Beneath These Lies (Beneath, #5)(77)

Don’t show fear. Never show fear.

“Get the f*ck over here.” He gestured with the gun.

The last thing I wanted to do was walk a single inch closer to a man who’d said he wanted to rape me. When I didn’t move, he snarled and strode toward me. As soon as he was within striking distance, my hand shot out, the shard of glass held like a dagger.

But I’d moved too soon. He dodged, roaring at me when my makeshift weapon sliced a path across his shoulder.

“You cunt!”

His fist swung, once again catching me in the temple. The blow sent me to my knees, the glass flying from my hand.

I wasn’t too proud to admit that I cowered as he grabbed me by the throat and dragged me to my feet.

My hands went to his, clawing at the grip cutting off my oxygen supply and unleashing flashbacks of the last time a man had pinned me down against my will.

You stupid whore. What kind of slut leaves with a man she just met? I’m gonna give you what you’re begging for. Make you beg for me.

I could feel his breath on my face as blackness edged around my vision. For a moment, I hoped for unconsciousness. But then I wouldn’t be able to fight back.

I fought harder. Clawed deeper.

He lifted and shook me until my arms dropped to my sides. “Stupid bitch. Fighting will only make it worse.”

The words were too similar. He slammed me into the wall again, my back cracking.

“What the f*ck are you doing, man?”

Another voice penetrated the static rushing through my head. My eyes slid shut as the blackness crept closer and closer.

The man released his grip before I lost my hold on consciousness. I hit the floor, sucking in lungfuls of air. When the blackness receded, I stared up at the men as they shoved each other and argued.

The man with the gun grunted and threw his hands into the air. “Fine! Fucking take her! Cunt’s more trouble than she’s worth.” He shoved the door open and left.

The other man crouched in front of me, a hand wrapping around my arm. “Get up. I’m moving you.” When I jerked away, not wanting his touch on my skin, he only gripped harder and said, “Don’t f*cking fight me. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.”

Tremors racked my body as he dragged me to my feet.

“Let’s go.”

I stumbled behind him as he led me around a corner and up a set of stairs. In my peripheral vision, I caught sight of two men standing near a table piled high with black packages shaped like bricks. Black duffel bags were mounded on the floor to the side.

Drugs. The obvious answer penetrated my brain beyond the fight-or-flight instincts vying for supremacy. I snapped my eyes forward, not wanting anyone to realize I’d seen anything. I didn’t need to give them another reason to want me dead.

The man hauling me up the stairs turned right and shoved open a door to reveal a nursery.

“You make a sound, you’re dead. You try to climb out that window, you’re dead. You piss me off, you’re dead. And if Hernandez gets you, you’re probably worse than dead.”

Worse than dead. Going back to the world where every sound terrified me and I couldn’t close my eyes without being haunted by nightmares would be worse than death.

He shoved me inside and I stumbled to the wall, pressing a hand against it as I slid down before wrapping my arms tight around my legs to present the smallest target possible.

“You try to leave this room, I promise you’ll regret it.”

He didn’t need to spell it out for me again. I got it. He turned and left the room, and I didn’t even hear the sound of the door locking.

But his threats would keep me from testing that handle. Who was I kidding? His threats would keep me curled into a ball on the floor while my memories battered me and I lost control over the tears welling in my eyes.

Rix. I need Rix.





WATCHING A MAN DRINK WASN’T my idea of a good time, but something kept me sitting on the bar stool beside Hennessy as he ordered his first bourbon. He hadn’t said much since he walked in the door, but words weren’t necessary.

I checked the time again. Just after seven. I wanted to get to Valentina’s before eight. The way Hennessy was staring at the bourbon placed in front of him without touching it had me wondering how long this would take. I tried Johnny three more times with no answer. Something was off.

My phone lit up with a message from an unknown number. A photo.

I opened it and froze. I’d recognize Valentina anywhere, and the sight of blood dripping from her temple sent burning fires of rage bursting through my veins.

What. The. Fuck.

A text followed.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: She’s a fighter, but she ain’t getting away from us. She’ll get a bullet to the head if you don’t cooperate.

I wouldn’t panic, but I sure as f*ck would rip the limbs from someone’s goddamned body for touching her. For daring to take my woman.

I closed out the message and called her phone. There was no goddamned way the FNDs had her. No f*cking way.

It rang and rang until the voice mail picked up and her cheery voice answered. “You’ve got Valentina. You know what to do.”

That was the f*cking problem—I didn’t have Valentina. Someone else did.

I shoved away from the bar and stalked to the corner of the room. Leaving a message was probably pointless, but I didn’t care.