“Because I have to wait to fuck you, that's all,” he says. “It's unfortunate though, because I was looking forward to tearing your clothes off and banging you stupid right now.”
A chill slithers down my spine and I tremble at his words. I can't abide the idea of this man's hands on me and the way he so casually talks about taking me – against my will, mind you – terrifies me.
The fact that he says this is only a delay, though, is what's troubles me most. It sends a needle of fear straight through me.
“W – what's going on?” I ask. “I thought my husband –”
“Your husband is a dead man walking,” he sneers. “He's just too stupid to know it yet. You don't fuck with the Trujillos and walk away.”
The fear for my own life and well-being aside, the thought that they might harm Brayden hurts me deeper than anything else possibly could. That he's going to walk into a trap, one that could cost him his life, because he thinks he can save me, breaks my heart and fills me with an overwhelming sense of dread.
“What are you going to do to him?”
Armando looks at me, raising his eyebrows. “Oh, so you know him, after all?”
“What are you going to do?” I repeat.
“Well, since you're going to be my wife, I guess I can tell you,” he says. “Well, your soon-to-be dead husband is going to show up to a little meeting he arranged. He's going to hand over ten million dollars as well as some documents my father would rather not be made public, if you know what I mean. He thinks he's going to get you in exchange for that, but all he's really going to get is two fucking bullets in the head. Maybe three, depending on my mood.”
“No,” I gasp. “Please, you can't do that.”
“Oh, baby,” he whispers. “I can, and I will. You're going to learn very quickly that you don't get to call the shots when you're with a Trujillo. And if you try, you're going to wind up very dead, very fast.”
“Armando, please,” I say, feeling my eyes welling with tears. “I'm begging you. Please, don't hurt him. I'll do anything you want. I'll go anywhere with you. Please, just don't hurt him.”
“Oh, you're going to go wherever I want,” he says. “And you're most definitely going to do anything and everything I want. Especially with that tight, hot body of yours.”
I shake my head, the tears flooding down my face. “Don't do this,” I plead. “Please, don't do this.”
“Too late, baby,” he says. “The wheels are in motion. Can't stop this train now that it's left the station. It's your man's fault though. He's the one who started this. Now, he's going to find himself on the tracks in front of it.”
My body shakes and I sob uncontrollably, thinking about Brayden being hurt. Because of me. Because he's trying to save me.
“It's pretty fucking obvious that you care a lot about this guy,” he sneers. “I can't wait to see the look on your face as you watch me kill him. I may make it extra slow and painful, just for you.”
“You son of a bitch,” I snap. “You goddamn son of a bitch.”
“Been called worse, baby,” he says. “Damn though, I'm already hard just thinking about what I want to do to you. I'd love nothing more than to bend you over and fuck the shit out of you. And given how much trouble you have caused for me and my dad, I'm going to do some terrible, terrible things to you. You can count on that.”
I feel so powerless and impotent. All I can do is spit at him. He just laughs and shakes his head.
“You've got some fight in you,” he says. “I'll give you that. Can't wait to break you though. Break your spirit and turn you into a tame woman who follows my every command.”
“I'd rather die,” I spit.
He shrugs. “Well, if you don't learn and can't be tamed, you just might.”
He laughs and heads for the door, leaving me in a puddle of tears and misery. Christ, Brayden, I think to myself, hoping he can hear me telepathically or something, but knowing the futility of it, get out of here. Run. Run now and don't look back.
The tears won’t stop rolling down my face. The train is pulling out and there is absolutely nothing I can do to stop it.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Brayden
It's midnight and I'm standing in the parking lot of an old, abandoned warehouse. Used to be a shoe factory or something back in the day. As I look at the large, brick structure behind me, I can't help but see the potential in it. Brick, exposed wood beams – the place has good bones. And sitting on a small bluff overlooking the city, it is prime real estate. Could make for some amazing lofts.
I can't help it. It's the developer in me.
I'm standing next to Michael and Ian, both of whom are tense and on edge. As they should be. They're about to find out what happens when you deal with people like Trujillo – it doesn’t end well. For anybody.
I'm holding a large, thick briefcase at my side. It's one Adam gave to me and because it's filled with ten million in cash, it's locked down like Fort Knox. Just like his. I check my watch and sigh.
“Is he always late?” I ask, annoyance in my voice.
“He usually prefers to make an entrance,” Michael says.
I look up to the sky and although it is partly overcast, there is a liberal smattering of bright, shining stars in the sky. It’s beautiful up here. We’re surrounded by forest and hiking trails. Which again, makes me think that this would be a wonderful place to develop some condos or lofts or something.
“I can't believe you were really going to sell your daughter,” I say, shaking my head.
“You've obviously never been in a dire situation where somebody's got you completely over a barrel,” Michael replies.
“I've never made bad enough decisions to put myself in that position,” I snap back. “Nor would I ever consider my own flesh and blood as a viable ticket out of my problems.”
“Well, aren't you just so high and mighty,” Ian speaks up. “Mr. Perfect. Mr. Wonderful. The man with the golden touch. The man who can do no wrong.”
“Shut the fuck up, you whiny maggot,” I retort. “I never claimed to be perfect or wonderful. I make plenty of mistakes. Just like everyone else. But, I own up to my own mistakes and face the consequences. I never put my shit on somebody else. That's the pussy way out.”
“Fuck you,” Ian snaps.
“Ian,” Michael says. “Shut up.”
Ian takes a step back and slips his hands in his pockets, abashed by his father's rebuke. He looks down at the ground and starts kicking the pebbles at his feet. Just like any petulant five-year-old would.
“Why in the hell did you get involved with Trujillo in the first place?” I ask. “I'm just curious. By all accounts, you are a successful businessman, Michael. Why would you willingly get into business with someone that leads a goddamn drug cartel?”
“I didn't know. Not at first,” he says. “And when I found out who and what he was, it was too late. I was in too deep.”
“Why didn't you go to the FBI or something?”
He scoffs. “Right,” he says. “And end up getting my head cut off and stuffed in a bag? Yeah, no thanks. I've seen what Trujillo can do. He murdered a man right in front of me. Not too far from here actually. Blew the fucker's goddamn brains out. Do you really think I'd risk that happening to me?”
“No, of course not,” I say. “Not when you have a daughter you can sell off instead.”
He sighs. “That came later,” he says. “Trujillo offered me that deal well after he killed that guy.”
“But, you snapped it right up.”
“I had no choice,” he says. “Don't you get it? If I didn't do something to satisfy the debt, he was going to kill me. But he wouldn't stop there. He would have killed Ian and Holly too. Trujillo doesn't fuck around, Brayden. When he comes after you, he comes after your whole goddamn family.”
I let out a long breath and look up at the sky again. The two men beside me disgust me. Repulse me. They're not even fit to be called men. In my opinion, they are lower than worms. And I can't wait to see them get what's coming to them.
Headlights appear on the road, drawing closer. Two black SUVs pull into the parking lot, the pebbles and dirt crunching beneath the tires.
“They're here,” Ian says.