Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 88918 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88918 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
“When I was inside you,” he breathed against her ear, “it was real and natural and just us. Understand?”
She nodded, her throat too tight for sound as she floated to an imaginary hinterland where everythings and forevermores glittered like stars in the sky.
“Sex between us… That was a straightforward thing. But everything else…” He leaned back and rubbed the crease between his eyebrows. “There are complications, histories.”
“My sister?”
“Yes. And Tiago Badell, the work you do for him. We have a lot to discuss.”
The mention of Tiago made her wonder how Tate found her, but more importantly… “Does Camila know I’m alive?”
“No. We need to talk about that, too.” He clasped her hand and stood, leading her to the sitting room. “Did you run into trouble on your way back?”
“My way back…?” She stopped and released his hand, her mind spinning to understand his meaning. “Wait. You knew I followed you earlier?”
“Of course. And I knew you had to return to the club where your guards were waiting. How did you dodge them again to get back here?”
She could tell him. She could lay bare all her secrets and ugly truths and hope she was right about his compassion. But that required trust—something he had to earn.
She left the question adrift and stepped along the window in the main room. Below, two of Tiago’s guards stood across the street from her apartment door, smoking cigarettes and shooting the shit.
Could they not see her up here? She flattened a hand against the window, studying the glass.
“There’s a film on it.” Tate stood so close to her back his breath stirred her hair. “It makes the apartment look dark from the outside.”
No wonder she hadn’t noticed movement in the window when she came and went in the alley. “How long have you been watching me?”
“Ten days. The man I hired to find you watched you for weeks.”
“Tell me about that, about your relationship with Camila, all of it.” Shifting away from his intoxicating presence, she sat on the unfolded sleeper sofa and settled in. “Start at the beginning.”
“It started with me.” Van, now dressed in athletic pants and a shirt, brought her a glass of tequila, which she refused. “My father was the Police Chief of Austin. But in the criminal underground, he was known as Mr. E.” He swallowed the tequila and set the glass on the coffee table. “He trafficked sex slaves, and I was the kidnapper and trainer for the operation.”
She sat motionless and silent as he outlined seven years of blackmail, kidnapping, submission training, and rape. He explained how Liv Reed shot him the same night she killed Mr. E, how the slaves escaped over the years, and the roles Camila, Tate, and Matias played in that.
It was agonizing to hear how her sister had been forced to kneel, beg beneath a whip, and suck his dick. But when he confirmed he never raped her, Lucia sagged with relief. Then he spoke about the ten weeks he imprisoned Tate.
“I’m attracted to submissives. Women and men.” Van stood with his back to the window, moving only his lips around an ever-present toothpick. “As you already know, Tate is neither gay nor submissive. I preyed on that. Used it to humiliate him, hurt him, and yes, I fucked him countless times while he fought uselessly in his restraints.”
As Van delivered his monotone confession, Tate smoked one cigarette after another without interjecting a word. She peeked at him, expecting to see fury in his eyes. There were remnants of that in the blue depths, but there were so many other emotions twisting and turning at the forefront. Unease, turmoil, distrust… But she might’ve glimpsed forgiveness there, too.
He’d had six years to come to terms with what Van had done to him. There must’ve been some level of resolution, because here they were, together. During Van’s account of the events, he admitted he wanted to help Tate and Camila any way he could. Even so, the unfinished tension between him and Tate electrocuted the air.
Another thing she noticed… If Van was bisexual, why didn’t he look at Tate with sexual interest? Tate was so damn eye-catching even a straight man would give him a second glance.
Though now that she thought about it, Van didn’t look at her with desire, either. Maybe he had a partner or spouse he was faithful to? If so, he didn’t mention it. Not that she blamed him, given her connection to Tiago.
At some point during the conversation, nausea and muscle aches crept in. Her earlier bout of vomiting had given her a momentary reprieve, but it didn’t always keep the symptoms at bay.
Come what may, she hid the pain and turned to Tate. “If my sister helped rescue all the slaves, does that mean she saved you, too?”
“Yes.” His eyes caught fire. “She’s fucking fierce, Lucia. Brave and beautiful and determined. You would be so proud of her.”