"How the fuck did I know she belonged to you? He gasped, his voice cracking. "If she had told me her boyfriend was an assassin, I would have released her, but by the time my nephew showed up and told me himself, it was too late. The damage was already done."
Rage flared hot in my chest. I slammed the butt of my knife into his jaw, forcing his head back. "And you think brutally raping heraftershe confessed everything was a good fucking idea?"
Hector coughed, blood spattering down his bare chest, glistening against the dozens of shallow cuts I'd left across his skin. His eyes were swollen nearly shut, lips split, every inch of him painted in sweat and blood.
"My plan," he croaked, barely audible, "was to sell her and Becca that night. Get rid of them. Wash my hands clean."
I leaned in, so close he could feel my breath on his bloodied face. I yanked his chin up so he had no choice but to look at me through puffy lids.
"If you had sold her, I would have hunted you down anyway," I said, my voice low and razor-edged. "There was never a world where your hands would come out clean. You hurt what is mine. You left your filthy DNA in her, you motherfucker," I sneered. "Your time here will not be pleasant. By the time Jacob and I are finished with you, you'll be begging for death, and the worst part?"
I leaned in until my lips brushed his ear.
"You won't get it."
For the first time, Hector had nothing to say.
His laugh faltered.
His voice faltered.
He already looked like a broken man, and his torture was worth every drop of blood spilled.
Jacob and I crept back into the house after beating the hell out of our prisoner. We left the guard Agent Turner assigned to us with the ex-cartel boss. Hector looked half dead, but I made sure he wasn't. The watchman was ordered to keep Hector bound and gagged, cleaned up just enough, given plenty of water and some ration packs. I watched him almost starve my kitten; now it was his turn.I wouldn't show mercy to the bastard by taking his life. He needed to suffer for as long as possible.
It was three in the morning, and exhaustion weighed on both of us. It's been a long night. We checked on the girls. All three were cuddled together in one of the guest bedrooms. Cameras covered every inch of the house, but I didn't bother pulling up the feeds. I switched off the one in their room. I saw what they went through. There was no need for me to listen in on them.
I was beyond that these days.
The girls would need time to trust.
To heal.
To feel safe again.
I'll wait until Kitlyn is ready to let me back in.
I had all the time in the world.
Every last one of Hector's guards was either dead or in CIA custody. My brother texted to confirm Juan and Julio were alive, handed over to Agent Turner after he struck a deal with the Mexican government. By morning, the brothers would be delivered here, tucked neatly beside Hector in the guesthouse. No loose ends. I wouldn't take any chances. The entire family would die by my hand.
The thought relaxed me.
Jacob took another guest suite, while I settled in my own room. The house was big enough, with seven bedrooms and eight bathrooms spread out over three floors. Plenty of space for the girls.
I wanted Kit beside me, but I knew she needed distance. Space to breathe. I'd already lined up a psychiatrist for all of them. After what I'd seen on those videos, therapywas the least they needed. Tomorrow, a female doctor I trusted would examine them. I specifically did not want a male doctor. Not after what they endured.
The exams would be invasive, and they deserved at least that measure of comfort. Kitten especially. I needed to know she was healing inside after what that pathetic bastard did to her. Just thinking about it made my fists itch.
Every time my mind replayed it, I wanted to storm back to the guesthouse and murder the fucker, but that would be too merciful. Death was the easy way out. I wanted him to drown in the same agony he'd forced onto the women he broke.
Chapter 28
Healing
Kitlyn
It's been three weeks since Atlas rescued us from Hector's prison, but the memories still lingered like a stubborn cold, repeatedly clogging our heads. At Atlas's insistence, all of us girls were under psychiatric care trying to claw our way back from the wreckage.
