The Vargas Cartel Trilogy (Vargas Cartel #1-3)(119)

“Buena chica,” he muttered, his voice dripping with ridicule as he pressed the cigar into my arm adjacent to the first mark.

Tears blurred my vision as I willed myself to stay still and keep my eyes open. Flames of agony rippled through my arm as my skin wilted like burning paper, curling up at the edges. My eyes locked on his. A smile twisted his lips into a sadistic sneer, and he lifted the cigar again. His black eyes glittered with a sick satisfaction as he lit it again and inhaled.

“Una vez más,” he said as smoke exited his mouth in uneven puffs.

The cigar smashed against my arm once more. I didn’t move. I didn’t respond. Hate coursed through my veins, and I plotted my revenge. Disjointed thoughts tumbled through my mind, each one more warped than the last. I visualized carving the lines of his tattoos with a knife until a river of blood poured from his arms and neck. I mentally pierced his eyeballs, plucked them out of their sockets and stuffed them down his throat until his suffocated. I imagined his severed body parts scattered across the room.

I was deranged. My thoughts turned my stomach, but something about conjuring ways to torture and kill Enrique brought me clarity and purpose. It kept my mind from dwelling on the pain, and it gave me the incentive to keep fighting instead of succumbing to the defeat crushing my chest.

Then, it ended.

He removed the cigar from my arm for the fourth and hopefully final time. I sucked in a breath, filling my lungs with much-needed air. He caressed the side of my head, and I flinched. His touch made my stomach roll.

“Don’t touch me,” I hissed through my teeth even though I knew I should’ve kept my mouth shut and feigned compliance.

He sighed as he pinched my cheek, his dirty fingernails digging into my skin like two arrows. His putrid breath misted over my face. “Don’t be tiresome. I can do whatever I want with you. You’re our prisoner. You’re mine until I decide otherwise.”

I scoffed and ripped my gaze away from his penetrating stare. He could do what he wanted with me. I knew that, but it didn’t mean I had to like it or acknowledge it.

Smiling faintly, he stood and tossed the cigar onto the floor. He ground the heel of his black boot into the fat stub. “That’s all for today, but I’ll be back tomorrow to finish the A. Two more should do it.”

I glanced at my arm for the first time since he finished. Four circular burn marks marred my bicep, creating something that loosely resembled an upside down ‘V’. I glared at him, wishing I could kill him with my hands instead of settling for killing and torturing him in my mind.

“Have a good night,” he said as he turned to face the door.

“Wait. I have to go to the bathroom.”

He didn’t pause. He didn’t stop. He pretended I didn’t exist.

Juan Alvarez cleared his throat, and I focused my narrowed eyes on him.

“You can use that,” he said, waving his hand at a small metal pail to my right.

A tremor rolled through my body. “What about food or water?” My throat was so dry I could barely swallow and my stomach was caving in on itself.

“I might have someone bring you food in the next hour or two if I remember.” He flipped off the light and engaged the lock, bathing me in shadows again.

“Fuck you. I hope you burn in hell,” I whispered.





Chapter Two




Ryker



“Good news,” Ignacio said when I walked into his private hospital room twenty-four hours after I discovered Juan Alvarez had abducted Hattie.

“I find that hard to believe.” I lifted my eyebrows as I settled into a chair on the far side of the room. To me, good news meant Juan Alvarez realized this whole thing was a big misunderstanding, and Hattie was waiting for me at the hotel.

Ignacio raised the top of his hospital bed into a seated position. “Don’t look so defeated. My sons aren’t losers or whiny pansies. Don’t give up before we’ve started to fight back.”

I exhaled hard out of my mouth. “Go ahead. Give me the good news.” I hadn’t slept last night. My mind flitted from one dead end to the next, trying to coordinate a rescue effort, but there was one big f*cking problem. I had no idea where Juan Alvarez was hiding Hattie, and I didn’t have the connections to figure it out.

To top off my problems, Rever wouldn’t answer his phone or return my calls. If I couldn’t get Hattie back in the next seventy-two hours, I would fly to Panama, hunt Anna, and drag her ass back here. Pregnant or not, I didn’t give a shit. Hattie came first. Hattie was the only innocent party in this entire f*cked up situation.

“Emanuel has narrowed down Hattie’s location to two safe houses.”

I leaned forward in my seat. Emanuel acted as Ignacio’s right-hand man for at least ten years now, but he’d been affiliated with the Vargas Cartel for as long as I could remember. He’d systematically worked his way through ranks, and managed to ingratiate himself with Ignacio. In fact, he was the person who contacted me when Ignacio was shot over a week ago.

“How’d he manage that?”

Ignacio drummed his fingers on the metal safety rail on the side of his bed. “We have informants inside the Alvarez Cartel.”

“So how long until he can pinpoint the exact location?” I didn’t want to arrange simultaneous raids of two safe houses. Planning two raids would take time. A lot of time, and time was my enemy. I’d already wasted twenty-four hours. I only had two more days until Juan Alvarez made good on his threat to torture her unless he had already started, which wasn’t altogether unlikely. Unlike in other criminal organizations, Mexican cartels didn’t attribute any value to honesty. In fact, there weren’t any rules except to show as much cruelty as possible in order to send clear and concise messages to your rivals. Mercy equaled weakness in the drug smuggling world.