Who is the person referred to as“The Boss?” And will his name give us any protection in this situation?
The lead officer squints and leans a little bit further inside the vehicle. “Is that so?” His gaze darts between Tristano and me, and based on the cool expression on Tristano’s face, I’m guessing he doesn’t speak Spanish and doesn’t know what’s being said. Or he’s unperturbed by these men. If so, his self-assurance is comforting, but I highly suspect he'd be like this regardless.
Carlos nods. “Yes, sir.”
“And what about you?” Perez motions toward Octavia with a simple flick on his wrist. “I recognize your face, but I can’t quite place you.”
Without turning her head she says in a clipped voice, “I work for El Jefe.”
“I bet you do.” The lewd gleam in the man’s gaze brightens while he continues to stare at her. My stomach heaves and I squeeze my hands until the bones in my fingers grind against each other, to keep from reacting in any way. “Are you also anassistant?” he asks her, drawing out the word and leaving no room for misinterpretation.
The officer just outside her door places his forearm on the window ledge and grins. “Yes, what is yourjob, exactly?”
Octavia doesn’t respond to the rude inquiry. My silence is a lousy substitute for the quiet confidence she has.
“Carlos, can you tell these fine gentlemen I respect them for taking the time to ascertain our safety,” Tristano says in English. He’s thickened his Italian accent as though to add credibility to our story, which is clever on his part. “However, I’m going to be late for this very important meeting if we don’t proceed and I don’t want to keep your employer waiting.”
The driver translates and the two officers within my line of sight share a look. Obviously I can’t see the ones just behind me, but I remind myself that Beni can. He may not know me or genuinely care about my welfare, yet I’m certain he’ll do his best to keep me alive, if only to follow Tristano’s orders.
“We’d be more than happy to let you pass,” Perez says in nearly flawless English, “after you provide a gift of thanks for us securing passage for you.”
Carlos gives the man a curt nod and slowly lets his hands drift away from the steering wheel. He lifts the lid of the center console and grabs a wad of cash before offering it to the officer.
“Thank you,” Perez says, continuing in English. The money quickly disappears in his back pocket and then he goes back to palming his firearm. “Hey, Javier, what do you want as payment?”
The man next to Octavia cocks his head and then grabs a lock of her hair, wrapping it around his index finger. Her shoulders rise when she stiffens at the contact. Carlos darts his gaze between her and Javier, and so do I. Tristano does nothing to hide his blatant stare and though his expression doesn’t change, his lips thin and a deep swallow works his throat.
“I don’t have any more money with me,” Carlos says, “but I can get some if you let me get word to my boss.”
Javier smirks. “I don’t want money. I’d prefer something else.”
The heat from Octavia’s gaze could set him on fire, if that were possible. “Take the money so you can pay for as many women as you want,” she snaps.
Javier yanks on her hair and a stifled cry pierces the air, making my chest tighten painfully for her. “Why pay when I can have it for free?” he says, his tone full of malice.
The officer that was positioned behind me, saunters up to my side of the vehicle and my heartbeat crescendos with every single one of his steps. By the time he’s within arm’s length, my heart is booming loudly in my ears and I’m biting the inside of my cheek to refrain from giving him any indication that I’m scared.
But I am frightened beyond measure because the glint in his eye is identical to Ugo.
Unbidden memories fill my mind and blood slides over my tongue from the force of my bite. The malevolent energy pours from these men like radioactive waves, poisoning me. The atmosphere is exactly the same as the night Carina was assaulted, and every one of my breaths is a struggle, despite the fact my heart is working overtime.
“What’s your name?”
The man’s voice chills me to the core, freezing my soul and turning my blood to shards of ice. I’m physically numb and I vaguely wonder if that’s my mind’s way of preparing me for the atrocities that are sure to come. As though I’m suffering from hypothermia, my body begins to shake, and the trembling intensifies when the officer leans closer.
Close enough for me to see anticipation illuminate his dark gaze.
Lust, in all its depravity, looms over me, and once again I’m powerless to stop it. I’m not sure whether I hate him more for threatening me, or myself for being weak. My fear has rendered me useless again.
“If you want to have your tongue attached to your mouth, you’ll give me your name,” he says.
Against my better judgement, contrary to my terror, and despite my mind screaming, I turn to look at him. My lips part—whether it’s of their own volition or not, I don’t know—and I suck in a tiny breath in preparation to speak. It’s not beyond the realm of possibility these men will harass us and then leave, or else Octavia would’ve told Tristano this trip was a suicide mission. I highly doubt that me giving him an answer will prevent any violence, but I have to try.
Breaking my silence in order to save my life and the lives of those around me is something I don’t have to deliberate. The choice is easy.
But the execution is hard.
The man’s hand shoots out to grab my jaw and he applies enough pressure to have my eyes filling with tears, also forcing my mouth to open wider. “You don’t need a tongue to suck my—”
