Page 52

Every breath carried the sour stink of piss and sweat beneath the metallic tang of the bleach they’d used to hide what happened down here.

I had no idea what time it was, but enough of it had gone missing that hours must’ve passed since the interrogation ended. Sleep hadn’t come. Instead, whenever I slipped out of unconsciousness, pain had tightened its grip, dragging me back to my grim reality. I hadn’t been able to stop every grunt or keep the blows from knocking the breath out of me, but fear never entered my voice. Every curse and smart-ass answer had earned another hit. Knowing it would happen hadn’t stopped me. Letting Ciro hear even a trace of panic would’ve cost more.

The old cellar still held some of the night’s cool in the concrete beneath my boots, but the air had gone stale, and the blindfold trapped heat against my clammy skin.

I let my head hang and took a minute to figure out what hurt, what still worked, and what might slow me down.

Thirst had left my throat raw, and the coughing brought on by the blows only made it worse. The cut along my cheek had reopened during the interrogation and now burned beneath the dried blood. My jaw throbbed. My ribs and stomach hurt when I breathed too deeply, and my left thigh pulsed where their weapon had landed.

Nothing felt broken or out of place. I could still move my arms and legs, even if it hurt like hell.

The skin beneath the cuffs was swollen and tender. I turned each wrist once, testing how deeply the metal had bitten in and whether either restraint had any give. The right cuff didn’t move. The left shifted a fraction, but not enough for me to get out of it. Both ankles were firmly locked to the chair’s lower frame but were uninjured.

Brute force wasn’t going to get me out of here, though. I was caught in one hell of a bind.

Alone, I could admit what I hadn’t let Ciro see.

I was afraid.

Not of dying. Men who lived in the underworld accepted that risk long before someone put a gun in our hands and called us family. I was afraid of what Ciro and the woman from New York intended to do while they kept me alive. He wanted information and whatever leverage he could wring from me to force Nik and The Syndicate to back off the cartel. She’d gone to eat and sleep before coming back to break me into whatever sick version of a pet she wanted.

The tracker sat beneath the skin of my upper arm, one of Nik’s paranoid little miracles we’d all mocked when he made us get them. Whether it had managed to send a clean signal on the jet, during the drive from whatever airport we’d landed at, or before they dragged me into this underground hole, I had no fucking idea. Down here, beneath concrete and earth, it might as well have been buried with me.

Nik would tear apart the New Jersey house, the tunnel, the flight, and every company tied to Ciro’s plane. He was the best there was.

Lucian would come.

That certainty hurt worse than my ribs.

My brother had fought through hell for Scarlett, finally put a ring on her finger, and barely had time to breathe before I’d been snatched. He’d burn heaven and earth to find me, and every hour without an answer would cut into him.

Nik would find the path, and Lucian would go through anyone stupid enough to stand between us.

Neither meant they’d reach me before Ciro’s people did permanent damage.

I needed an opening inside the compound.

A radio crackled beyond the door, and a man answered in Spanish, too distant for me to catch more than a few words.

Wherever I was, the place had begun to stir. A diesel pickup coughed to life somewhere outside, followed by dogs barking and men calling to one another across the grounds.

It had to be early morning—late enough for the compound to be moving, early enough that the disgusting woman from New York might still be asleep.

Then a quiet click behind me cut through my thoughts. Stone scraped ever so softly, and a cool current brushed the back of my neck.

It wasn’t the door in front of me. No key turned in the heavy lock, and no boots came down the corridor.

Blindfolded, I was much more aware of every sound in the room. This one came from the wall behind me.

I went still.

Fabric brushed against the wall, then came a shallow breath from someone trying hard not to make a sound.

The scent of clean soap reached me, carrying the faintest trace of orange blossom. A woman.

It could still be a trick. Ciro had already used one woman to put me in this chair, and I had no idea who was sneaking up behind me now, but I sure as hell hoped it wasn’t that lying cunt Isabella.

I doubted it was her, because she never arrived unnoticed. Her perfume announced her before the measured click of her heels, and nothing about her was quiet.