The Vargas Cartel Trilogy (Vargas Cartel #1-3)(13)
My eyes flared, and blood roared through my head, compounding the paralyzing effect of last night’s alcoholic binge and whatever drug Ryker used to sedate me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shoved his hands into his pockets, his face entirely too blank for my comfort. “As long as your father does what he’s told, you should be home before the end of next week.”
The tension twisting my muscles into frozen knots, released just a fraction. I had faith in my dad. He would do whatever it took to extract me from this hellhole. He may not be the best parent in the world, but he took care of his family. He loved me even if he was absent more often than not. Unlike the rest of my family, he hadn’t pressured me to work things out with Evan. “What’s he supposed to do?”
“Pardon my brother.”
“Who’s your brother?”
“Rever Vargas.”
My mind raced through the back alleys of my brain trying to place the name, but nothing came to me. I shook my head, a fresh wave of agony radiating through my skull. “What makes him so important?”
Ryker laughed, a quiet and unsettling sound. “He’s my father’s son.”
“Who’s your father?”
“Ignacio Vargas.”
A little flutter of something—maybe a memory—rushed through my brain, but nothing of substance and nothing identifiable. “So.” I tried to shrug, but the ropes binding me to the chair bit in my wrists.
He caught my chin between his thumb and his index finger, and an unhurried, enigmatic, and impossibly sexy smile tugged on the corners of his lips. I wanted to hit him. He leaned toward me, and I considered spitting in his face, but he pressed his finger to my mouth. “Don’t try it,” he warned, his voice deadly calm, his eyes an opaque, impenetrable mask.
I glared at him, summoning years of anger, frustration, and hatred into the narrowing of my eyes. He bent closer, his lips within striking distance of mine, and for one terrifying second, I thought he’d kiss me. But instead, he yanked his finger from my lips and stood up in one fluid movement. Without looking back, he stalked toward the door, his heavy footsteps echoing through the empty room.
“Wait,” I yelled, craning my head to the side as far as humanly possible. “I need to go to the bathroom.”
He paused, but he didn’t respond.
“And I’d like a change of clothes,” I added. Ryker had torn the strap on my dress last night, and I hated the memory of that moment glaring at me, taunting me with my impulsive stupidity.
“Fine,” he answered in his smooth, velvety voice. The door slammed, and it took less than a second for the tears mixed with semi-hysterical hiccups to surface.
I shouldn’t have gone on this trip. I should’ve got back together with Evan, the self-absorbed *. I should’ve refused to go to the bar with Vera. I wished I never touched Ryker. Shame and cruel self-loathing rushed hot and cold through my veins as visions of Ryker and me on the dance floor and in the alley flashed through my mind. I enjoyed having sex with a monster, which clearly meant something was wrong with me.
I didn’t even hear the door open again. I was too busy floating in a haze of self-pity and regret. The ropes slackened around my wrists and then my ankles, and Ryker’s arms wrapped around my waist pulling me up. Pins and needles of pain shot through my limbs as blood rushed into my starved fingers and toes. I would’ve collapsed if it weren’t for Ryker.
“There’s a bathroom down the hall on the right. You need to be quiet and listen to everything I say. If you try to run or attack me, you won’t like the consequences.” His words were harsh, and the frozen mask of fury on his face told me he meant it.
I nodded, unable and unwilling to form words of gratitude or anger. He restrained my hands behind my back with one hand. He placed his other hand around the front of my neck, warning me what would happen if I tried to resist or escape.
I stumbled as he muscled me into a small, dark room and then flipped on the lights. The room had a toilet, a cabinet with a sink, a square mirror, and a small shower stall. Everything was white with concrete floors just like the room where Ryker held me captive.
He pulled a robe from underneath the sink and draped it over a hook next to the shower. “You can shower and use the bathroom,” he said as he folded his arms across his chest, leaning against the door.
I snatched the robe off the hook. “Are you staying?”
“Can I trust you not to run?”
“No,” I shot back before I contemplated the consequences of my answer. Dumbass.
“Then I’ll wait here. Go ahead.” He nodded his head in the direction of the shower.
“No,” I shouted. My heart seized with a sickening terror. I imagined his silvery eyes crawling over my naked body. Enough guilt and self-hatred already assaulted my conscience for having sex with him. I didn’t need any more.
He rolled his eyes. “For f*ck’s sake, Hattie, I have no interest in your naked body or touching any part of you. There’s no need to be modest.” His eyes danced with amusement like he found the whole situation hilarious, and it stung for too many reasons to contemplate.
Asshole.
Asshole.
Asshole.
Humiliation heated my cheekbones and quickly spread down my face to my neck. “Then, why’d you touch me last night?” My voice was so small and pathetic I wanted to shrink into nothingness and disappear. His words plunged into my heart like an invisible spear. Logically, why he f*cked me wasn’t important. It happened. Given the chance, I’d rewind history. Regrets were a waste of time and brainpower. Unfortunately, my emotional mind snubbed my rational mind.