“I will call you back in twenty minutes,” President Garcia says. The connection drops and I stare at Austin, convinced he’s out of his mind.
“You threatened the President of Panama! We have to leave. Now. He will know where we are, and the IPS will come to take us all.” Rising, I dart a gaze around the room. There is nothing of Leo here. Nothing of Leoanywhere. The only evidence he lives here is the clothes in his closet.
“Domina.” Trevor comes up behind me, and I whirl around, hands on my hips. “No one’s coming after us here. No one who wants to see another sunrise, anyway.” He touches the butt of his gun, as if he needs to know it’s still there.
“But they will try.” I hate the tremble in my voice. The weakness. In only a week, I have gone from never needing anyone—or so I thought—to weak, terrified, and helpless.
“No. They won’t.” Austin stands, turning one of the laptops so I can see the screen. And half a dozen chat windows. I take a step closer so I can read the names.
“That’s…the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff,” I whisper. “And the Secretary of Defense?”
“Plus the Secretary of the Navy and the Chief of Staff to the Vice President of the United States,” Austin adds. “Can’t tell you where the others work. Or worked. Garcia’s well aware how connected I am. Even though I ‘retired’ a year ago, I still have some damn powerful friends.”
Austin’s phone rings, and he taps his earbud. “Garcia, you better have answers for me.”
“Go to 1801 Avenida de Cedro. The Ministry of Public Service does not report to me. I did what I could. You should not face any resistance, but I cannot guarantee it.”
“Good to know you’re not a complete idiot,” Austin says. “Your next call better be to Manuel Cortez. Because as soon as we get Basher out of that hell hole, we need some goddamn answers, and he’s the only one who can provide them.”
Austin doesn’t wait for Garcia to reply. Tucking his phone into the pocket of his tactical pants, he slams the laptops closed. “Trev, get Domina set up with protective gear. We leave in ten minutes.”
* * *
Leo
“Wake up, American.” The punch sends me crashing to the floor. My legs are numb. The pain racing down my arms is like a thousand volts of electricity all the way to my wrists.
“Didn’t need…a fucking…alarm clock,” I slur. I shouldn’t be thankful to see—or hear, since I’m so dizzy, I can’t see shit—Reyes and Peña again, but anything’s better than the godawful “music” they played all night to keep me awake.
“Tell us who you work for!” Peña shouts. Reyes grabs me by the throat and shoves me back into the chair. “Or we will take you to another cell that is much less comfortable than this one.”
“Fuck off.” Lifting my head is damn near impossible. I blink hard and meet Peña’s gaze. He’s desperate. Why? Something’s changed.
God, I need to be able to think.
He slams his hands down on the table, leaning so close I can smell the coffee on his breath. “Where would she go?”
She?
Another punch—this one to my side. Then a boot presses down on my right foot. The pain pulls a groan from my parched throat.
Without my shoes, it’s easy to jerk my leg and slide my toes out from under Reyes’s sole. “Not saying a word…until you give me some water.”
A hand fists my hair. Before I can blink, Reyes slams my head against the table.
Darkness closes in. Peña’s face shrinks before my eyes until all I can see is his blurry pock-marked cheek.
I wish I could stop fighting to survive. Pass out and let them do whatever the fuck they want to me. But I didn’t survive eight days of torture in Venezuela to die at the hands of these two incompetent assholes.
“Again,” Peña snaps.
This time, I’m fast enough to jerk away. My head pounds. The room spins around me, but Reyes only grabs a couple strands of my hair. He swears, lunges for me again, but the door bangs open.
“Get the American up,” another man says. I’m so shocked, I don’t pay attention when he lowers his voice and switches to Spanish.
Peña protests, something about them almost breaking me. “Give us another hour, Robles.”
“Quickly,” the new guy says. “Or he’s coming in. Garcia warned me—”
