Page 14 of His to Bedevil

“No, shit,” another male voice grumbles.

“Just get some of this shit down her throat and we can go.”

I feel my head being lifted and my mouth being pried open. I’m too weak to do a thing though. I can’t even open my eyes or lift a finger. Hell, I might be hallucinating at this point.

“Open up, Red,” one of the male voices says just before a cool liquid fills my mouth. Not having the strength to swallow it, I immediately begin to choke.

“Fuck! She fucking spit it all over me!”

“Don’t be such a pussy,” the other guy teases. “We just need to her to swallow some.”

They try again, pouring some into my mouth then clamping my mouth shut. Instinctively, my throat works hard to swallow so that I don’t choke again. The liquid is thicker than water and tastes horrible. Or maybe it’s just my own mouth that tastes horrible. Most likely the latter.

“Just another mouthful, sweetheart.” They repeat the action, and again I swallow.

“No,” I whisper through my sore throat, and fall back into nothingness.

Alejandro

It has been four weeks now. Four weeks since I stole the little con off the streets of Little Havana, and I am no closer to discovering who she really is. Marcus and his guys haven’t found a thing on her, and we don’t even have a clue if she works with anyone. It’s very possible she could be working alone, but I need to be absolutely sure of it.

I’ve visited her twice since the day I gave her the mango, asking for her name. And still, she has refused. She has also refused food and water, so Diego and another one of my guys have to go in there and force some protein shakes down her throat, but as I watch her fire begin to slowly flicker out, it’s getting harder and harder to continue this. To watch her fade and slowly decompose.

I’m sitting here alone in the surveillance room just staring at the screen. She’s lying on her side, looking like a corpse, and it sends a sudden pain through my chest. The thought of her actually lifeless doesn’t sit well with me. My fingers fly over the keyboard, and the light flickers on in her room, but she doesn’t move. I only know she’s alive because I can see her frail body move as she steadily breathes.

What is your name,mi amor?I have never felt the need for a single answer like this in my life.

When I exit the room, the two guards slip back in to take their positions in front of the monitors. I make my way through the main floor and find Berto. “I need you and Diego to do a thorough sweep of my room. Remove any and all things that can be used as a weapon.”

He frowns in suspicion. “Alejo?”

I don’t need to explain myself to him. We may be friends and almost like family, but I am still his boss. He does what he is told without question. Walking away, I head out the back and hop on one of the ATVs. It’s late morning, and the sun is high. It’s only February, so it isn’t too hot out, but I’m already coated in sweat from the strong emotions coursing through me.

The guard at the door nods his head and opens the door for me when I arrive, then radios the other men to tell them of my arrival. The top floor here is where Marcus and his guys work, so I pop into their room. The walls are lined with screens, and each of them have their own desk with several monitors and laptops. When I stop over at Marcus’s, he’s hunched over a laptop, typing away. “Anything?”

He shakes his head but doesn’t stop what he’s doing. “I’ve reached out to all my contacts and still nothing.”

Letting out a deep breath, I leave the room and head for the stairs. The lower level is underground and used for prisoners or interrogations. But they don’t typically reside here for very long.

When I stop in front of her door, the guard there opens it for me. “Leave it open,” I firmly state, then step inside the room. She hasn’t moved from her position that I saw her in through the surveillance.

Itphysicallypains me to see her like this. Weakened, vulnerable, feeble, just barely hanging on to life. Not the spirited woman she was when I brought her in.

Without hesitation, I bend down and scoop her up into my arms. She weighs less than a hundred pounds now, and she is as light as a feather. Crushing her to my chest, I swiftly stride out of the room. She reeks of body odor, and her hair is clumped together with grease. I can’t closely study her face until we’re completely alone in my bedroom, but there are dark circles under her eyes, her cheekbones are protruding and colorless, and her lips are so dry they have cracked and bled in a few places.

The only time she stirs or makes a sound is when I step outside into the sunlight. She moans a little and tries to open her eyes, but she doesn’t have the physical strength to. “Tell me your name,pequita,” I mutter, not expecting a response.

I stop in my tracks when her mouth opens. She whispers something, but it’s too faint to hear. Turning my head, I lean in with my ear as close to her mouth as I can get. “Tell me,pequita. Tell me your name,” I murmur.

“Irma…” Her voice is scratchy and dry, but it causes my heart to skip a beat.

“Irma,” I repeat, letting the name roll off my tongue. “Beautiful Irma.” She may not look like she is a descendant of Spanish heritage, but the name fits her better than Fynn.

It’s a little bit of a struggle to hold her limp body tightly to me as I steer the ATV back to the main house, but I manage. I hop off the ATV as soon as I’m close, and she’s just lying in my arms like a rag doll. Moving my feet promptly, I make my way into the main house and up the stairs to my bedroom. Berto and Diego are still scouring the room, but when they notice me, they abruptly stop what they’re doing. They’re shocked, undeniably. I’m shocked too, but I don’t let them know that, and they’re smart enough not to question me. Surely Berto will ask me about it later when he gets a chance to speak with me alone, but for now he doesn’t.

“We’re almost done here,” Berto tells me as Diego goes back to what he’s doing.

“Good. Have you done the bathroom yet?” I ask, standing there still holding on to Irma. The beautiful name really suits her. I don’t even question whether or not she was lying.

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