Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
“They’re a long way from home,” I mutter when the door finally closes.
“You don’t want to be on those fuckers’ radars,” Angel says, his body relaxing a little as he slouches in his chair.
I didn’t even notice the tension in his spine until he released it.
“They’re the fucking good guys. The mostly by the book guys. They’re allowed to break the rules on occasion but thumb their fucking noses at those doing good if they’re only doing it for a paycheck.”
I look around the bed for one of those buttons that can be pushed to administer pain meds, but come up empty.
“Where the fuck are we?”
“Monterrey,” he answered. “Tell me what happened.”
My eyes squeeze shut. Just the thought of talking about any of it makes my skin crawl.
“They drugged me. Did they take my organs?”
Silence fills the room, a wave of dread filling me as I roll my head on the pillow and look at him.
“How bad is it?”
I’m not connected to any machines other than the IV, but I’m not exactly a fucking medical professional. I don’t know what I can live without.
“The doctor didn’t mention any missing organs, just a bunch of fucking cuts and shit.”
I breathe a sigh of relief, trying to convince my hands to stop trembling, but I’m a failure at that too.
“What happened?”
I hate that the man has the fucking gall to repeat his question.
“You were their captive once. You should know what happened.”
I can’t even look him in the eyes, shame for what I did feeling like a wet blanket over my face. It’s smothering and mentally torturing. I’d take a hundred more slashes to my skin if it meant not having to do what I did.
“What happened to me, and what I walked in on with the other guys, didn’t look like what I experienced several years ago,” Angel says. “I was tortured, cut up, tattooed just like you but—” He snaps his jaw closed.
“What did you walk in on?” I ask, not exactly sure I really want to know.
“They were making a fucking movie. You were laid out on the bed, and the woman—” He swallows, his eyes darting across the room. “The doctor said you were pumped full of horse tranquilizers and Viagra.”
“Is she okay?”
He tilts his head. “What?”
“Was she blond? Blue eyes?” I lift my hand and point to the left side of my chest. “A scar right here on her breast?”
“She was riding your cock while you were unconscious when we came into the room.”
“Is she safe?” I growl.
“I killed everyone in that room.”
All the air inside of me leaves my lungs, an emotion I’m not at all familiar with making my skin grow cold.
“I would’ve fucking killed her too if those goddamned Cerberus fuckers hadn’t shown up.”
I snap my gaze back in his direction. “She’s alive?”
He clenches his jaw. “She was fucking raping you.”
“They made both of us do some seriously fucked-up things.”
“They made you—”
“You’re not a fucking therapist,” I growl. “I’m not talking about this shit with you.”
“I’m just—”
“Why don’t you go first then, motherfucker. Tell me what it was like for you.”
His cheeks swell when he grinds his teeth together, his lips firmly closed. We stare at each other for a long moment before he settles the challenge with a single nod of his head.
“Cortez wasn’t there,” he says after a long moment. “We took out a lot of his men, but he’s got fucking houses like that all over Mexico and South America. Until he’s dead…” He shakes his head, but I know it’s not disappointment in me.
The man was hopeful he was finally going to be able to kill the monster of his own nightmares. Coming up short can’t be a very good feeling.
“They’re making videos, doing live feeds with sick fucks paying to witness it, control the narrative, that kind of shit,” I tell him.
“There’s a lot of money in shit like that,” he agrees.
I’m thankful he’s not looking at me. Being analyzed right now is the very last thing I need.
“You said you killed everyone in that room. Does that include Pirro?”
Angel shrugs. “It’s not like they had fucking IDs in their pockets.”
Angel is seeking Cortez, but Pirro is the fucking monster in my story.
“Big fucker,” I say, pointing to the right side of my face. “Scar going from here to here?”
A slow smile tugs up the corners of his mouth. “I blew that scar right off his fucking face.”
I nod, a thank you of sorts, still regretting I wasn’t the one who got to kill him like I’d vowed so many times.
“And the woman?”
“You say she was forced, but it didn’t look forced. Say the word and I’ve still got one in the chamber for her ass.”
“Angel.”
He holds his hands up. “If you change your mind, I’d prefer you change it quickly. Cerberus is hard to hit on their own turf. Their fucking clubhouse is like a goddamned fortress. I bet Kincaid has over two dozen members by now. Don’t let the fact that he’s old as hell fool you. He’s as much a badass now as I imagine he was in his prime.”