Page 51 of Sold on Them

How did this go to hell?

I had the best weekend I’ve had in a long time, and then Damon was coming over to my place so I didn’t have to be alone—so we didn’t have to be alone. The only thing that would’ve been more perfect is if the other three men were there as well.

But somehow I was drugged and kidnapped, brought to some random place, and then tortured. Now, there’s a fucking machete pressed to my throat.

What. The. Fuck.

I just can’t believe this is where I’m at. This is not something that happens in real life, and it’s definitely not something that happens to me. I wish it was a nightmare, and that I’d wake up in my bed any moment now—but I know this is all real.

I just need it to end.

Chapter Twenty

Royce

Keeping my face blank is harder than it should be as I stare down Carlos. This fucking bastard has a machete to Mackenzie’s throat and wants to tell us a fucking story.

I don’t know if he’s just absolutely bonkers or if he’s realized he has no chance of making it out of here alive, but he certainly seems set on telling us why he did what he did. I can’t exactly complain about it because it’s the proof we need to clear Parker’s name. What this idiot doesn’t seem to know is that we’re filming everything that’s happening right now. As soon as we get Mackenzie away from him, we’ll be taking his phone and calling his boss so we can send him the video.

So I really don’t mind him spilling his guts—I just wish he’d stop holding a knife to her throat.

My eyes flicker to Mackenzie for a moment, anger rushing through me at the tears streaming down her cheeks as she trembles in his hold. She’s petrified, and there’s not a damn thing any of us can do about it until he steps away from her.

“Fine,” I spit out. “Tell us your story.”

“What the f—“ The words burst out of Damon, but he’s cut off by Cormac’s elbow slamming into his stomach. He grunts, bending over as he attempts to catch his breath.

“Shut the fuck up,” Cormac hisses from the corner of his mouth. “We want him to forget you’re here. Take the gun from my waistband. You know how to shoot, right?”

“I do,” he murmurs, shifting so he’s hidden by Cormac’s bulk as he grabs the gun.”

Cormac’s nod is almost imperceptible. “Good. I want you to keep behind us and look for an opening. You’re shooting to injure, not kill. But make fucking sure it’s not going to kill Mackenzie.”

“Got it.”

“Santos and I grew up together. My dad was his dad’s right hand man, so it just made sense for me and Santos to be close. As we got older, we got closer. Apparently, it’s not acceptable for the head of the cartel’s son to be bisexual.” Carlos laughs, his free hand lifting to the scar across the left side of his face. “When his father walked in on us, he lost his shit, and I almost lost my eye. He sent me away to do some grunt work for the next year and arranged a marriage for Santos.

“When I came home, I thought for sure that Santos would welcome me with open arms. He obviously didn’t love his wife—how could he when so little time had passed? But he could barely look at me. Told me some bullshit about wanting to honor his marriage vows and that he thought he could love Rosalie. Thatthey could be happy. I figured it was just because of his dad, but when he died, Santos didn’t change his mind. He still didn’t want to be with me.

“I didn’t understand—I still don’t. With his father dead and gone, there was no one standing in our way. Except Rosalie, I guess. So I took her out of the equation. He loved her more than I thought he did, and her death broke him. It never occurred to me that he could love her even more deeply than he loved me. After all, he was raised to be uncaring. I guess that was something his father just couldn’t beat out of him. I should’ve realized, but I didn’t. It wasn’t something I could’ve anticipated. While I expected to be nursing his broken heart, I was sent to kill the man who I framed. It’s kind of funny when you think about it.”

Parker scoffs. “Yeah, I don’t think anything about that story is funny, but to each their own and all that shit.”

Clearing my throat, I draw Carlos’s attention to me. “Now that you’ve told us your story, what are you expecting to happen? Do you think we’ll feel sorry for you and let you go? Because that’s not happening.”

Carlos lifts his arms to the side in the air, the machete finally away from Mackenzie’s neck. I take a moment to check on the cut there, but it’s already stopped bleeding.

Thank goodness.

“I don’t know what to expect. Maybe I just want someone to know my story before I die. Maybe I want to see if there’s someone out there who can see where I’m fucking coming from. I don’t fucking know.”

“I’m sorry you went through that.” Mackenzie’s voice is barely above a whisper, shaking along with her.

“What did you say?” Carlos frowns down at her.

She turns her head, her eyes finally opening. “I’m sorry you went through that. It must have hurt. We know a thing or twoabout abusive, powerful assholes who think loving people of the same gender is beneath their children. It’s not right, but what you’re doing here isn’t right either, is it?”

Carlos seems frozen as he stares down at her before he takes a step back, then another.

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