“I have been sent to feed you, see to your bath, and”—she swallowed hard—“any other comforts you may desire.”
Her answer rolled around in his brain. Translation: drugging, starving, and beating him hadn’t worked, so they were going to force this frightened woman to sex him up so he’d get happy enough to betray his bosses back home?
One-Mile nearly snorted at that bullshit. He would have—just before he set her straight—if he wasn’t one-hundred percent sure Montilla and his thugs were listening in.
Instead, he played along…for now. “What do you have under that lid?”
Laila lifted the dome. “Water. Cold beer. Tortilla soup, refried beans, homemade flan…”
More than he’d eaten in one sitting since he’d been taken captive. And the food actually looked fresh for a change.
On the far side of the tray, he also caught sight of the needle with the drugs. “That my after-dinner cocktail?”
A guilty flush stole up her cheeks. “That is up to you.”
Somehow, One-Mile didn’t think she meant they’d pump him full of shit if he wanted it. But if he proved uncooperative… “I see. How about we eat first?”
“As you wish.”
With a gentle hand, she helped him stand, then guided him to the room’s lone chair. Patiently, she stood over him and fed a straw through his swollen lips, past his sore-ass jaw, and waited until he’d managed to swallow half the bottle. He eschewed the beer, slurped the soup down as she guided it—one slow spoonful at a time—into his barely open mouth, then fed him a few beans before finishing with some flan.
Since that was the most he’d eaten in weeks—or was it months now?—it didn’t take much for him to get his fill. But consuming everything took a long damn time. He did his best to stay patient and use the time to figure out how he could benefit from this change of circumstance. Short of threatening a female half his size and trying to use her as a shield to fight his way out, he wasn’t seeing it. Besides, Emilo wouldn’t have sent her in here if she wasn’t expendable.
Gently, Laila wiped his mouth with a napkin, then helped him to his feet. “Would you care for a shower now?”
“And a toilet?”
“Of course.” She looked up at a camera in the corner of the room. Another internal door buzzed open, and she led him inside. It locked shut behind them. “I am allowed to untie your hands in this room.”
He held them out and scanned the place. Sure, he’d been here before, but the memories were always hazy since the trips had come after the needle. But his captors had made certain there was nothing he could use as a weapon and no way to escape.
Slowly, she unwound the bindings from his hands. Blood rushed in, tingling and painful, as full circulation returned. Vaguely, he wondered…if he managed to find some way out of this hell, would he ever fully recover?
Why fucking care? It was unlikely he’d ever escape, so torturing himself with this train of thought was pointless.
For the first few days in captivity, he’d hoped the Edgingtons and Joaquin Muñoz would bust in here with the rest of the EM crew and save his sorry ass. But no. First, they probably had no idea where he was. Hell, he didn’t, except that he was a long way from Acapulco. And second, why would they? It was no secret how much Cutter hated him. He’d thought for a while that maybe Logan liked him and Hunter trusted him somewhat…but they more or less thought he’d raped Brea, too. Why would they save him when it was easier to replace him?
When he’d been taken, Trees had driven away as quickly as possible—as he should have. But he hadn’t fired a shot or come back with reinforcements. Zy was too busy chasing Tessa’s skirt to care about much else these days. And Josiah…who knew where the guy fell? They didn’t talk much.
One thing One-Mile did know? No one was coming to his rescue. He was going to have to work with Laila.
She allowed him a few minutes alone in the toilet, then started the shower while he washed his hands and brushed his teeth with the toothbrush she had helpfully provided.
When he’d finished, he pivoted to face her, assuming she’d step out while he washed himself.
Instead, she began disrobing.
He watched with a frown. This must be the “whatever he desired” portion of the evening.
No thanks.
One-Mile stayed her with a hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have to get naked for me.”
Relief stamped itself all over her face—but she kept stripping. “Yes, I do…”
Silently, he studied her as she peeled her dress from her body and draped it over a nearby counter. She’d worn nothing underneath. Shadows shrouded the feminine hollows of her body. Light clung to her curves. She was a beautiful woman…and she didn’t do a damn thing for him.
Her breasts bobbed gently as she approached and helped him pull his shirt over his head. The movement hurt his back like a bitch. The wounds had finally scabbed over, but they’d likely leave scars—if he lived long enough for them to heal.
Then she reached for the button of his jeans.
One-Mile gripped her wrists to stop her. “Laila…”
“Shh.” She pushed his hands away and continued on. “Let me. Please.”
Her eyes begged. Since he didn’t have much choice, he relented with a nod.
One-Mile stood motionless while Laila shoved his dirty, blood-stained jeans down his legs. He braced against the wall as he stepped out, now as naked as she was.
Then she took his hand and led him under the hot spray. He hissed and grimaced as the water pelted his healing skin. She merely pressed her body against his with a whisper. “The shower is the only place they cannot hear us.”
So the girl wanted to escape. She had a plan and something to
