Take (Deliver 5)

“This place is temporary.” His cloudy eyes glanced at her sidelong. “But we won’t be leaving Venezuela.”

Finally, an answer!

“Why is this temporary? Where is he going next?”

“You’ll have to ask him,” he said in a foreign syllabic rhythm she couldn’t place.

“Is your accent Hindi?”

He snorted. “No.”

“British? South African?”

“No.”

“Caribbean?”

“You’re getting colder.” He shifted back to the clothes. “No one ever guesses correctly.”

“You’re not going to tell me.”

“No.”

With a frown, she lowered to the mattress on the floor and helped him remove the tags. “Why doesn’t Tiago sleep on a real bed?”

“He prefers to live modestly.”

“But he’s wealthy?”

A low chuckle creaked in his throat. “He has more money than God.”

How much of that money came from blood, drugs, and ransom payments? She gritted her teeth. “Is that why you work for him? He pays you well?”

“Loyalty keeps me here.” All humor vanished from his wrinkly face. “Tiago means a great deal to me, and I’ll remain at his side for as long as he needs me.”

There was a story there, thickening his accent with deep emotion.

“Your markings…” She motioned to the vertical welts on his cheeks. “Tiago has them on his arms. Did he give you those?”

“No.” Boones pushed up the sleeves of his linen shirt, exposing a faded tapestry of scars on his dark forearms. “Where I’m from, we believe scarring connects us with our ancestors. It’s an ancient tradition, one that’s rarely practiced anymore.”

“Where are you from?”

“That, I will not say.”

Somewhere in Africa, if she had to guess. “Did Tiago adopt the practice from you?”

“I taught him, but his scarification has nothing to do with tradition.” He lowered his sleeves and turned back to sorting the clothes. “For him, the scars convey a message.”

“What message?” She leaned closer. “What do his scars mean?”

“Beware, there is pain in the world, and you cannot run from it. But if you endure it, if you accept the suffering, it will stop.”

“Oh.” She let that soak in. “You’re talking about emotional pain.”

“All pain. He carries more than most.” He gave her a sad smile and handed her the stack of women’s clothing. “Take these to your room and change out of that dress.”

She did as he instructed, anxious to wear something other than a transparent rag.

It was interesting how easily Boones talked with her when she couldn’t pull a word from Arturo’s pinched mouth. Was Boones trying to make her sympathize with Tiago’s actions?

Clearly, Tiago had a different relationship with Boones than he did with his guards. He and the old man shared a bond, a history, that piqued her curiosity.

After slipping on cotton panties, jeans, and a soft gray shirt that fit her perfectly, she returned to Tiago’s room and helped Boones fold the remaining clothes.

She favored Boones’ company over Tiago’s, but it didn’t stop the monster from occupying her thoughts.

Was he still working out? In his underwear? If she asked him to show her another video of Tate, would the request infuriate him?

She lifted a pair of gym shorts and eyed the new running shoes on the floor. She could take the clothes to him as a gesture of kindness and weigh his mood.

The thought of seeing him made her insides float and drop in a roller-coaster of sensations. He provoked every emotion at its extreme. Terror, excitement, hatred, curiosity, attraction… She really hated herself for that last one.

The reality was she couldn’t avoid him. She was stuck here, stuck with him, until she found an opportunity to escape.

“I’m going to run these down to him.” She didn’t look at Boones as she gathered the exercise gear and headed out of the room.

Arturo waited at the top of the stairs. He let her pass before trailing on her heels.

In the living room, the mattresses sat empty. Where did the woman go? Where was everyone else? She strained her ears, listening. Then she heard it. The deep, gravelly rumble of Tiago’s voice in the backroom.

He was speaking to someone in Spanish, the words flowing so melodically it sounded like a sensual song. She followed his timbre, marking the pauses between sentences. He must’ve been on the phone.

She hit the hallway with Arturo in tow, passing a bathroom. Then a bedroom, where a mattress sat in the corner on an actual frame. Was that where Boones slept?

Moving on, she stepped through the last doorway and slammed to a stop.

Tiago stood near a rack of free weights, one hand braced on the wall in front of him, and the other holding a phone to his ear. With his head tilted back and eyes closed, he intoned a string of Spanish between heavy breaths.

He wore only a pair of tight black boxer briefs, his muscles pumped, veins bulging in his arms, and sweat clinging to miles of shredded, bronze skin.

It was a carnal, painfully arousing sight, potent enough to send her into cardiac arrest. But that wasn’t what stopped the blood from pumping to her brain.