“Something to help you sleep.”
“No, I don’t need that.” Eyes wild, she bucked in the seat, going nowhere. “Don’t you fucking drug me!”
Picar leaned over and pierced the needle into her pinned arm, his hands steady despite her thrashing and spitting. When the syringe emptied, he gathered his things and hobbled toward the rear of the cabin.
Her lungs pumped for air, her expression furious, but her body began to weaken, slumping beneath the weight of the sedative.
“Se arrepiente de esta. Enorme missst…take.” Her head rolled, and she snapped it upright. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t. You hate that you fear me.” He brought his mouth to her ear. “Step inside and show me your teeth.”
“Youuu chucha mmmwotherfruck…errr.” She blinked heavily, her tongue lolling in her mouth. “Ima gonna…picar yerrr bwalllz off…n’kwill…” Her chin hit her chest. “You…dead.”
He buckled in her limp body, brushed the hair from her face, and sat back on his heels.
She’d vacillated between weak and pissed, scared and brave, as if trying maintain her ruse with Nico but falling off-kilter with Matias. He knew she was still uncertain about his role in this.
He sensed the little girl inside of her warring with the grown woman. The girl longed for him to be the boy she remembered while the woman knew the truth. But her reality was probably confusing the two, leaving her unbalanced, guarded, and consumed with hatred.
He’d anticipated all of this, and though her hatred felt like a thousand knives twisting in his heart, it was a necessary part of the plan.
If she thought she hated him now, God help her. She had no idea what was coming.
CHAPTER 8
Distorted sounds stirred at the edges of oblivion. A throb penetrated the darkness and hammered through Camila’s skull.
Matias fucking drugged me!
She lay on her side, the surface beneath her hard and smooth. No longer on the airplane?
Shoes scuffed nearby, voices jumbled in and out of her awareness, and…
Was that a whimper? Another woman?
Her pulse echoed in her head as she wrestled through the fog of sedation. Her eyelids weighed a hundred pounds, refusing to open. She tried to move her aching arms, but they wouldn’t budge in the cuffs behind her. Focusing on her legs, she gave each a lethargic twitch. No restraints there.
She could still defend herself. Maybe after she mustered the strength to open her eyelids.
Where was she? Was Matias with her? The dull murmur of voices continued, but she couldn’t hear him.
She managed a few sluggish blinks, wincing against shards of light. The waxy scent of wood polish infiltrated her nose, and with it came traces of cigarette smoke and sweat.
Pushing down the impulse to struggle, she forced herself to remain still, listen, and take inventory. Movement rustled in front of and behind her, but without footsteps or clear voices, she couldn’t pinpoint the number of people, who they were, or how close they stood.
The whimper had come from the floor behind her. Other captives? The smoke meant there were probably men present, but the scent wasn’t overwhelming. Maybe one smoker?
Her bare thighs chilled in the air-conditioned room, and the bottom edges of her panties were parked uncomfortably high on her ass. At least, her shirt felt dry and clean against her skin. Wait… Matias had ruined her shirt.
Long sleeves covered her arms. If Matias had switched her top, what else had he done while she was unconscious? Her fingers curled, rattling the shackles.
Another whimper sounded behind her, lifting the hairs on her arms. Definitely a second woman. Maybe more. She couldn’t think about what that meant. Not right now.
Holding her eyes open, she waited for the bright wash of pain to recede. With her cheek pressed to the ground, she took in the wood flooring that stretched out in front of her. A couple yards away, two sets of black boots and a pair of shiny loafers stood still, toes pointed in her direction.
The voices fell quiet.
A shiver swept down her back. Was Matias among them? Christ, why couldn’t she lift her head?
Elegantly carved baseboards encircled the perimeter of the room, broken up by wide doorways bracketed with white pillars. Couches, chairs, and low tables sat off to one side in an array of straight, modern lines and monochromatic fabrics.
Bands of sunlight striped the floor and warmed the backs of her legs. She’d been unconscious the entire night? Long enough to be transported to Colombia, if that was where they’d taken her.
Panic rose, quickening her breaths. The GPS chip!
With focused concentration, she moved her sandpaper tongue against the molar and prodded around the edges of the filling. It still felt weirdly numb but…intact. Hope bottled up in her chest. He hadn’t found it.
Maybe she wasn’t compromised after all. If Matias believed she’d been captured and stripped of her volition, her plan was still viable. Except there was a nasty, decaying hole in that theory.
She’d asked Matias to dispose of Larry McGregor. Although she’d never given a name during their phone conversation, it was safe to assume Matias identified the body as the man who was supposed to deliver her. Fuck.
So he knew she was playing him. Did he tell Nico or was he playing his own game?
With a heave of determination, she rolled to her back, groaning as her listless body landed on her shackled arms.
Turning her head, she came face to face with a dark-haired woman on her knees. Mouth gagged with a black bandanna and tears streaking from her wide eyes, she couldn’t have been older than thirty.
She’s my age. Definitely not the prime age for sexual slavery. Maybe these fuckers weren’t picky about who they chose to destroy.
Camila’s breath emerged on a guttural growl. Her blood boiled, saturating her muscles with heat as she tensed to fight, to defend.
Too soon. She needed to get her bearings, gather her wits, and reevaluate her plan.
The woman wore nothing, her beautiful bone structure, swarthy skin, and full-figured curves on display for whoever was in the
