Probably.
“The child… If she gave birth to a son, Emilo will groom him to take his place in the organization. Perhaps if he is ruthless enough, he will survive. If she gave birth to a daughter, she will be raised a princess, then married off to another drug pusher who can increase Emilo’s standing in the cartel. After that, she will have a miserable existence of sexual servitude and fear.”
Laila was a realist, if nothing else.
He fisted his hands in her hair and sent her what the watching goons would interpret as a leer. “And you think Emilo is keeping you alive and well so he can use you as leverage against your sister?”
“Yes.”
“You understand that if I attack you and they come to your rescue, we’ll be separated. They’ll beat the shit out of me, and I won’t be in any position to help you.”
She nodded, dragging her palms down his chest with what probably appeared to be a seductive scratch of her nails. “But quarters are cramped here, so they will take you outside to do it.”
Where the rescue party could actually reach him…provided Emilo and his men didn’t kill him first.
As plans went, it sucked. And it was a long shot. But any chance at freedom was better than no chance at all. “All right. What’s your idea?”
She gave him a blank stare. “I have not thought beyond that.”
One-Mile wasn’t surprised. She was barely more than a girl. She wasn’t a soldier, much less a tactician.
He reached for the bottle of shampoo and lathered his hair, while Laila grabbed the bar of soap and gave him a thorough scrub. “Any suggestions on how we kill the next forty-five minutes? Just a guess, but you don’t want to fuck any more than I do.”
“Emilo allowed one of his underlings to first rape me when I was fourteen. Sex is not something I do for enjoyment.”
Every time she spoke, he hated Montilla and his violent band of assholes even more. “If I can do anything to make sure you get out alive, I will.”
“Thank you.” Her lips trembled.
He nodded. “How about you play along?”
“Of course. I am willing to try anything.”
Yeah, he was, too—even getting the shit beat out of him again.
They lingered in the shower, pretending flirtation and sexual interest. Finally, he cut off the spray, dried them off with a towel, then carried Laila back to the cot, faking some sweet nothings in her ear.
Together, they fell into a naked heap on the cot with a forced laugh. He reached for the beer. She drank it while he held her on his lap, caressing her back and thighs.
“You’re feeling drunk, aren’t you?” he suggested in a low, almost unrecognizable mumble.
She pretended a giddy smile. “Maybe a little. Why does it matter? Are you thinking of taking advantage of me? I am far too small to fight off a big man like you.”
Did that turn some guys on? Disgusting. “I have something else in mind. You’re not going to fight me, are you?”
“Should I?” She batted her lashes. Fear gleamed in her eyes.
His gut cramped. They were both risking their lives. He didn’t have any choice except to keep playing his part and push until the bad guys barged in to shut him down.
One-Mile dragged Laila closer, then reached behind her to grab the needle off the tray. “Someone else besides me should be high on this shit. And if I stick this into your veins, it won’t be in me.”
Her dark eyes flared, and he saw the exact moment she wondered if she’d made a mistake in trusting him. “That is enough to kill me.”
“Oh, well,” he quipped as he grabbed her arm. “Better you than me.”
Then her fighting turned real—or if it wasn’t, it was damn convincing. One-Mile didn’t point out that if he’d really wanted to pump her full of drugs, he would have already done it, and she couldn’t possibly have escaped him. Instead, he let her beat against him and empty the syringe into the air during the scuffle. After he ducked her attempt to punch him, she tried to knee him in the balls and kick his shins. He growled and snarled and pushed her against the wall, shaking her hard enough to jar her teeth as he growled empty threats her way.
She screamed. The tears came. She sent a pleading stare at the security camera. He let that last a few good seconds before he picked her up, tossed her on the cot, then climbed on top of her.
Shouldn’t be long now…
Right on cue, a group of underlings with automatic weapons and attitude lifted him off of her and hauled him to his feet, shouting things in Spanish he didn’t understand. Then again, he didn’t need to know the words to grasp that they wanted the pleasure of killing him.