Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 80139 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80139 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
“Shut the fuck up, you cunt.”
That shuts me up, at least for a moment. I hate that word. But I hate this asshole more. And I learned long ago that you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Pedro. Pedro Zabala.”
“Nice to meet you,” I lie.
He grunts.
“What’s the other guy’s name?” I ask. “The one who was here before.”
He doesn’t respond. Instead, he stomps toward me, grabs me, and throws me down on the cot.
“Ouch!” I yell.
“Shut up.” He hovers over me, frisking me. “Got to make sure you’re not armed.”
You’d think they’d have figured that out while I lay unconscious on the flight here, but it’s all too clear in a moment why he’s “checking” me. He spends a lot of time on my breasts, squeezing them and pinching them. Then he slides his hand underneath the waistband of my yoga pants and…
I close my eyes. Breathe. Pretend you’re somewhere else.
Does he really think I’m hiding a weapon in my cooch?
No, this is just a blatant violation.
When it’s over, he leaves without a word.
And I break into tears.
10
CRUZ
I sit in the lounge outside Vega’s inner office. The room is all marble and dark glass, very luxurious. Low leather chairs. A bar cart stocked with liquor no one touches unless invited. Floor-to-ceiling windows that don’t open.
He’s keeping me waiting.
It’s a favorite tactic of his, to give me the message that I’d better never forget who’s in control.
Fine.
The door down the hall opens. I don’t have to look up to know who it is.
Zabala.
I feel him before I see him. That oily presence. That swagger that comes from knowing he can do whatever the hell he wants.
I still don’t look at him right away. I let him come to me. Let him think I’m not paying attention.
“Moreno,” he says. “Didn’t know you were back from your little errand.”
Now I look.
He’s grinning like he just walked out of something he enjoyed a little too much.
“What have you been up to?” I ask evenly.
He smiles, that sleazy grin I’ve come to hate. “Just finished with our new guest.”
I swallow down nausea.
Robin.
What did he do to her?
Zabala has a reputation of “handling” prisoners in ways that go beyond orders. I’ve warned him before. More than once. He doesn’t care. The only way to stop a man like him is to put him in the ground.
And I can’t do that. Not yet, anyway. He’s loyal to Vega, and I… I owe him. He got me a passport a few years ago so I could see Maria Delgado in Brazil.
I lean forward. “You weren’t assigned to her.”
He shrugs, careless. “You weren’t here.”
“I am now.”
“But you weren’t an hour ago. Someone had to give her food.”
I hold his gaze. “That’s my responsibility.”
“Relax.” He lets out a short laugh. “I was just going above and beyond.”
The hairs on the back of my neck rise. “Yeah?” I ask. “And how did that go?”
He starts giggling.
A grown man—one who is known for his cruelty—is seriously giggling.
The sound grates on my nerves.
“You should’ve seen her,” he says. “All proud when I walked in. Like she thought she still had some dignity left.”
I go rigid. “What did you do, Zabala?”
He tilts his head. “I helped her adjust. Told her to eat.”
“And?”
He leans closer, lowering his voice like he’s sharing a joke. “She didn’t want to. So I made it easier for her.”
I don’t ask how. Part of me doesn’t want to know what he did. Whatever it was, I want to break his face.
Right here. Right now.
I force myself to breathe.
In.
Out.
I can’t afford to lose control. Not here. Not in front of him.
I sit back slowly as if none of this matters. “Funny,” I say.
“It was,” he agrees.
I stare at him. “Is that all you did?”
“No,” he says. “Figured I’d make sure she understood her situation.”
I swallow a lump in my throat. “How?”
“Got a few squeezes in.”
My vision goes red.
My body moves before I can fully think it through. My shoulders tighten as I shift my weight forward, closing my hands into fists.
I’m going to hit him.
I don’t care what it costs.
I don’t care who sees.
I don’t—
“Gentlemen.”
Fuck. Adriana’s voice.
I unclench my fists.
Zabala straightens.
I turn.
Adriana de la Fuente stands at the end of the hall, one hand resting lightly against the doorframe. Impeccable as always. Dark hair pulled back. Tailored dress that looks effortless and costs more than most people make in a year.
She looks at Zabala. Then at me. Back at Zabala.
“Señor Moreno,” she says, her tone measured. “Señor Vega is indisposed this morning. You’ll be meeting with me instead.”
“No problem,” I say.
Adriana nods once. “Walk with me.”
I stand. I don’t look at Zabala again as I follow her down the hall to her office. But I feel his eyes on my back. Zabala doesn’t miss much. He’s cruel and observant. What he lacks in intelligence he makes up for in instinct.