These women were human beings. They had names, birthdays, and favorite songs. Somewhere out there someone was missing their daughter, sister, friend. Hell, these women were old enough to have children.
And now, they would only have pain.
Camila shook with the force of her fury as memories broke open in her mind. The coarse bricks against her back as she hung from chains. The violet wand burning between her legs. The ring gag. Van’s engorged cock. His come in her throat.
The musty stink of the attic adhered to her nostrils and coated her taste buds. She tried to hack it from her system, coughing and wheezing past the dryness in her mouth.
She touched the modified molar with her tongue. At least now, the people in her life knew her location. They would save these women if she failed.
Behind the women, the room spilled into a roofless inner courtyard. Lifting her head, she leaned up on her elbow to see more.
There were no doorways to block the view. The entire wall was missing. Spanish tiles wrapped around an Olympic-sized infinity pool that merged into the most breathtaking landscape she’d ever seen.
A dense jungle of broad-leafed tropical trees and heavy undergrowth stretched to the horizon, cascading upwards over sloping hillsides that rippled into mountain ranges that must’ve been hundreds of miles away.
She’d never been to the basin of South America, had never even ventured outside of Texas, but she was certain she was staring at the Amazon rainforest.
Dizziness sailed through her, threatening to rob what little strength she’d summoned. Running would be a wasted effort. The compound was likely swarming with armed guards. She wouldn’t even make it out the door. If she did, she wouldn't survive a night in the jungle.
Didn’t matter. She hadn’t come here to escape on the first day.
Pushing up to a sitting position, lightheaded and nauseated, she turned away from the unfathomable view and the terrified women and focused on the enemy.
A man in a black suit stood a few feet away, his eyes inky and unreadable, with a promise of callousness in his resting scowl. In his mid-thirties maybe, he kept his beard and mustache trimmed as short as the black curls on his skull. He might’ve been attractive if it weren’t for the menacing glare that deepened under the mantle of his thick brows.
“Welcome to Colombia.” He didn’t grin, didn’t change his expression in any way, but his accented voice confirmed he was Nico Restrepo.
Matias stood a couple of feet behind Nico. Her heartbeat quivered with both relief and disappointment. He would either help her efforts or try to stop her.
He wore black fatigues and a white t-shirt, with hands behind his back and his stance wide and confident. He didn’t look at her, but his nostrils flared. He must’ve been aware she was peering at him through her lashes.
And she was wearing his long-sleeved shirt.
Why wasn’t she nude and gagged like the other women? Was he protecting her in some way? If that was the case, why was she on the floor, bound with the others, as if awaiting sentencing?
Whatever was going on, she didn’t want to give them a reason to muzzle her, so she kept her mouth shut as she sat taller and waited for Matias to meet her eyes.
When he did, he rubbed a palm over his thigh, his golden gaze unbending and infuriating. What was he thinking? Was he trying to give her a warning? A silent command? What? The longer she stared at him, the more something didn’t feel right, but goddamn, she could stare at him for hours.
Whiskers shadowed his strong jawline. Muscle roped around his forearms and flexed beneath the faded ink of his tattoos. His broad chest, narrow waist, and powerful thighs drew her focus to the considerable package between his legs. If the kiss they’d shared earlier was any indication, she bet he fucked as hard as he looked.
Heat flooded low in her belly, and her nipples hardened. Why did he have to be so distractingly attractive? She pressed her lips together.
His face tightened, and he looked away.
Shit. She shifted her attention to the third man who stood beside him, and her breath strangled.
The corners of his pale mouth tipped into a smile that had been sewed together with heavy black thread. It was like something out of a Tim Burton film. His nest of wild black hair, ghostly complexion, and purple bruises beneath his eyes only made his needlework smirk more disturbing.
Were the stitches self-administered or some kind of punishment? Jesus, how did he eat? She shuddered. No wonder he looked deathly anorexic.
“You already met Matias.” Nico lifted his phone and nodded his chin at the Goth guy. “This is Frizz. Don’t let his youth fool you. He has a supernatural talent with sharp objects.”
Her lips tingled as she imagined him attacking with a lightning fast needle. And what did Nico mean by already met Matias? Did he not know they grew up together? If Matias was hiding things from him, maybe she could use that to her advantage.
“I have an impatient buyer in the pipeline.” Nico swiped the screen of his phone, wearing a scowl that bordered on boredom. “He’s bald, fat, and looking for love.” He rolled his lips. “Well, maybe not love. Let’s call it commitment.”
Who the hell was he talking to? Matias stared at the floor. Frizz’s threaded grin was aimed at no one in particular. The three women behind her sniveled and shook in their chains.
Camila returned her attention to Nico, her pulse beating a frantic tattoo.
“I need to sell one of you.” Nico cocked his head, his gaze flat, dead, as it rested on Camila. “I really don’t care who, so you tell me. Which one?”
Her mind
