Unshackle (Deliver 7)

He was hurting her in his attempt to save her. Taking away her right to choose. Removing her free will. It was the worst possible thing he could do to her.

Except risking her life.

From where he stood, ensuring she lived superseded all ethical and moral obligations.

Maybe his decision was selfish, but at that moment, watching Tomas wrestle her into the back of the limo, he realized he would never survive her death. He couldn’t even consider the possibility.

He remained on the sidewalk, stomach knotted, lungs collapsing, fighting like hell to maintain his ruse as a wealthy, suit-wearing, heartless slave owner.

His face felt like marble, his numb hands clasped loosely behind him. He was a stone-cold monster, who had just purchased a trafficked girl.

His first and last.

The negotiations with Hector’s four sons had dragged out for two hours in Marco’s lavish office. Over tequila and cigars, Luke cajoled, and the brothers strung him along with no real commitment to his offer.

His top price was one million. Six-hundred thousand of that was his own money. Van had given each of his ex-slaves that amount. It was the only money Luke had to his name.

Before he left Colombia, Martin and Ricky had offered their portions, as well. They desperately wanted Vera to be returned to Tula. Tomas had also thrown his share into the pot.

In total, Luke had two-point-five million to bargain with. But he’d had no intention of draining his friends’ bank accounts.

He was a fool.

Marco haggled with him for two hours. Marco’s brothers wanted no more part of the negotiations. Selling Vera meant surrendering their bait for their father’s killer. Of course, they didn’t know that Luke was privy to Vera’s true identity.

It had been several months since Hector died. Vera believed they were losing patience, and it wouldn’t be long before they killed her. She was a liability. A flight risk. Too smart for her own good.

In the end, Luke bought her freedom for three million dollars. A bid the cartel hadn’t been able to refuse.

If they suspected he had something to do with their father’s murder, he was the one they wanted anyway. Not Vera.

To seal the deal, he announced that he would be staying on the property for the remainder of the week with the possibility of purchasing a second girl.

Dollar signs glowed in four pairs of gluttonous eyes.

Another three-million-dollar purchase? He didn’t have that kind of money. But they didn’t know that.

When he’d left Marco’s office, he’d sent a message to one of the burner phones that Matias Restrepo carried. The cartel jefe agreed to cover the half-million that Luke was short for the purchase of Vera.

It was a huge ask. Camila’s husband had already invested a hefty chunk of change into this operation. If Luke succeeded in taking down La Rocha, maybe he could liquidate La Rocha’s assets and recoup the investment. But there was no guarantee.

There was no guarantee he would ever see his friends again.

From within the limo, Tomas signaled him to approach. With a calming breath, he moved on lead feet and bent into the open doorway.

Shackled to one of the long benches, Vera sank her teeth into the gag and glared at him with pure venom in her eyes. A wet sheen shimmered along her lashes and welled in the corners.

He felt sick to his stomach.

Straps crisscrossed her torso, restraining her to the seat. She still fought, bucking and snarling, her chest rising and falling with the furor of her breaths as a livid flush reddened her cheeks.

She was pissed. But more than that, she was terrified. For him.

Tomas perched beside her, donning a stoic expression. Across from them sat their escort. Probably the same man who had accompanied them here a few days ago.

“She doesn’t look happy to be your new toy.” The man chuckled.

“Are any of them happy at first?” Luke forced a smile with predatory teeth. “Give me a minute with her.”

With a nod, the man slid out of the limo, and Tomas followed.

He shifted back to Vera and cupped her face. “I know you’re angry.”

Muffled screams clotted the air, her eyes shouting viciously over the gag.

“Shh.” He kissed the curve of her neck, the hollow between her collarbones, and the rough fabric over her mouth. “I’m yours. From now until the termination of my soul, I belong to you and you alone.”

Tears stole along her cheeks and dampened the gag. He leaned in and caught the streams with his thumbs, then his lips. Suddenly, viscerally aware of the pounding of his heart against her breasts, the feel of her soft curls against his neck, he wrenched her legs open and knelt between them.

Without a moment’s hesitation, their bodies sought, instantly gravitating together with the torment of their impending separation. He pressed his lips to her face, her heart, and everywhere, claiming her with each kiss, each ragged breath drawn as one. When the violence of her grief grew too great, he touched her with worshiping hands, caressing her skin and clasping her body to his.