“Thirsty?” He squeezed my shoulders.
I nodded. I was so fucking thirsty I couldn’t form the words. I wanted to be strong and refuse anything from him, but I was weak in both my mind and body. Unless I did something about it, I’d become progressively weaker with every passing hour. My throat throbbed. My eyes were so dry that I heard the clicking sound of my eyelids as they slid over my eyeball with every blink. My skull pounded.
He removed his hands from my shoulders, and I blew out a huge breath, lifting my heavy bangs from my forehead. I tried to ignore it, but I could still feel the imprint of his hands on my shoulders. Less than a minute later, he crouched down in front of me, a plastic cup filled with a clear liquid in one hand.
I glared pointedly at my bindings. “Are you going to untie me?” The words came out as a strangled whisper.
He smiled a faint, maddening grin that mocked my very existence. “No.”
One fucking word. “Are you going dump it over my face or make me lap it up like a dog?”
“No.” He lifted the glass to my lips, and I greedily sucked the liquid into my Sahara-like mouth.
“More?” he asked when he pulled it away.
I tipped up my chin. “You won’t get away with this. Vera knows I left with you.”
He cocked his head to the side, watching me carefully, completely unmoved by my words. Calm amusement lit the savage planes of his face. “No. She knows you talked to a guy at a bar, but she left before we danced or even before you sat down. I made sure of it. I don’t make mistakes. No one can trace you to me.” His lips curved in a smile that was miles from reassuring. “Besides, this is Mexico. The bureaucratic red tape between here and your government will give me months of lead time.”
In one sickening rush, my stomach caved in on itself and the water I drank threatened to reverse its course as I processed his words. “You sent that man to talk to Vera to get rid of her so you could…” I gasped, and the blood drained from my face, leaving me lightheaded. He set me up. He planned everything. This wasn’t a random crime of opportunity. This was much worse. He had targeted me.
“I’ve been watching you for a while.” He stood up, and I hated the lethal grace oozing out of him. I hated I even noticed, but his magnetic charm wouldn’t fool me today. Without alcohol flowing through my veins, he looked dangerous, but maybe that was just my imagination. A black shirt stretched across his chest. The stubble on his face was thicker and blacker than last night, but he was just a man, even if my mind wanted to believe otherwise.
I bit my lower lip until the faint, metallic taste of blood flavored my saliva. “Are you going to kill me?”
“I don’t think it will come to that.” His voice was casual, lazy even, but his eyes weren’t. His gray irises focused on me with hyper-vigilance.
My eyes flared, and blood roared through my head, compounding the paralyzing effect of last night’s alcoholic binge and whatever drug Ryker used to sedate me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shoved his hands into his pockets, his face entirely too blank for my comfort. “As long as your father does what he’s told, you should be home before the end of next week.”
The tension twisting my muscles into frozen knots, released just a fraction. I had faith in my dad. He would do whatever it took to extract me from this hellhole. He may not be the best parent in the world, but he took care of his family. He loved me even if he was absent more often than not. Unlike the rest of my family, he hadn’t pressured me to work things out with Evan. “What’s he supposed to do?”
“Pardon my brother.”
“Who’s your brother?”
“Rever Vargas.”
My mind raced through the back alleys of my brain trying to place the name, but nothing came to me. I shook my head, a fresh wave of agony radiating through my skull. “What makes him so important?”
Ryker laughed, a quiet and unsettling sound. “He’s my father’s son.”
“Who’s your father?”
“Ignacio Vargas.”
A little flutter of something—maybe a memory—rushed through my brain, but nothing of substance and nothing identifiable. “So.” I tried to shrug, but the ropes binding me to the chair bit in my wrists.
He caught my chin between his thumb and his index finger, and an unhurried, enigmatic, and impossibly sexy smile tugged on the corners of his lips. I wanted to hit him. He leaned toward me, and I considered spitting in his face, but he pressed his finger to my mouth. “Don’t try it,” he warned, his voice deadly calm, his eyes an opaque, impenetrable mask.
I glared at him, summoning years of anger, frustration, and hatred into the narrowing of my eyes. He bent closer, his lips within striking distance of mine, and for one terrifying second, I thought he’d kiss me. But instead, he yanked his finger from my lips and stood up in one fluid movement. Without looking back, he stalked toward the door, his heavy footsteps echoing through the empty room.
“Wait,” I yelled, craning my head to the side as far as humanly possible. “I need to go to the bathroom.”
He paused, but he didn’t respond.
“And I’d like a change of clothes,” I added. Ryker had torn the strap on my dress last night, and I hated the memory of that moment glaring at me, taunting me with my impulsive stupidity.
“Fine,” he answered in his smooth, velvety voice. The door slammed, and it took less than a second for the tears mixed with semi-hysterical hiccups to surface.
I shouldn’t have gone on this trip. I should’ve got back together with Evan, the self-absorbed asshole. I should’ve refused to go to the bar with Vera. I wished I never touched Ryker. Shame and cruel self-loathing rushed hot and cold through my veins as visions of Ryker and me on the dance floor and in the alley flashed through my mind. I enjoyed having sex with a monster, which clearly meant something was wrong with me.
I didn’t even hear the door open again. I was too busy floating in a haze of self-pity and regret. The ropes slackened around my wrists and then my ankles, and Ryker’s arms wrapped around my waist pulling me up. Pins and needles of pain shot through my limbs as blood rushed into my starved fingers and toes. I would’ve collapsed if it weren’t for Ryker.
“There’s a bathroom down the hall on the right. You need to be quiet and listen to everything I say. If you try to run or attack me, you won’t like the consequences.” His words were harsh, and the frozen mask of fury on his face told me he meant it.
I nodded, unable and unwilling to form words of gratitude or anger. He restrained my hands behind my back with one hand. He placed his other hand around the front of my neck, warning me what would happen if I tried to resist or escape.