Ami looked from him to those passing through on their way to the great room and realization hit her like a physical blow. Carlos and the others—all of the others—had been in the cellar. With Michal gone there was only one reason why he would rally the men into a secret meeting.
“Planning a little coup?” she said, her tone openly accusing as fury replaced the fear she had felt only seconds before.
“Shut up, whore!” He shook her hard, sending a shard of pain through her middle, then kicked the front door closed, no doubt for deafening sound effects. “I have only one plan.”
Uneasiness slid through her again.
He yanked her closer and sneered down at her. “Getting the truth out of you.” He glared at the others. “Make sure the security system is activated this time, you fools.”
Leaving the rest of the men standing there in stunned silence, Carlos dragged her into the kitchen and shoved her against the table, sending a chair toppling over. Trying to catch herself, the Bible slipped from her hand and flew across the floor. She prayed Michal would return. Carlos had been looking for an excuse to hurt her…he would use the woman’s visit as the reason.
Ami braced herself against the table, buying time as she desperately searched for a weapon within reach. She suddenly wished there had been a weapon tucked in the Bible that Fran had given her. Her jaw hardened and a zing of something like anticipation went through her, awakening a primal survival instinct. She couldn’t just let him kill her, she had to stop him. Her gaze landed on the only thing within reach.
Before she could grab the coffee mug abandoned on the other side of the table, he jerked her around to face him. “Who are you working for?” he demanded, his fingers biting into the flesh of her arms.
She cried out before she could stop herself. Her pain only fueled his bloodlust. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The anger she’d enjoyed froze into absolute fear.
“You are working for someone.” He shook her harder. “I know it.”
She couldn’t stop him. He was going to kill her. His intentions were clear in those evil eyes. He’d swear she’d tried to escape again. Tried to run away with the missionary. The weight of defeat had her sagging in his grasp.
She was dead.
“Carlos.”
He whipped around at the sound of the male voice, his ironclad grip still firmly shackled around her arms.
Thomas stood in the doorway looking sorely uncomfortable and uncertain of his next step. “What are you doing? Michal will be—”
“Get out!”
Thomas retreated half a step at the force of the words.
In one lightning-fast move, Carlos pulled his gun. “Get out or join her.”
Thomas backed fully away from the door. “It is your mistake to make,” he muttered as he moved from the kitchen as quickly as possible without turning his back on the madman waving the gun.
Carlos’s fingers were suddenly around her throat. “Now, tell me who you are working for.” He pressed the tip of the gun barrel to her temple and cocked it. The definitive click echoed through the room so loudly she flinched.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she choked, his grip nearly cutting off the air to her lungs.
And then he did, that steel grip tightening until she couldn’t breathe at all. She struggled against him, the renewed instinct to survive stronger than the defeat dragging at her. She clawed at his face relentlessly despite the weapon pressed against her temple. If she was going to die, she would damn well make him remember the deed. Determination solidified inside her…she’d leave evidence of the struggle so Michal would know that Carlos had had his hands on her when he’d killed her.
Carlos laughed at her, a cruel, sinister sound, and loosened his grip just enough for her to gulp in a lungful of precious air. She was certain it had nothing to do with sympathy and everything to do with prolonging the torture. He flattened her against the tabletop, his lower body pressing into hers. Her eyes widened in a new kind of terror when she felt the telltale bulge of arousal.
Oh, no.
Please, God, not that.
He laid the gun next to her head on the table and ripped open her blouse with his free hand. She whimpered and tried to push him away, to fight him off.
“Perhaps you require this kind of persuading,” he suggested hatefully, grinding his pelvis against hers.
She tried to scream, but his fingers cut off the air to her lungs once more.
A calloused palm closed around her breast. She twisted away from his touch, nausea spewing into her throat. Vicious laughter emanated from his chest, adding depraved music to his sickening touch.
He reached for the waistband of her pants. “Show me, bitch, what power you hold over the great Michal Arad.”
