Stealing Beauty (Stolen 1)

Rage burned through my veins, an emotion I hadn’t indulged in for years. My rage and defiance had long ago been beaten into bitter submission.

I was done being a pawn. Done being an object to be traded and stolen in power exchanges between cruel men.

If I could escape Adrián now, I’d finally be free.

For the first time since Adrián had abandoned me all those years ago, hope expanded in my chest.

When I was sixteen, I’d thought he was my savior. He’d promised to take me away.

But he left, disappearing from his father’s estate to attend to his new duties in California. Even after he left, I’d fantasized about him returning for me. Over the long, bitter years, that fantasy had withered and died.

Now, it was finally coming true: Adrián had returned to Bogotá to steal me away.

My new reality was a twisted version of what I’d once pined for. This sadistic drug lord wasn’t here to set me free; he’d taken me so he could lock me in a different cage, one where he held the key.

I silently stewed in my thoughts as the men discussed my fate. By the time Mateo left to procure provisions for our journey—money, weapons, clothes, and a car—my shoulders were aching from the stress position Adrián had left me in. I hadn’t struggled, but the soft cloth bindings still bit into my wrists and ankles, and the knotted tie was shoved uncomfortably far into my mouth. The pressure on the back of my tongue made it difficult to suppress my gag reflex, and I had to focus on breathing normally.

When the door closed behind Mateo, Adrián appeared in my line of sight, circling the bed so he could stare down at me again. He cocked his head at me, his dark hair falling over his forehead. It had long ago escaped its formal styling, and now, the thick black waves had become unruly. They might appear unkempt, but they framed his face, accentuating his masculine features.

He exuded power, a potent male energy. It pulsed against me, and I couldn’t suppress a shudder.

Would Adrián really hurt me? The boy I’d loved had been aggressive at times, but he’d cherished me. This man was a dangerous enigma.

“I’ll untie you, but you will behave.” The words rumbled from deep in his chest, holding the weight of authority. “You’re coming to California with me. I don’t want any backtalk about it. You’re not going back to your husband.” His lips twisted around the last, as though they left a sour tang on his tongue. “Do you understand me?”

I nodded. I didn’t want to go back to Hugo. I didn’t want to go to California, either, but I’d keep quiet about that. It was imperative that Adrián believe I was cooperating. I’d remain meek and docile until an opportunity to escape presented itself.

He unknotted the tie behind my head first, pulling the gag free from my mouth. I swallowed and worked my jaw, relieved to finally be able to breathe without concerted effort.

I remained quiet as he removed the bindings from my wrists and ankles. To my surprise, he helped me stretch my limbs. I winced as cramped muscles protested the movement, but he rubbed my calves and shoulders. I didn’t understand why he was easing my discomfort after inflicting it. I supposed acting docile made him assume he didn’t need to use violence to ensure my compliance.

His thumbs massaged the muscles at the base of my neck, and my lashes fluttered at the physical relief as he worked the knots free.

I tensed instantly. I shouldn’t find any form of relief from his touch. Once, those big hands had held me with reverence. Now, they threatened to punish if I didn’t obey him.

“Please,” I whispered. “Don’t touch me.”

He wasn’t hurting me, but agony knifed through my chest in response to the tender treatment. It made bittersweet memories surface, memories I hadn’t acknowledged in years. I’d locked all thoughts of Adrián away a long time ago. It was the only way to protect myself from the anguish of his abandonment.

His fingers dug into my flesh for a second before withdrawing. He stepped away from me, his features drawn in a scowl.

“And why shouldn’t I touch you?” he seethed. “You spread your whore legs for Hugo every night, I’m sure.”

My lips parted on a soft gasp, his cruel accusation like a gut punch.

Fear followed anguish, and my stomach soured at his implication. Did Adrián intend to force himself on me? If he thought I was nothing more than a whore to be used by the man who owned me, would he rape me?

I’d managed to survive as a shell of myself for years, suffering endless abuse at Hugo’s hands.

But I couldn’t survive if Adrián violated me.

I’d rather die than endure that betrayal.