of high-velocity weapons he acquired—stole—and the recent intel he gathered. He knew most of the local private bodyguards, and when they felt they were underpaid, they gave him the information needed to kidnap their employers. In return, they received a cut of the ransom.