Last night was seared forever in her memory. The suction of his mouth between her legs. The deep rumble of his American accent in her ear. The taste of his whiskey breath that still lingered on her lips.
I need to get out of here.
Holding in her next inhale, she made her escape. Out from beneath his arm, down to the floor, she crouched low, waiting.
He didn’t stir.
Her muscles protested every movement, stiff and sore, but remarkably better than last night. She scrunched her face, testing other injuries. No swelling that she could tell. No hunger pangs, either. That was a novelty.
His luggage lay open behind her. From the large case, she carefully removed a button-up shirt. No reason to snoop through his belongings. The cartel would’ve already searched it and removed anything useful.
Backing away on tiptoes, she closed the buttons on the shirt and slipped into the main room. The door to the other bedroom stood open, giving her a view of Tomas’ bed.
The sheets lay crumpled on the empty mattress. No sounds came from the bathroom. The bodyguard wasn’t here. Perfect.
She hurried on silent feet toward the exit. By the time she gripped the door handle, her heart had clawed its way to her throat.
I’m not running.
That would be against his rules. She just needed… What? Clothes. Coffee. A morning walk. Space.
With her defense prepared, she swung open the door and gasped.
Brown hair, crooked nose, steroid-induced torso, and eyes as black as night. Hateful eyes, burning with manic rage.
“Alejandro.” She sucked down her panic and faced him with her chin raised. “What are you doing here?”
He’d been gone for several weeks, which meant he’d just delivered a new batch of trafficked girls. And not only to this property. The youngest La Rocha brother sold slaves all over California and elsewhere.
“Imagine my disappointment,” he said in scathing Spanish, “when I arrived this morning to discover that my whore was whoring for someone else.”
“Marco allowed—”
“I don’t give a fuck!” His hand shot toward her neck.
She ducked, slammed against the door in her attempt to escape, and tried to flee into the breezeway. He reached for her again, and she threw herself forward, knowing there was no way she’d make it past him.
Except he didn’t stop her.
Glancing back was a mistake. She should’ve kept running. Eyes forward. Always straight ahead. But stupidity swung her gaze around and slowed her steps.
A broad muscled back swallowed her view. Freckles she hadn’t noticed before on the bulging ridges of shoulders. Corded neck, red hair, and a fist that reached back and captured her wrist in an unbending grip.
“You must be John Smith.” A sneer edged Alejandro’s broken English.
“And you must be Miguel.” John’s head dipped down and back up, taking in the man’s massive size. “Or are you the youngest brother?”
“I’m Alejandro, vato, and she belongs to me.”
“I see. Well, then…” John ruthlessly dragged her forward, making her trip. “Take her. Since you’re not interested in my business, I’ll leave this morning. You can speak to my assistant about refunding my down payment, as well as the obscene amount of money he wired last night for the time I won’t be spending with my purchase.”
He pushed her toward Alejandro, washing his hands of her. She didn’t know whether to sigh in relief or punch his balls into his throat.
“You paid for her?” Alejandro jerked his head back. “For a used-up whore?”
“I paid six digits for a week with her.”
Her stomach sank. She knew the buyers dropped serious cash on the virgin girls fresh off the truck. But six digits in exchange for her? It was preposterous. Why would he do that? He didn’t even fuck her last night.
Alejandro glanced at the workout shorts that John had shoved on. Then his gaze traveled over the stolen shirt she wore. He was a possessive son of a bitch, and it showed in the hard brackets around his scowl. His nostrils widened, and he gripped his nape. Then a decision settled on his face.
The cartel valued money far and above their women. Her fate was sealed.
“I misunderstood.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and backed away. “We honor our deals, esé.” His Adam’s apple bounced, the flat line of his lips barely concealing his displeasure. “Stay. She’s yours for the week.”
“You hear that, darling?” John grabbed her by the hair and yanked her back against him. “Unless, of course, you’d rather go with Alejandro? Your choice.”
What the ever-loving fuck? After all that posturing with Marco last night, he was changing his tune? Talk about whiplash.
Maybe it was a test, but she wouldn’t fall for it. Whomever she chose, the other man would find a way to make her pay for his embarrassment.
“What’s behind door three?” She jerked at the hair in his fist, unable to free herself.
“I’ll show you.” John hauled her back into the room. Then he faced the doorway, blocking her view. “Will there be anything else?”