Page 65 of When Sinners Dare

His eyes open and he tips his head sideways to look at me, flicking his gaze behind me for a split second. “What about her?”

“Cut the bullshit. Whatever you’ve got to say, you get it said to me. I don’t know what this crap is, but Viper’s nothing to do with this between us. Leave him and this place alone."

The sudden movement of him pulling up to sit makes me back up a step. He moves slowly, levering himself until he's on his feet and taking a step towards me. “You look scared, Kai," he says, reaching for his shirt.

“Of you? No.”

He switches the spotlight off above us. “How about three of us?”

“What?” The door opens inwards at that exact moment, both Knox and Shaw in the frame. Before I know what’s happening, I’ve got two guys all over me and a bag getting drawn down over my head. I struggle and pull back, but my side hits the cabinets to send everything crashing to the ground. Pain follows, rage instantly rises, and I start fighting for my freedom. My legs sweep hard, and I make myself as painful to manage as I can. Wrangling gets me nowhere, though, and even a solid punch landing on one of them causes nothing more than a grunt.

My wrists are eventually wrapped with something, and I’m shoved forward to fuck knows what. I pant and keep moving sideways harshly, trying to get some space around me by way of hurting them. Nothing works. I’ve got three Cortez brothers on me and no hope in hell of getting away from them. No one tries to help me, either. No Viper or Richie intervening. No Blade or Jules. And after a short walk, I’m bundled into what feels like the trunk of a car. It speeds up quickly, and I’m banged and rattled around in it like I mean nothing more than luggage or cheap product.

The journey seems endless, and my life keeps rolling past in my thoughts in black and white. There’s nothing worthwhile in any of it. No times to look back on and smile. No heroic acts of kindness or sympathy. Just violence and some kind of shame or guilt settled deep in my guts. Time inside. Guards up my ass. Orders. Can’t even remember my parents to try that image on for size. No happy home life there that I can visualise. No family. No words of love or talk of making something of myself. Guess I’m just what I’ve become because of the streets I grew in. Pretty apparently, but fucking pointless other than what these fists have given me in life.

After a while it’s only Mariana in my head. She’s about it. The only thing I’ve enjoyed and felt something for. Can’t say what that feeling is, but there’s no denying her beauty or the way she fitted around me. Looks where that’s got me? In the back of a trunk and on my way to death. Still, I’m half smiling at the thought of her. Still imagining her hand on my face. Still remembering the way those lips felt on mine. We rode long and hard, like we could have disappeared into the night to never be seen again. Could’ve done that with her. I could’ve learned and relaxed and just been decent for once in a life that’s been filled with violence and pain.

The car stops. I’m left alone for some more time, and I try kicking out at the trunk to see if it’ll budge. No luck. I’m too cramped in, and without being able to see, I can’t find the right damn place to kick. And then it opens anyway.

“Fuck you,” mutters out of me. One of them chuckles and starts hauling me out. It isn’t Dragon’s voice. “Take this shit off me.” Whoever it is doesn’t. He doesn’t even speak, just starts shoving me forward until it goes dark again and intense heat hits me.

The sound of a woman shouting orders around fills the only sense I’ve got left. And something’s banging the ground, like a drum on repeat. Heels. I can hear women’s heels tapping sharply, followed by more of them. And burning. Smoke and ash hang heavy in the air, like someone put a fire out recently. Or started one. Other than that, all I’ve got is someone shoving my back to keep me moving forward and no way of seeing a damn thing.

By the time I’m put in a chair, and my wrists are anchored to it, I’m shaking. It’s not fear, it’s adrenalin. Everything’s wired and ready to kill. I’m a ball of tension and hatred, and about done with being contained in whatever this is.

I try grating my wrist on the chair, but the sound of hard footsteps stops me.

“Bring one in.” That’s Dragon’s voice. I look towards the sound of it and listen to scuffling come from behind me. “You know anything about us, Kai?” I’m done fucking speaking, and after this I’m not having a goddamn conversation with some cunt who thinks he’s playing a game with me. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she? Bella Mariana.”

I frown under the hood and listen to him mutter to himself in Spanish. The hood gets ripped off me in the next second, and I shoot sharp glances around at where I am. A dirty old room by the look of it. One stainless steel table in the centre of it, the chair I’m sitting on, and a stool that he’s walking behind.

He brushes his hand along the rusting wall beside him and takes his shirt off, eventually reaching into a corner with a box. It’s only when I see him come back at me that I notice what looks like a branding iron in his hand.

“The fuck is that for?” I snarl, still shooting glances around.

No words in response, just a smile that makes him seem far more fucking friendly than he is.

Scrabbling starts up behind me again, and I look over my shoulder to see some young woman being hauled in. She looks at me, then Dragon, then the burning hot rod in his hand. She’s backpeddling for all she’s worth, trying, and failing, to get out of Shaw’s hold. Not going to happen anytime soon. She screams and fights some more, biting at the air in the hope it’ll land on skin.

“All this around you is who we are, Kai,” Dragon says, ignoring her and watching Shaw get her on the table. He drags the stool over to sit near her feet, and grabs hold of one leg to keep her in place. “Thirty girls yesterday. They’re in cages out there. Another pick-up in Mexico tomorrow. Maybe forty in that truck. We steal them. Distribute them. Sell them. Maybe hire them out.”

The sound of her scream as he puts the branding iron on her foot sickens me, but I don’t take my eyes off it for one damn second. If this is some kinda test – some show of how this is supposed to scare me off – I’m not playing it. “Owned, see?” he mutters. “Being with one of us makes us question if you can be one of us, you get me?” I watch his fingers tighten on the leg, knuckles whitening to keep her still. “You’re either all in, or you’re dead to us. You still think our little Bella is worth fucking?”

I glance up at Shaw, watching his eyes glued on mine. He’s nearly as fucking intimidating as Dragon is, despite his age, and especially with a glare that could rival Abel’s. Blue eyes, though. Just like Mariana’s. Cold eyes maybe. Cutting. But I’ve seen more than that in her. I’ve felt it, too. Softness. Sweetness. Fragility.

The woman cries and whimpers, trying to pull away from his hands on her shoulders. His hold tightens. “Shut up, bitch. Stay down.”

“We’ll expect all this from you,” Dragon continues, as he reaches behind him for some pads and cream. “You come in, you stay in.” He plasters the cream on her foot and slaps some gauze over it. Methodical. Non-caring. Like he's done it a thousand times before. “You’ll learn to kill for us. You’ll learn to trade for us. And you’ll fucking die for us if needed.”

A hard punch lands on my face outta nowhere, knocking both me and the chair to the ground.

“You’ll sure as hell die for her.” I glare up from the dirt, dazed eyes searching for the source of that voice. It’s Poe, Knox, whoever the fuck he is, and he’s staring down at me like he’s ready to blow the world to shit to defend this brotherhood.

And then Dragon’s over me, too.

He sneers at me. They both sneer.

And then a beating comes.

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