Geomancist (Seven Forbidden Arts 5)

“We have to talk about the new transport routes,” Tony said.

Juan got to his feet. “Send Eric up.”

The men took that as their cue that the meeting was over. They both got up and moved toward the door.

On his way out, Tony patted Juan on the shoulder. “Are you going to try your hand at some fishing this afternoon? A hundred bucks say I pull one out before you.”

“Now that’s a challenge I’d enjoy,” Juan said with a chuckle, “especially when I rub your face in your own money, which will be in my pocket.”

Tony laughed as he walked through the door.

Once alone, Juan carefully, tenderly almost, took the cup from her hands and placed it on the coffee table without spilling a drop. Then he turned to her and lifted his arm. The back of his hand hit her so hard on the cheek the blow made her head fly sideways. Adrenaline rushed through her body, heating her veins, as pain pulsed in her temple. The copper taste of blood filled her mouth. She shrieked when he grabbed her wrist and yanked her to her feet while digging the fingers of his free hand into her cheeks. Her mouth formed an O as he pushed her arm behind her back and dragged her body against his.

Lowering his head, he took her lips with a bruising kiss, sneaking his tongue inside. She couldn’t close her mouth even if she wanted to. He kept it open with such force she was going to have bruises in the shape of his fingers on her cheeks. Then, just as quickly as he’d grabbed her, he pushed her away with a shove. Her legs nearly folded when the back of her knees hit the sofa.

“You just had to go and test my word,” he said through thin lips.

His brown eyes were hard, but instead of anger, she glimpsed lust in their cold depths.

He advanced on her. “What did I tell you about disobedience?”

She scooted around the sofa, trying to put an object between them, but he rounded the obstacle with unrushed ease. She backtracked until she collided with the table. Juan closed the distance and stopped flush against her. Wrapping his fingers around her neck, he forced her to bend over backward. With her back arched in the uncomfortable position, she had to grip the edge of the table to keep her balance. He squeezed, not cutting off her airflow, but making it difficult for her to breathe.

Fear clawed through her, making her knees shake.

“Please, Juan,” she croaked.

He tilted his head. “Please what? Please let me kiss you? Please let me give you the caress that should have been—could have been—tender?”

She tried to shake her head, but he tightened his hold.

A knock sounded on the door. Relief washed through her at the thought of being saved by an interruption, only to be squashed prematurely when Juan said, “Enter, Eric.”

Eric wouldn’t lift a finger to help her. That much she already knew. Juan blocked her view with his bulk of a body, but she could hear the hesitant clack of shoes on marble. After a few beats, the footsteps stopped. Spots started floating in her vision.

“Come here, where I can see you,” Juan said.

The footsteps resumed until Eric’s pale face entered her line of vision.

“Did you get Tony’s brief?” Juan asked.

“Yes.” Eric swallowed audibly. “I’ve worked out a new route.”

Juan pushed her down another fraction. He dipped his free hand under her dress and brushed a palm up the inside of her thigh.

“Risk assessment?”

She squirmed in his hold, but he only pressed harder, cutting off more of her air.

“Border control has been bought.” Eric fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his face. “The rest of the road is clear.”

Juan tightened his fingers around her neck. “How many guards?”

“S-six.”

The pressure of his fingers was relentless. “How much to buy them?”

“A thousand each.”

She let go of the table to claw at the hand choking her. Without her arms to support her weight, her back collided with the hard surface of the tabletop. Her efforts had no effect on Juan. He continued to strangle her slowly. Eric glanced away.

“Eyes here,” Juan said, his breath coming in pants from the exertion of holding her in place. He waited until Eric looked back before he said, “Make it five hundred.”

“I don’t think they’ll—” Eric started.

She couldn’t stand it any longer. The need for oxygen had her gasping, and it made the struggle to breathe worse.

“Wait,” Juan instructed. “Hold that thought, Eric. You want to say something, my sweet?”

She managed to nod once in his iron hold.

“What is it, Marina?” He pulled her upright by her neck and eased his grip marginally, just enough for her to speak.

“You’re … hurting me,” she forced from her raw throat.