He smiled, but it didn’t reach his vacant eyes. “We’ll have matching scars.”
“No,” I cried, yanking my arm away from him, but it didn’t matter. He snatched it back easily enough. I couldn’t escape.
He rolled his lit cigar between his index finger and his thumb for a suspended moment. Then, he grabbed my arm, imprisoning it against his thigh, and he plunged the glowing tip into my bicep.
I screamed as the cigar sizzled against my skin. Fire shot up my arm, and my muscles recoiled like a rubber band. The cloying smell of cigar mingled with the smell of seared flesh and burnt hair. My body jerked as shockwaves of pain radiated up and down my arm, echoing in my ears like a drumbeat.
“Please stop. No more,” I begged as tears crawled down my cheeks.
“Oh, I’ll stop.” He pulled the cigar away from my arm and relit it with a flick of his silver lighter. “When I get bored of this.”
My heart stuttered. “Oh my God. Please, no more.”
I tugged my arm back, but Enrique stepped on the chain shackling me to the wall, and the rough metal edges of the cuff tore into my underside of my wrist. He dug his finger into my blistered wound. Curses tangled with screams flowed like a river from my mouth.
“Two more should be good unless your reactions disappoint me, in which case, I won’t stop with your arm.” He tilted his head to the side. “Now that I think about it, I do enjoy branding my victims.” He brushed his fingertips down my arm. “Do you think Ryker would mind looking at an A while he fucks you?”
I whimpered and my vision slanted.
“How many places do you think I’ll be able to brand you before your boyfriend delivers Anna back to us?”
Panic zipped through me. I squeezed my eyes closed, and my throat narrowed to a pinprick. “I won’t move again. Just finish what you started.”
He flicked his finger against the middle of my forehead. “No cheating, Miss Covington. You have to watch so you fully appreciate my artistry.”
“No,” I gasped, hooking my fingers in the hem of my shorts.
“Open your eyes or I will staple your eyelids to your eyebrows,” he growled.
Spittle showered my scrunched up face. I bit the inside of my cheek, swallowing back all the insults I wanted to hurl at him. They wouldn’t do anything except bring me more pain. “Go ahead,” I said as I cracked my eyes open one by one. My mind floated as I circled through memory after memory, trying to hold on to anything to stop the pain and the anxiety as I waited for him to brand me again.
“Buena chica,” he muttered, his voice dripping with ridicule as he pressed the cigar into my arm adjacent to the first mark.
Tears blurred my vision as I willed myself to stay still and keep my eyes open. Flames of agony rippled through my arm as my skin wilted like burning paper, curling up at the edges. My eyes locked on his. A smile twisted his lips into a sadistic sneer, and he lifted the cigar again. His black eyes glittered with a sick satisfaction as he lit it again and inhaled.
“Una vez más,” he said as smoke exited his mouth in uneven puffs.
The cigar smashed against my arm once more. I didn’t move. I didn’t respond. Hate coursed through my veins, and I plotted my revenge. Disjointed thoughts tumbled through my mind, each one more warped than the last. I visualized carving the lines of his tattoos with a knife until a river of blood poured from his arms and neck. I mentally pierced his eyeballs, plucked them out of their sockets and stuffed them down his throat until his suffocated. I imagined his severed body parts scattered across the room.
I was deranged. My thoughts turned my stomach, but something about conjuring ways to torture and kill Enrique brought me clarity and purpose. It kept my mind from dwelling on the pain, and it gave me the incentive to keep fighting instead of succumbing to the defeat crushing my chest.
Then, it ended.
He removed the cigar from my arm for the fourth and hopefully final time. I sucked in a breath, filling my lungs with much-needed air. He caressed the side of my head, and I flinched. His touch made my stomach roll.
“Don’t touch me,” I hissed through my teeth even though I knew I should’ve kept my mouth shut and feigned compliance.
He sighed as he pinched my cheek, his dirty fingernails digging into my skin like two arrows. His putrid breath misted over my face. “Don’t be tiresome. I can do whatever I want with you. You’re our prisoner. You’re mine until I decide otherwise.”
I scoffed and ripped my gaze away from his penetrating stare. He could do what he wanted with me. I knew that, but it didn’t mean I had to like it or acknowledge it.
Smiling faintly, he stood and tossed the cigar onto the floor. He ground the heel of his black boot into the fat stub. “That’s all for today, but I’ll be back tomorrow to finish the A. Two more should do it.”
I glanced at my arm for the first time since he finished. Four circular burn marks marred my bicep, creating something that loosely resembled an upside down ‘V’. I glared at him, wishing I could kill him with my hands instead of settling for killing and torturing him in my mind.
“Have a good night,” he said as he turned to face the door.
“Wait. I have to go to the bathroom.”
He didn’t pause. He didn’t stop. He pretended I didn’t exist.
Juan Alvarez cleared his throat, and I focused my narrowed eyes on him.
“You can use that,” he said, waving his hand at a small metal pail to my right.
A tremor rolled through my body. “What about food or water?” My throat was so dry I could barely swallow and my stomach was caving in on itself.
“I might have someone bring you food in the next hour or two if I remember.” He flipped off the light and engaged the lock, bathing me in shadows again.
“Fuck you. I hope you burn in hell,” I whispered.
Chapter Two
Ryker
“Good news,” Ignacio said when I walked into his private hospital room twenty-four hours after I discovered Juan Alvarez had abducted Hattie.
“I find that hard to believe.” I lifted my eyebrows as I settled into a chair on the far side of the room. To me, good news meant Juan Alvarez realized this whole thing was a big misunderstanding, and Hattie was waiting for me at the hotel.
Ignacio raised the top of his hospital bed into a seated position. “Don’t look so defeated. My sons aren’t losers or whiny pansies. Don’t give up before we’ve started to fight back.”
I exhaled hard out of my mouth. “Go ahead. Give me the good news.” I hadn’t slept last night. My mind flitted from one dead end to the next, trying to coordinate a rescue effort, but there was one big fucking problem. I had no idea where Juan Alvarez was hiding Hattie, and I didn’t have the connections to figure it out.