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)
The press of her skin against the wound ignited unfathomable anguish, but he didn’t care. He held the arm against his stomach and wrapped the other across her torso.
Fuck, how he’d needed to hold her like this. He needed her. More of her. More touching. More talking. More smiles. More time.
Their five days together had been the best days of his life. They’d lived in dearth and turmoil in a windowless room, yet they’d craved nothing but each other. It was confounding the way he connected to her so effortlessly, the way she fit so perfectly in his arms, against his body, and inside his heart.
Five days hadn’t been enough. He wanted to laugh with her, fight with her, make up with her. He wanted a life with her. A lifetime. A forever.
Sweat beaded on her sallow face and drenched her t-shirt and jeans. Van had dressed her in those clothes while Tate had been on the phone with Cole. It felt like an eternity ago.
For the past five days, he thought he had this rescue mission under control. He’d sent off the blood samples and just needed a couple more days to receive the results. But it was too late for that.
He should’ve called Matias the moment he made contact with Lucia. Her illness, though… It was an endless, looming threat. Not even Matias had the means to cure her in time. Without the medicine, her fate was dire.
After she was raped, however, all bets were off. Tate had contacted Matias sometime before midnight. If dawn was an hour away, he’d been in this room for seven hours.
And so had she.
He called forth the energy to hug her tighter, savoring the flow of her breaths, the sweet scent of her hair, and the pulse in her throat as he kissed her neck. He ached to see her healthy and smiling and free. It would be the greatest gift, the ultimate definition of happiness.
“I love you,” he whispered.
Her eyes squeezed shut, and her face crumpled with a weak nod.
Badell moved to the far side of the room and perched on the stool. His shoes left deep footprints in the thick puddles of blood.
My blood.
It ran from his body to the wall. There was so much of it on the floor, the wood board, and his jeans, he didn’t understand how he was still breathing. He wasn’t just physically spent. His emotions had run the gamut for hours, churning from intense trauma and helplessness to scathing wrath and hatred. The latter simmered anew as he met his tormentor’s soulless eyes.
“You’ll give her the medicine and let her and Van leave Caracas alive and unharmed.” He lifted his chin with might and rage, eyes hard and breaths seething with vehemence.
“You have my word.” Badell curled a hand beneath his chin, watching him, as if studying a curious object.
He looked away, vanishing the demon from his sight and his mind. As far as Tate was concerned, Badell and his guards were no longer in the room.
That left Van, who circled his feet and lowered to the floor behind him. “Stay where you are.”
It wasn’t like he could go anywhere. The constant state of his throbbing, bleeding torment would prevent him from getting his legs beneath him.
“I don’t want to do this,” Van said in a dead tone.
“I know.”
“It’s karma. I’ve carried this debt for so long. For the crimes I committed against you.” Van leaned in, whispering at his ear. “When this is over, you and I are even. No more bad blood between us.”
Tate nodded, but his thoughts were elsewhere, wholly occupied by what was about to happen.
“Give me permission.” Van rested a hand on the button of Tate’s jeans.
There had been a time when Van got off on taking without consent. And while every fiber in Tate’s body screamed in horror, there was only one answer. “You have it.”
“I’ll only touch you where I need to.” A crack in Van’s monotone voice.
The hand on Tate’s zipper moved efficiently, opening the jeans and pulling them down with the briefs to gather at mid-thigh. Then he lifted Tate’s leg as far as the denim would allow and rested his thigh across Lucia’s.
“Too heavy.” Tate groaned through horrendous tremors.
“Stay.” Lucia’s whisper was barely audible as she curled a weak hand around his leg.
He wouldn’t deny her the closeness, but once this began, there would be no eye contact. If he survived the night, he didn’t know how she would be able to look at him the same. He couldn’t bear to see that shift in her gaze now.
Van leaned away, leaving Tate’s body wrapped around the side of hers. His cock and balls lay exposed and lifeless against her denim-clad thigh, his legs slightly spread, and his backside bare and vulnerable.
With his bleeding arm trapped between them, the pain was a sharp, constant presence. But it was nothing compared to the unholy dread amassing inside him.