He planted his shoes on the tile, bringing Vera to an abrupt halt. Startled, she whirled on him, her mouth opening to speak. He didn’t give a fuck what she had to say.
Knocking her hand off his arm, he grabbed her throat and yanked her against him. The force of his strength caused her to wobble in the heels.
Two men stepped forward, reaching for hidden weapons. She held out a hand, staying them, and he used that opportunity to angle her neck and put her left ear near his mouth.
“Never,” he breathed, cold and calculated, “ever touch me without my permission.”
At odds with his cruel tone, he tenderly curled her shoulder-length hair behind her ear. A gesture meant to confuse her as he imperceptibly exposed the skin behind her earlobe.
And there it was, exactly where Tula said it would be. A small black flower tattoo.
Fucking fuck.
The proof of her identity sank into his bones like burning ash. Disgusted, he stepped away, strolling ahead without waiting.
The click of her heels sounded, giving chase.
“Your rooms are this way.” She passed him, veering right, shoulders back, and chin raised. No eye contact. Probably because she couldn’t hide that butthurt look in her pinched expression. Good.
She guided him through arched doorways designed to let breezes flow through the estate. High ceilings added to the open-air concept, but his stifling unease didn’t abate.
Voices drifted from unseen rooms. Deep rumbles. Feminine titters. Sounds of flirtation and foreplay. He hardened himself against it, bracing for the hours and days to come.
Other than Vera, the women within these walls weren’t here of their own volition. They didn’t want rotten, horny, old men touching them. But before the night was over, Luke would shed the last of his humanity and become one of their tormentors.
Through passageways and common areas, Vera narrated the function of each space. With flicks of a hand, she rattled off directions to the indoor gym, spa, main pool, and communal dining room.
He focused on what she didn’t point out. Cameras in the ceilings of every room and corridor. Weapons beneath the shirts of every cartel member. Vacancy in the eyes of every young female.
They were all young. As in not legal. Not legal age or citizenship. The half-dressed girls milled about carrying drink trays, mopping floors, and entertaining the guests.
A white-haired man in a suit sat on the veranda with a snake-skinned boot propped on the coffee table. An oil baron? Texan rancher? Probably a greasy politician. A topless Asian girl perched on his lap, staring at nothing as he fondled her breasts.
In the pool beyond, another girl bent over the side, moaning half-heartedly while an obese man plowed into her from behind.
At the end of the hall, a petite brunette sat on the floor of a sunlit library, playing with a menagerie of plastic animal figurines. Toys. She wore two curly pigtails and a frilly pink sundress that bunched around her waist. A child’s dress.
She was physically small enough to be prepubescent, but her profile revealed a woman in her twenties. A creepy dichotomy, made worse by the tinkling octave of her childlike voice singing in Spanish.
He slowed in the doorway, morbidly captivated as she spread her legs and licked the long neck of a plastic giraffe. Her hand went between her thighs, exposing herself, and the figurine followed, repurposed as a different sort of toy.
Nothing wrong with age play in a safe environment. But this place wasn’t safe. Who knew how long she’d been enslaved here? Likely captured at a young age, the girl needed a loving home. And therapy. Not a sex resort for pedophiles.
“Como este, papá?” She worked the giraffe in and out of her body like a dildo, groaning a hollow giggling sound.
“Yes, babygirl. Just like that.” A masculine voice rasped from around the corner. “Fuck that juicy cunt for your daddy.”
Heat simmered across Luke’s skin, and he quickened his gait. But he couldn’t look away as he passed the room, locking onto a middle-aged, average-looking man sprawled in the chair a few feet from her.
There was nothing normal or average in his eyes. The son of a bitch viciously face-fucked another girl while watching the one on the floor.
Sex charged the air, humming and writhing on the breeze. Luke felt it in his pores, sizzling his blood, and tightening his trousers. It made him itchy. Restless. Primed to sink into hot, wet pussy.
Christ, he was surrounded by temptation. Perfect bodies, soft mouths, doll-like eyes, irresistible feminine beauty, and it was all his for the taking. The wrongness of it swelled his cock, thickening with violent need.
What a sick, twisted fuck.
He dragged a hand down his face and looked away, catching Tomas’ blank stare behind him. At least one of them seemed to be unaffected.
Everything about this place stank of sin, awakening suppressed urges, tantalizing him, and they hadn’t even scratched the surface. These girls were just the entertainment, the docile ones who had been beaten out of their wild state and made tractable. Usable. Stripped of all hope and will.