Stealing Beauty (Stolen 1)

He stepped away, leaving me trapped in Mateo’s hold as he walked the short distance to the closet. He opened it and made a satisfied humming noise. When he turned back to me, he held the terrycloth tie from one of the hotel’s fluffy white bathrobes.

I thrashed against Mateo’s firm grip, but my panic didn’t deter the men. Mateo pulled my arms more tightly behind me, until my elbows almost touched. I was completely helpless to stop Adrián from capturing my wrists and tying them together with the length of white cloth.

He gave Mateo a short nod, and his lackey released me. I immediately found myself in Adrián’s arms, lifted up against his chest. He carried me to the bed, laying me down on my side.

I flailed, my legs kicking out uselessly. He caught my ankles and pulled them back, so my calves almost touched my thighs. He used the tie that dangled from my wrists to bind my legs in place as well, leaving my back arched as my wrists were pulled toward my ankles behind me.

I screamed into the gag and twisted against my bonds, fear obliterating rationality. My body wouldn’t accept being incapacitated; the instinct for flight remained at the forefront of my mind.

Adrián’s fingers sank into my hair at my nape, tugging my head back sharply. A slight pain lit up my scalp, commanding my attention. I stilled on a whimper, despair rolling over me to dampen my natural imperative to struggle for freedom. A tear fell down my cheek.

Adrián caught it on his thumb, tracing the line of my cheekbone. My blood ran hot through my veins, my pulse pounding hard enough that I could feel it thrumming against the bindings on my wrists.

“Be quiet.” The command was rough, the tightening of his fingers in my hair letting me know he clung to control by a thread. What would happen if that control snapped? Would he strike me, beat me like Hugo did?

The idea of the boy I’d once loved laying his hands on me with violence made a horrified tremor shake my body, and I moaned into the gag.

His eyes glowed as they roved from my face down my bound body. With my back bowed, my chest was thrust out again. A chill raced over my skin, and my nipples pebbled along with my flesh. They peaked against the silky fabric of my dress, making me appear like a wanton whore.

His nostrils flared, the line of his square jaw sharpening. He stared down at me for agonizingly long seconds as my heart hammered against my ribcage.

Mateo cleared his throat, and Adrián’s eyes snapped away from mine, severing the terrifying connection between us.

He stepped away, joining Mateo in a far corner of the room to discuss plans for taking me to California with them. I couldn’t focus on their words, their cruel plot to abduct me against my will. My mind whirred with my own plans.

I hadn’t made a scene when we’d moved from the Porsche to the hotel. Not only had I been frightened of the consequences, but I’d also known better than to shout for help. Any help that came would return me to Hugo. If the police got involved, I’d be identified as Mrs. Sánchez. I’d be sent back to my gilded cage.

Now that I was away from my cruel husband, I had a slim chance at freedom.

I just had to get away from Adrián, too.

I took deep breaths through my nose, trying to calm my racing pulse and focus my mind.

Maybe I could make my own way to America. I knew from listening in on Hugo’s conversations with Vicente that I had family in Chicago. My brothers belonged to a rival cartel, and they had a strong presence there.

Andrés. I hadn’t seen my beloved big brother since I’d been ripped from my childhood home at the age of fourteen. If I could somehow make my way back to him, I’d be safe. I’d have to contend with my oldest brother, Cristian. He’d been the one to sell me to Vicente in the first place. But now, I might be able to convince him that keeping me out of Hugo’s clutches would be a blow to the Rodríguez cartel.

That thought made something click in my mind, and I suddenly understood why Adrián had beaten Hugo and taken me: he was making a point. He hadn’t been in Colombia in a decade; he’d been consolidating power in America. It seemed stealing me from right under his father’s nose was the ultimate power play. I’d been Vicente’s and Hugo’s property since Cristian sold me to pay a debt when I was fourteen. Although I was treated like a queen in Bogotá society, everyone knew I was nothing more than a possession.

Now, Adrián wanted me to be his possession. It was a clear signal to the Rodríguez cartel that there was a new king. The son would usurp the father. Adrián had never held any love for Vicente, and the life-long grudge was finally culminating in this coup.