Unshackle (Deliver 7)

His fingertips ran down her breastbone and loosened the knot on the towel. She dropped the toothbrush and stopped him from descending farther.

He smiled down at her. No humor. All heat.

“No.” She wasn’t ready. She would never be ready.

“Fight me.” His voice slid over her with silken confidence. A voice that could carry brutal commands over the length of a dark, oppressive dungeon.

“Fuck you.”

He ripped away the towel.

“No! Stop!” She shrieked, scrambling to pull it back.

But he’d already tossed it away, chuckling blackly. So she kneed him in the chin. Hard.

His head snapped back, and the crook of his mouth kicked up. Not a hint of surprise on his face.

He’d let her have that shot.

“That’s the only one you get tonight.” He captured her legs and pinned them down. “Your coordination is getting worse. Are you dizzy?”

“Eat a dick.”

“You’ll be doing exactly that if you don’t answer the question.”

“Yes, John, the room is spinning.”

Nausea, headache, sleepiness, blurred vision, ringing in her ears… She had a concussion. But that wasn’t the only reason she was pinned down. Every punch she’d thrown at him had been easily dodged and redirected. He knew how to neutralize an attacker.

“You’ve had training.” She wrapped an arm over her bare chest and a hand between her legs, covering her nudity. “Combat sports.”

“It’s a hobby of mine, along with weights and cardio. You’ll work out with me once you’re fed and rested.”

By work out, he didn’t mean jogging.

He blatantly inspected her naked body while Tomas cleaned the cuts on her face.

Antibiotic ointment was applied. Her eyes were pried open and checked. Then her teeth, ears, and nose. That done, Tomas ran his hands over every inch of her scalp, searching for hidden wounds. The scrupulous efficiency in his work suggested he’d done this before.

“Are you a bodyguard or a doctor?” she asked him.

“I’ve treated a lot of wounds.”

“Your boss must toss all his beaten slaves your way.”

John splayed a large hand over her hipbone, his fingers stretching nearly around her waist. “Why are you so thin?”

“It’s called intermittent fasting. If you want to shed extra pounds, you have to feel the pangs of hunger every day.”

He narrowed his eyes, not buying a single word.

“They say fasting also helps you live longer.” She shrugged.

“If you’re concerned about longevity, you wouldn’t be breaking through a wall patrolled by heavily armed guards. You’re lucky they didn’t shoot you.”

“How did you know I breached the wall?”

“I didn’t until you just told me.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Her lungs emptied of air.

His eyes darkened, half-hooded by thick copper lashes that did nothing to conceal the intellect blazing there. “Tell me what you saw on the other side.”

No way. That was her secret. She’d barely convinced Marco she hadn’t seen anything. She sure as fuck couldn’t trust this man. What would stop him from running straight to Marco and ratting her out?

“It was nighttime.” She swallowed her rising panic. “I couldn’t see my hands in front of my—”

“Shut up.” He climbed over her and straddled her waist.

With his knees astride her hips, he held his weight off her while lowering his upper body, chest to chest, and arms bracketing her head. His mouth hovered so close she tasted his breath. Peated whiskey, hot and smoky, like the blood burning through her veins.

“I know you’re lying.” His lips grazed hers, shooting unwanted frissons across her skin. “If you tell me what you saw outside the perimeter, they’ll kill you. And me, as well.” His gaze darted to the closed door. “We’ll discuss it another time.”

Like never.

There was only one reason he’d be interested in what lay beyond the wall. He wanted the location of the compound.

Some guests felt paranoid and isolated here and didn’t like the cartel monitoring their external communications. They knew if something happened to them, no one would ever find them. Last year, a government agent had disguised himself as a buyer and infiltrated the estate. The cartel discovered his identity quickly, and the man was never seen again. His bones were undoubtedly buried somewhere on the property.

Whether John was a narc, military operative, or just another paranoid dipshit, she needed to stay clear of the crossfire.

“They’re starving you.” He swept his fingers over her ribs and raised his body to stare down the length of hers. “What’s the purpose in that?”

“Have you ever seen a pit bull in a fighting ring? Or a greyhound on a racetrack? Those malnourished, neglected animals are worked to the bone and kept only to make their owners money. When they’re no longer useful, they’re put down.” Her eyes closed without her permission. “I’m just a dog on death row.”

He cleared a bit of hair off her cheek, prompting her to look up at him. “You’re more than that to them. How many in the cartel have fucked you?”