I know what he did. I have him in a warehouse ready to be tortured for stealing from me and watching it go down like this doesn’t curb my rage. My little toy will soon see her precious father, and she’ll watch as I make a spectacle of him.
Picking up my phone, I hit dial on Javi’s number, and when his voice comes through the line, I speak, “I’m sending you a file, find out where this email came from and get me a name. Something isn’t right.”
“Of course,” he responds, as I hit send on the email. I hang up before he has time to receive the message. Turning back to the screen, I look at Sofía and watch as she sips her hot drink.
She’s in so much danger. All because her father was stupid enough to believe the lies of bad men. I shake my head at the stupidity. If he had come to me, I would’ve probably given him the money, but he didn’t. If only he’d been honest in the first place, I may have spared his and his daughter’s life.
Sofía catches my attention when she slips from the seat and goes for the water next, sipping it tentatively, then, once she settles her pert little ass down, she wraps her delicate fingers around the glass. The book she’s been reading is perched open on the page her eyes are trained on, while she enjoys the food that I’ve allowed her to have.
There’s one thing she’ll learn while being here—I hold her life in my hands. Rising from the chair, I decide I’ve done enough spying for the day, and shrug on my jacket. Buttoning it up, I make my way down the hall until I find myself outside her door.
12
Sofía
My stomach feels heavy after just the sandwich. Since I haven’t eaten in a couple of days, I’d been feeling the effects, and I know it’s not a good thing since I need to take medication to regulate my heart.
After seeing my medication in the drawer while searching for a weapon of some sort, I was taken aback. If he’s bought me pills, he may not mean to kill me. Yet. The thought comes unbidden to me, and I shake it off.
I need to keep myself healthy, alive. I’m sure he’s biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment to slit my throat. Would he do that? Would he shoot me and make it quick? I know my father deserves the punishment. The Cartel rule, and the King is a villain in an expensive, tailored suit; my father signed his death warrant when he stole from Victor.
Respect goes a long way. Mr. Cordero, Victor’s father, trusted mine for so long, I was shocked when I heard that papá did what he did. I so badly want to see my father. To know he’s still alive. I wonder what the cost would be to ask Victor to let him go free.
Would I forever be a prisoner in this place?
Would he keep me hidden away like a princess locked in a tower?
At least I’m comfortable. He could’ve easily kept me hidden in the dungeon, but the bed is beautiful—soft and inviting. The bathroom was indeed stocked with toiletries that any girl would fawn over. And the food, the coffee, everything make it feel as if I’m not a prisoner, but a guest.
How can someone live in luxury like this while the people of his beloved country are drenched in poverty?
The streets are laden with poor, homeless, and even sick people, and here, Victor sits on his throne surrounded by money. Anger swells inside me, turning my stomach at the thought. I’d always feared him, but the more time I spend here wallowing in my thoughts, the more my anger morphs into something much more volatile and vengeful.
It turns to rage, to hate.
The door swings open behind me, stealing my attention to the man who’s consumed my every thought. He’s dressed in one of his black suits, the dark shirt under the jacket a stark contrast to his silver tie, which has been tugged loose, as if it had been choking him.
His mouth curves into a dangerous smirk. It’s a frightfully sensual movement, and I can’t stop my body from responding to him. He’s handsome—dark and brooding—with an air of malevolence following him around like a cologne.
“I trust you’re feeling better.” He enters the room confidently. With each long stride, he invades my space further. “You’ve eaten.” His observation is filled with amusement, and when he smiles, I find myself staring at him.
How is it a man who kills for fun can be so devastatingly gorgeous?
He sighs when I don’t respond. Pulling up the small stool, he unbuttons his suit jacket and perches on the small cushion. He doesn’t say anything for a while, sitting in silence, he watches me as if I’m about to do something interesting, but I don’t. My body remains rigid, not because I’m afraid of him, but because the moment I move, I’m certain he’ll pounce.