Unshackle (Deliver 7)

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, her accent thick beneath her breath as her gaze flicked through the room.

“I can give you everything they give you and more.”

“This conversation is—”

“I’ll buy your freedom. As far as they’re concerned, I’ll own you. But the moment we walk out of here, you’re free. I’ll pay you a salary and provide all the security money can buy.”

“And what do you get out of it, handsome?” She cocked a hip and stared down at him.

“Your willing cunt.”

“Willing?” Her gaze lingered on his before hardening and snapping away. “I’ve had enough—”

“Honey, one night with me is never enough.”

She laughed, a strained cackle of disbelief.

Yeah, he was laying on the douchery nice and thick. He didn’t have a choice. There were cameras and ears everywhere. Decent men didn’t come here. Not that he ever claimed decency.

“Do you leave this property? Are you allowed?” At her silence, he stroked a knuckle, light as a feather, along her exposed thigh beneath the hem. “Where are you from?”

“We’re not doing this.” She jerked her leg away from his touch.

“Oh, come on. I’m not the first man to make you an offer. But I’ll pay a lot of money to be the last.”

She blinked, and her eyebrows pulled in, knitting grooves across her forehead.

This could be so easy for her. She only needed to agree. He would buy her from the cartel. Fly her ass to Colombia. Put her in an interrogation room at the Restrepo compound and pry every answer he needed to finish the job. She would have Tula in her corner, so the torture would be minimal. Far less painful than the alternative.

Solar lights flickered like torches, illuminating the perimeter in a glow of amber against nightfall’s backdrop. The guests gathered at the railing, their murmurs rising in volume as they watched whatever was unfolding on the well-lit lawn.

“No.” She straightened. “While you’re not accustomed to taking no for an answer, ignoring my objection will have severe consequences.” Pivoting, she strolled toward the fight.

Well, he tried the easy way. Her funeral.

Drinks refilled. Voices rose, and excitement intensified among the guests. But he remained seated, reluctant to join them.

Until Tomas bent over his shoulder and growled in his ear. “Your contempt is showing. Get over there and prove to the bloodthirsty pigs that you’re one of them.”

His friend paced to the far end of the railing, which provided views of the fight and the entire veranda.

Tomas was right, of course. Sitting here alone helped no one. But watching an innocent girl die while pretending to enjoy it? Luke had limits, and that one sat firmly at the top.

He listened for the sounds of a feral dog barking or the wild flap of fowl wings. When he heard neither, his nerves wrung tighter, his imagination making it worse. So he crossed the porch and found an empty spot at the railing away from the guests.

Just beyond the covered veranda, a grassy cockpit glowed in a ring of solar garden stakes. A woman stood at the edge, fisting her hands at her sides.

Greasy strings of hair hung in her face and twisted around gaunt shoulders. Not an ounce of fat on her sharp, protruding bones. But the little meat she did have looked hard. Honed from strife.

Long muscles wrapped her arms and legs. A tight t-shirt molded around the small curves of breasts. Frayed denim shorts clung to narrow hips and thighs. She was a tiny thing. Almost a foot shorter than his six-three height and at least a hundred pounds lighter.

Who was she? A trafficked girl? A cartel dissenter? The kidnapped daughter or wife of an enemy? One thing was certain, she didn’t want to be here.

Angry red welts encircled her wrists and ankles. Layers of grime stained her torn clothing. Tangles of unwashed hair hid her face, but her eyes glowed through the knots. Dark eyes. Ferocious. Possessed with seething hatred.

She directed her fiery gaze across the ring, and from the shadows, a man stepped into the pit. If he could be called a man. The thug had barely grown into his baggy jeans, his swarthy face too young to take his thin goatee seriously.

Tattooed symbols scattered his bare chest and arms. The markings of a kid who was desperate to prove himself. He couldn’t have been older than eighteen. Yet he had about forty pounds on the woman.

The woman he intended to fight.

Luke’s stomach sank.

Another man sidled up against her back, gripping her shoulders and whispering in her ear. She stiffened, as if to reject the touch, but didn’t pull away.

“I knew you wouldn’t miss this.” Vera leaned against the railing at his side, all glossy lips and shiny black hair.

Stunning woman.

Unfeeling eyes.

“It’s a favorite attraction among the guests.” A hint of annoyance clipped her tone.