"I need to see the damage. Don't move." He demanded.
I steadied my jittery body, allowing him to peek between my legs. He reached out and stroked each thigh lightly, almost like a soft caress. He gently inserted his finger into my sex, bringing a groan from my lips. I flinched as the pain shot through my groin. My insides were raw and on fire. When he removed his finger, there was blood on the tip.
He huffed as if perturbed by the red droplet. He pulled a small packet from his pocket and opened it. A wet nap. He cleaned off his finger with the small towelette, then walked over to Becca, assessing the damage on her.
Once satisfied, he turned away from my friend, giving a slight nod to the men behind him.
"Take them to the infirmary. They’ll be tested for STDs, and their wounds will be dealt with. Bring them to my room once the doctor’s finished cleaning up their injuries."
The guards seized our arms. Becca moaned loudly, but didn't resist. I remained silent, making no sound at all. What was the point? If I kept crying or tried to fight, what came next would be much worse. Hector didn't look back as he walked ahead of us, whistling as if he didn't have a care in the world.
His casual attitude made me shiver with disgust.Hemade me shiver with disgust. The door shut behind us with a clang as we were hauled through the corridor, and I knew with horrific certainty that the real nightmare was only beginning.
Chapter 8
The Hunt
Atlas
Once we arrived at our first stop, I tossed a plastic apron to Jacob and strapped one on myself. They weren't frilly kitchen aprons; they were heavy-duty dark gray utility garb. These things were great for catching any bodily fluids that we might come into contact with.
It saved us a hell of a lot of time with cleanup. I checked my GPS app; still, no sign of Kitlyn.
I sighed, feeling frustrated, and then focused on my current task. We looked around the parameters of the dump in front of us without uttering a word. The house was run down, nothing more than a crumbling shell of filth and decay. You would think the cartels would spend a little money on their processing units. These holdingtanks are almost like walking into a third-world country, for Christ's sake.
Jacob and I stepped out of the truck. I looked at him and smiled. "Showtime," I mouthed.
With our guns drawn, I kicked the wooden door in with such force that it cracked down the middle.
Inside was dark and putrid, foul with the stench of sweat and piss. I almost lost my lunch from the vile odor settling in my nostrils. Three men scrambled at the sound of the door splitting off its hinges, but they were too slow. I didn't hesitate. My 357 went off, and the first man went down in a spray of red. His head exploded like a watermelon.
The others stood frozen, their eyes wide with fear. Jacob grabbed one by the throat, lifting him off the ground.
The man clawed at his hand, trying to pry himself free from the death grip cutting off the oxygen to his windpipe. Jacob sneered in his face.
"Do you know a Hector?"
Clenching Jacob's hand with his palms, the man shook his head. Jacob sat him in the chair, while I kept my eye on the last one inching toward the door. He tried to run, but I was on him instantly.
My hand wrapped around his throat, slamming him into the wall with a sickening thud. His breath came in short, panicked gasps—his pale skin glistened with perspiration.
I hurled him into the chair beside his buddy, my glare venomous. Anger bubbled under my skin, growinghotter with every minute. I raised my leg and planted my foot beside the maggot, inching in closer, fury in my eyes.
"I am only going to ask you this twice, because I know you won't give up any information the first time. Where can I find Hector, your boss?"
The scumbag's eyes darted back and forth between me and my partner. His voice was shaky, and he looked like he was going to shit himself.
"Honest man, I don't even recognize the name. I wasn't even born in this country. I'm an American who just follows orders and asks no questions."
I smiled at the soon-to-be-dead man.
Lifting my knife from my boot, I rested it against his neck. He swallowed hard, his eyes full of terror.
"I don't give a fucking shit if you were born in Rome, and you were the damn pope. Wrong fucking answer. Now, let's do this again."
I pulled my foot off the chair and stepped in beside him. Grabbing a fistful of his hair, I yanked his head back so hard he let out a grunt. The tip of my blade caressed his neck, digging in just enough to draw a few drops of blood.
"Second and last attempt. Where can I find Hector? I'm not in a very good mood, so you might not want to upset me."
