Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
“Don’t put this on me,” she seethed. “I’ll do whatever you say. Just make the call.”
Fucking Christ, Tiago’s head hurt. He wasn’t in the habit of physically restraining people, especially not while recovering from a fractured skull.
He preferred other means of control, as Kate would soon find out.
“I’m going to remove the rope.” He pulled the finger blade from his pocket. “Be a good girl.”
Her watery gaze stayed with the phone where it sat out of reach. Her fear for Tate was palpable, paling her pretty face to a ghostly shade of white. She would really lose her mind if she knew her friend was being held within walking distance from here.
Tiago didn’t relish the thought of ending Tate’s life. It would ruin everything he’d put into place.
But he would follow through on his threat if Kate didn’t behave.
“Hold still.” He cut through the thick rope on her arms until the fibers unraveled enough to fall away.
She rubbed her wrists, the skin red and raw. A little rope burn was nothing compared to the hurt she would endure before she died. She might as well get used to it.
He rolled off her slender body, and she instantly tried to scramble away.
“Stay.” He pointed the blade at the spot beside him on the mattress.
She froze with a foot on the floor and glared back at him. “You’re going to call your guy? Stop him from killing Tate?”
He tapped the mattress where he wanted her.
Her shoulders slumped, and she crawled to the far end, putting her back to the wall and her eyes on his phone.
Another wave of queasiness hit him sideways, and he braced a hand on the bed, catching himself.
Christ, he needed something for the double vision. Being bedridden for a month left him dizzy and weak. Wrestling a pint-sized woman made it worse.
It was time to start working out again. The sooner he rebuilt his strength, the sooner he could return to Caracas and reestablish his reign there.
First, he needed to deal with his prisoners.
“If you make a single sound, Tate will die.” He unlocked the phone. “Tell me you understand.”
Her blue eyes flashed, and her teeth sawed through the words. “I understand.”
He dialed Arturo, the guard who sent the video, and didn’t wait for a greeting. “Put Tate on the phone.”
Sounds of movement rustled down the line, followed by an angry rush of breaths.
“Hello, Tate.” Tiago set the phone on speaker, so Kate could hear the conversation.
Tate made a stricken noise. “Where’s—?”
“If you ask about her, the call ends, and you’ll never hear from me again.”
It had been a month since Tate and Lucia saw each other. Tate asked about her relentlessly, but his questions went unanswered.
Tiago needed him to assume the worst. “You’ll spend the rest of your lonely existence locked away in that shack, wondering why I called and what I was going to say.”
Kate sucked in a breath, her expression murderous.
“I’m listening,” Tate said.
“I would be there in person, but I haven’t been feeling well. I’m sure you know why.” As he spoke into the phone, he held her gaze, wordlessly reminding her to keep quiet. “I wanted to offer you something. Let’s call it a last request. Anything you want. This doesn’t include information, and it must fit inside the shack.”
“What is this?” Tate asked. “Like a last-meal request? Am I on death row?”
She tensed, her fingers biting into the mattress.
He shook his head, admonishing her. “I’m offering more than a meal, Tate. You can choose anything—a bed to sleep on, a girl to fuck, a drug to numb your mind. I’m sure you can come up with something creative.”
“Why?” Suspicion laced Tate’s voice. “What do you want?”
“I’ve already taken my payment.” Given the rancor in her eyes, he might have to kill her before the call ended. “Consider this a thank you.”
“What did you take?” Tate whispered harshly.
“Not Lucia. I left her to die in prison. What’s your last request, Tate?”
Kate pressed a hand against her lips, smothering a whimper.
Tiago had spoken the truth about Lucia, but not the whole truth. If Kate sat there and kept her mouth shut, maybe he would enlighten her.
Returning his attention to the phone, he digested the silence on the other end.
Right about now, Tate was likely hitting a very cold, inconsolable rock bottom. Tiago knew too well what that felt like. The suffocating, dire weight of helplessness pulling through the body. The endless chill hardening organs and arteries. The grip of desolation overshadowing self-preservation. An emptiness so profound and consuming there wasn’t enough air to return from the dead.
To have and to hold the entire world, then to watch it be violently ripped away… There was no greater suffering.
Kate was right. Some experiences cut so deeply it gutted a man. Or twisted a good man into a criminal.