Page 52 of Lethal Vengeance
Stretching a bit farther, I tap him on the shoulder. Not one twitch of muscle. I shake him a couple of times. He’s out. I sigh and flop down.
The cold concrete seeps through my clothing until I’m shivering. If I leave him on the floor, he’ll be in worse shape come morning. There’s only one thing to try. I push myself up from the floor and leave the cell.
Returning, I stand there trying to figure out the best way to do it, but I’m not sure there is a good way. And time is running out. It’s now or never.
Tipping the plastic cup over his head, the water pours out in one big wave.
My head hits the floor with a bang. Mother freaking trucker!
I squint through the pain to find Raider hovering over me. The warmth I’m used to is gone. His light blue eyes stare icily into mine. I’m not concerned until I register the hand wrapped tightly around my throat to hold me down.
“Raider,” I rasp. “It’s me. Quinn. Raider.” The hand eases. “Remember me? Quinn.” That day in my hallway. “Kiss me.”
When he doesn’t move, I strain against the hand holding me down and arch up until my lips are brushing his. My kiss is barely there, but it’s enough to break the hold on him. He shudders and jerks his hand away.
“Mon Dieu,” he whispers. Fingers trace the lines of my neck softly. “I’m sorry, so sorry, Quinn.” Pushing himself up, he groans. “If you weren’t already intent on killing him, I’d happily do it for you. Bastard.”
I roll over to my hands and knees, get my feet under me and straighten. The world sways, and I hold still until it stops. My fingers gingerly probe the back of my head and discover a small knot. Ouch. When I see him frowning at me, I drop my hand.
“Lie down. I’ll get a wet cloth.”
When I return, he’s half sitting, half lying on the bed, and even with the blood and darkening areas, my eyes greedily take in every inch of him. Tattoos grace one shoulder and pec. Camilla’s name appears close to his heart. The rest of the tattoos are a mix of Portuguese words and symbols.
I scan the rest of his body. His abdomen is dark from the punches he must have taken, but it doesn’t detract from the sight of his lean waist and defined abs. A small trail of dark hair disappears into his pants.
He grunts. “Tonight’s going to be a bit uncomfortable.”
Silently reprimanding myself, I pick up the washcloth and gently clean the blood from his face. “What the hell does he want from you?”
He chuckles. “He wants us to leave town. Not you. Me, Zane, and the rest. The only reason he pinpointed me was because he noticed me on the security cameras and knew I wasn’t one of his men.”
Why do I never seem to learn this lesson?I ask myself. Instead, I let myself get close to someone and they get hurt, or worse, killed.
I jerk a thumb over my shoulder. “The door is open, Raider, and I want you to use it. Go back to them. Tonight. I’ll be fine.” He jerks when the washcloth touches the cut on his lip. “Please. For me.”
Light blue eyes narrow. “If I leave, I’ll kill him. But if I do, you’ll hate me for stealing your vengeance.” He shakes his head. “It’s better if I stay here and let you patch me up. Every time you look at my bruises, you’ll hate him more. That’s a better plan, don’t you think?” A satisfied grin flashes across his face, along with a wince.
Unable to meet his eyes, I stand and toss him the washcloth. “The key’s on the table.”
25
QUINN
“Attention!” the voice loudly orders. “Line up along the walls. Don’t say a word to each other or the visitors. Stare straight ahead. Everyone understand?”
“Yes, captain!” we reply in unison.
The other women quickly scramble to find a place in the middle of the wall. Nobody wants to be on the outside edges where it would be easy to be picked off.
I saunter over and find a spot in the corner that allows me to see the entire room in one glance. The women beside me stand staring straight ahead, hands clenched into fists or twisted in the fabric of their scrubs, lips tucked into teeth, and shoulders bowed in submission.
Four people enter the room, followed by a group of guards. Two men, one good-looking with dark hair and the coldest of dark eyes, and the second, paunchy, balding, almost grandfatherly looking except for the leer plastered on his face. Surprisingly, the third is a woman. Statuesque and beautiful, with gleaming, almost black hair, mahogany skin, and almost black eyes. She reminds me of an Amazonian warrior I saw in a book once, right down to the calculating gleam in her eyes. It almost makes me feel like she’s tallying up the worth of each one of us. All three are led by Armando.
“We have a hundred and seventeen women here. A good number to seed our operations. It took me a little over a year to obtain all of them, but every single one is healthy and free of diseases,” he proudly states, his arm sweeping out to encompass all of us.
Smiling eyes land on me and instantly change. Rage sweeps across his features for the briefest of seconds until he smooths his expression. Dark eyes flick toward me, a promise highlighted in their depths.
The girl next to me whimpers and shuffles closer to her other neighbor.
