Page 43 of Capture Me (Capture Me)

As I shine the light on him, I see that he’s an average-looking Colombian man, likely in his early thirties. His clothes look cheap and rather dirty—though that could be from struggling with our guards. He’s also gagged, likely to prevent him from annoying the guards with his pleading.

I step back and turn to Diego. The young Mexican is sporting a mean black eye—a reminder of my earlier outburst over Yulia. For a moment, I consider apologizing more sincerely, but decide that now’s not the time. “Where did you find him?” I ask instead.

“He was by the river,” Diego says, keeping his tone low. “He had a boat, and he claims he was fishing.”

“But you don’t believe him.”

“No.” Diego glances at the guy. “His boat doesn’t have a scratch on it. It’s brand new.”

“I see.” Diego’s right to be suspicious. Few fishermen around these parts can afford a new boat. “All right. Ungag him, and let’s see what he says.”

It’stwo in the morning by the time the trespasser finally breaks. I don’t enjoy torture as much as Esguerra does, so I let the guards have a go at the guy first. They pummel him, breaking a few ribs, and then I ask him what he’s doing here. He tries to lie, claiming he came to the estate by accident, but after I do a few rounds with my switchblade, he begins to sing and tells us all about his employer, a powerful drug lord from Bogotá.

“Do thesecabronsnever learn?” Diego says in disgust when the man’s speech devolves into sobbing pleas for mercy. “You’d think they’d know better than to try this shit. Sending this joker to find holes in our security—could they be any stupider?”

“They could.” I step toward the blubbering man and slice my knife across his throat, putting him out of his misery. “They could try attacking us here.”

“True.” Diego steps back to avoid the spray of blood. “Do you want his body shipped to hispatrónor taken to the incinerator?”

“The incinerator.” I wipe the switchblade on my shirt—it’s so bloody that an extra stain is nothing—and close the knife before putting it away. “Let his boss wonder.”

“Okay.” Diego motions to the two other guards, and they drag the body out of the shed. The place will need to be cleaned, but that’s a task for the next shift. I wait for the new guards to arrive and give them those instructions before heading out to my car.

Diego walks out beside me, so I ask, “Need a ride?”

“Sure. I was going to walk, but a ride sounds good.” He shoots me a grin. “Get myself to bed faster.”

“Yeah.” Before we get in the car, I take out a rolled-up towel I keep for these occasions and spread it on the driver’s seat. Diego isn’t as dirty as I am, so I let him get in the passenger seat as is.

It’s a short drive, but Diego manages to talk my ear off on the way. He’s hyper, like some guys get after a kill. It’s as if he needs to reinforce that he’s alive, that it’s not his body that’s about to be incinerated out there. I know how he feels because a version of the same excitement is humming in my veins. It’s not as extreme as it was with my first few kills—you can get used to anything, even taking lives—but I still feel sharply alive, all my senses heightened by the proximity of death.

“Listen, man,” Diego says when I stop in front of his barracks building, “I just want to say I didn’t mean anything earlier today with that girl of yours. You were right—it’s none of my business.”

“She’s not my girl.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I know them to be a lie. Yulia may not be “my girl,” but she’s mine.

She’s been mine from the moment I laid eyes on her in Moscow.

“Yeah, sure, whatever you say.” Grinning, Diego opens the door and jumps out. “See you tomorrow.”

He shuts the door, and I drive off. Loose gravel shoots out behind my car as I floor the gas, filled with sudden impatience.

I’ve waited long enough.

It’s time to claim what’s mine.

Before I gointo the bedroom, I take a long shower, washing off all traces of blood and dirt. The warm water takes some of the edge off, but the dark thrum of adrenaline is still there as I step out of the stall and towel off, my cock hardening with anticipation.

I don’t bother to get dressed before I leave the bathroom. The air is cool on my still-damp skin as I walk down the hallway, and my heartbeat quickens as I picture Yulia lying there, naked, tied up, and completely at my mercy. I’ve never wanted a woman in that position before, but everything about my prisoner brings out my basest instincts. I want her bound and helpless.

I want her to know she can’t get away.

It’s dark in the bedroom when I step in, so I reach for the light switch. When the bedside lamp comes on, I see Yulia there, stretched out on the blanket in front of me. Her naked body is long and sleek as she lies on her side, her back toward me. Even after her weight loss, her ass is nicely curved, and her pale skin looks like alabaster against the dark blanket. She doesn’t move as I approach, and I see that she’s asleep, her eyes closed and her lips slightly parted. Her plump, round breasts move with her steady breathing, her nipples soft and pink in her repose.

The lust that’s been building all day roars back, more violent than ever. Kneeling beside her, I run my hand over the side of her body, stroking her from shoulder to mid-thigh. Even bruised in a few places, her skin is gorgeous, so soft and smooth it makes me want to taste her all over.

Giving in to the urge, I lean over her, trapping her between my arms, and lower my head to take her nipple into my mouth. It immediately contracts, hardening as I suck on it, and I feel her tensing underneath me, the rhythm of her breathing changing as she wakes up.

Lifting my head, I look down at her, meeting her gaze. There’s fear in her eyes, but there’s also something more—something that turns me on unbearably.

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