Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Nothing she could do about the clothes. If Tiago wanted to strip her bare, she wouldn’t be able to do anything about that, either. Except fight. That she would do.
Hands clenched around the severed rope, she stormed down the corridor and turned the door knob.
She expected luxurious furniture, plush fabrics, and perhaps the fatal end of a rifle waiting on the other side. But as she stepped in, none of that greeted her. The room was as empty as her prison.
The only source of light glowed from a shadeless lamp on the floor beside a small mattress. Rumpled blankets and a dented pillow suggested recent use. A large duffel bag of clothes sat open near a bathroom door, as if the room’s occupant didn’t intend to stay.
As for the occupant…
Her breathing stalled as she tracked the reach of light to the farthest, darkest corner.
A man sat on a two-foot-tall steel safe, his lower body illuminated enough to reveal heavy boots, dark slacks, and a posture that could only be described as an arrogant sprawl. He lounged with his back against the wall and legs spread, his body language insinuating he didn’t care whether she entered or not.
The rest of him melted into chilling blackness. His chest, shoulders, face—none of his upper half was visible. He probably positioned the lamp at just the right angle to give the illusion of a predator lurking in the dark, just to ramp up the fear factor.
No illusions needed. She knew what he was, and her knees wobbled with the impulse to cower and beg for her life. But a meek and submissive demeanor would only earn her extended torture. She’d learned that the hard way.
She would rather die quickly than draw out the torment.
Her heart rate accelerated, and she swayed beneath the spinning weight of vertigo. She didn’t want to die. But if her life was taken from her, if this was her last stance in the world, she would face it with ferocity and bitter rage.
Shoving back her shoulders, tight as they were, she strode into the room.
“Welcome, Kate.” His low, deep baritone curled a shiver around her spine. “Come closer. I know you’ve been anxious to meet me. Everyone on this side of the continent has heard you begging.”
“Cut the shit, Tiago.” She paused outside the lamp’s glow and swallowed her nerves. “I haven’t seen your face. I can’t identify you. Let me go, and I’ll forget the whole thing.”
“Step into the light.” Rich and rumbly, his accent swirled with hints of South America and something indefinably exotic.
“You first.”
“This will go faster if you follow orders.”
“Am I keeping you from something?” She cast a pointed look around the spartan room. “What have you been doing in here for a month?”
The silence that followed closed a fist around her windpipe. It lasted a minute, then several more, until she could no longer bear it.
“Are we in Venezuela? What is this place?”
More silence.
“If you’re not going to talk, I might as well head back to the isolation in the other room.” She meant to sound bored, but the shakiness in her voice ruined the attempt.
His hand stirred on his thigh. Fingers tapped, tap-tap-tap, and fell still. When the shadow finally spoke, it chilled her to the bone.
“Do you want to live, Kate?”
She choked on a whimper. “Yes.”
“Are you worthy of mercy?”
“Yes.”
“Convince me.”
Her nostrils flared, and her neck ached with tension. “I make an honest living and help people in need. I’ve certainly never kidnapped anyone and locked them in a room for a month.” She couldn’t disguise the contempt in her tone. “I haven’t done anything to you!”
“Feel that high sense of value and superiority? That’s pride, little girl. One of my favorite sins.”
She drew in a sharp breath. “You asked—”
“I know what I asked. And since you know my name, you know it’s not synonymous with mercy.”
No surprise that Kate had been right about who had abducted her, but it didn’t calm the tremors in her belly. Because let’s face it. There was nothing remotely comforting about being held captive by Tiago Badell.
As one of the wealthiest crime lords in Venezuela, he smuggled guns and drugs, kidnapped tourists for ransom, controlled the police force, and made a living off other people’s misery. Tate’s intel had given her a harrowing overview of the operation, but how would that insight help her? Tiago probably wanted to kill her just because of her association with Tate.
Even if that were true, she wouldn’t mention Tate. Not until she better understood the landscape and the man who reigned over it.
Why was he just sitting there in the shadows? Was he aiming a gun? Coiled to strike? Trying to keep his face anonymous? Or maybe he was just a dickhead and wanted to get a rise out of her?
The steel safe he used as a chair was the freestanding variety, with a combination lock and heavy-looking door. It was probably bolted to the floor and stuffed to the brim with artillery, cash, and enough criminal evidence to earn him a top spot on the Most Dangerous Men in the World list.