Kingpin's Property

I resolutely held my dread at bay by envisioning each of my favorite beaches, imagining traveling with Stefano and looking for our perfect oceanfront home. Maybe we would explore a new beach, one that he loved but I’d never visited.

I had a future with Stefano, and Miguel would not deprive me of my happiness for one more day.

My stubborn defiance and righteous rage provided warmth to my imaginary sun, keeping my muscles mobile and my mind functional.

I heard the low buzz of the fluorescent light rather than my vision being assaulted by the sudden wash of brightness; my hands over my eyes provided effective protection. I bridged my fingers slightly, allowing light to gradually pool behind my closed lids until I had time to adjust more naturally.

“I’ve missed you, Carmen.” Miguel’s lascivious voice caressed my naked flesh, making every inch of my skin crawl.

I ruthlessly suppressed the urge to cover my body, keeping my hands in their essential position safeguarding my vision. I opened my eyes a fraction, letting in a little more of the harsh light. The brightness burned, but it wasn’t debilitating.

“Pedro had no right to take you away from me. It was an insult,” he seethed, his voice drawing nearer. “But he’s dead now. The cartel is mine, and so are you.”

With each step closer, my terror built. The instinct to lash out in wild self-defense clawed at my consciousness, fear-based responses threatening to overwhelm my desperate grip on reason. I clung to control by a thread, remaining curled on my side, the picture of a broken woman.

I eased my fingers apart where they hovered over my eyes, and Miguel’s heavy black boots came into view.

“Carmen?” he demanded, his temper flaring. “You’re usually a mouthy bitch. Don’t tell me that fucker Duarte managed to finally break you.”

He paused, waiting for my reply.

I offered none, waiting silently for my opening.

He snarled his frustration and drew back his boot, preparing to kick a response out of me.

I grabbed his ankle and yanked it toward me, knocking him off-balance. He fell back with a shout, and I scrambled upright. Without a weapon, I had precious seconds to lock him in a choke hold and incapacitate him. Then, I could regroup and find a more permanent solution to put him down.

I flung myself over his back, wrapping my legs around his middle and clinging on tight as I hooked my arm around his throat and squeezed. He thrashed beneath me, roaring and bucking in maddened rage. I held on for dear life, willing my strength to last for long enough to slow the beast.

Pain ripped through my entire body, all my muscles cramping as the gut-wrenching, familiar voltage assaulted my system. An agonized howl filled the basement, the sound of my own despair.

My limbs twitched, all of my training to protect myself rendered utterly useless by one hit from the Taser. The complete loss of control was more devastating than I remembered. Or maybe my brain had blocked out the full horror of the experience to protect me.

Miguel shoved my limp form off his back, rising to a crouch. He loomed over me, the deep shadows of his wrinkles beneath the fluorescent lights every bit as monstrous as they had been a decade ago.

Desperate to escape, I struggled to regain control of my body.

His features twisted in a ferocious grin, and agony assaulted my senses when he struck me with another punishing hit from the Taser.

Rage burned through my entirely unresponsive body. I couldn’t fight him. I had no power, no control. No means of putting up even a token show of resistance to protect my pride.

A wordless wail of abject horror wrenched from deep inside my soul. My nightmare was real again, and it was even worse than I remembered.

Chapter 23

Stefano

Normal people are the mad ones. I’d come to that conclusion over the last three hours since I’d received an urgent call from Raúl to inform me that Carmen had been abducted by Daniel Vera.

In that time, I’d found it next to impossible to function when wrestling with a relentless barrage of visceral, ugly sensations that assailed my senses and ravaged my mental clarity.

My stomach continuously knotted and lurched, nausea making my head swim. A horrible, clawing sensation ravaged my lungs, at times becoming so keen that I found it difficult to breathe. The brutal fist around my heart was by far the worst, threatening to crush the essential organ every time I thought about that fucker Miguel putting his hands on her, hurting her, marking her…

My vision washed red, and a feral roar burst from my chest as I pulled the trigger on my automatic rifle, mowing down the fuckers who stood between me and my sweet kitten. I slaughtered everyone who dared to keep her from me, demonstrating none of my usual coldly calculated precision.