Disclaim (Deliver 3)

He was going to use her body in every way he imagined. She could cry, spit, and writhe in her restraints. Hell, she would definitely be doing all of that, and he would devour every explosive second of it while her pussy clamped around his cock.

Keeping his distance from her for the past four years had nurtured vicious cravings inside him, warping his tastes into an almighty need for painful, destructive sex. He was going to fuck her until they were both annihilated. Until their broken pieces scattered in an unholy tangled mess. And when they put themselves back together, there would no longer be hers and his. Only them.

He didn’t have to look inside her to know what she wanted. She’d come here, willingly, as a slave. She could tell herself it was a mission to stop slavery, but he knew she was searching for something to sate that which she didn’t yet understand, yearning to face a fear that haunted her since her abduction.

She put herself in a position to be raped and tortured because, deep down, this was her way of stepping inside and showing her teeth.

Dammit, he wanted to belt her for being so fucking reckless. But at the same time, she’d finally given him the opportunity to help her. To be there for her when he’d failed so spectacularly in the past.

It was a reminder of why he’d waited. As much as he wanted her, the end result had always been about her and what she needed.

Releasing her arm, he swiped a hand down his face and stared at the tent in his pants.

She needs food and a shower, you impatient bastard.

When he looked up, she tore her gaze away, face flushed. Probably a reaction she hadn’t meant to make so obvious, but there it was. He affected her.

He reclaimed her arm and hurried her across a long balcony that served as an end cap for multiple bedroom suites and corridors that led to more bedrooms. Beyond the glass railing lay a deep valley of majestic Kapok trees.

“Who stays in those rooms?” She stared at the closed doors over her shoulder as she passed.

“There are dozens of guards and hired whores who live on site.”

“Whores.” Her voice tried for deadpan, but it cracked at the edges. “Is this where you’ve been living the last twelve years?”

“More or less.” He tipped his head to the side and watched her eyes track a cloud shadow as it glided across the treescape. “This is our home base. The cartel’s citadel.” The sanctuary he always came back to.

How many times had he imagined bringing her here just to see her stand in awe of the place he called home?

Her blank expression offered zero fucks, but she wasn’t fooling him.

Situated in the southern-most point of Colombia, the fortress was nothing short of spectacular. Bulletproof glass encased the exterior, presenting unobstructed, cinematic views of the self-contained enclosure of tropical rainforest. The kind of views National Geographic enthusiasts would jack off to from any angle in every room.

But security had been the central ethos that had led the construction of every square foot. Panic rooms, iris recognition scanners, tactical cameras, motion detectors, and fortified polycarbonate and ballistic steel building materials made the property virtually impenetrable.

On top of that, very few knew of its existence. Anyone idiotic enough to approach the perimeter wouldn’t live long enough to beg for forgiveness.

She would be protected from outside threats, namely his enemies and anyone she might’ve pissed off in her war against slave traders. But it had taken an exorbitant amount of planning to relocate her here without adversely impacting his objective.

He wanted her completely—heart and soul. While that in itself might’ve seemed preposterous, his approach to winning her was even more outrageous. But he didn’t have a choice. He was competing against a ghost.

His fists clenched. Her heart belonged to a boy who no longer existed. Well, fuck that motherfucker. That was the guy who didn’t protect her a decade ago, who let her get kidnapped. That fucking guy failed her. I failed her.

He wouldn’t fail her again.

“There’s a lot of white.” She stepped into another living room and nodded her chin at the flooring, walls, and furniture. “White, white, white. Not the best color scheme for blood stains.” Her face tightened.

“Bleach is rather effective, but you already know that.” Considering he’d disposed of fourteen bodies for her over the past ten years—slave buyers and their body guards. He’d dealt with the bodies, but she’d cleaned up the blood. “This way.”

He reached the heavy wooden doors that barred entry to his personal space but didn’t unlock them, his focus on the approaching heel-toe click of stilettos in the hall behind him.

“Welcome home, gorgeous,” a familiar voice purred.

“Yessica.” He turned to greet her, taking note of the way Camila stiffened beside him. “This is Camila.” He twisted Camila around to face the other woman. “Camila. Yessica.”

Despite the bottle blonde hair, Yessica’s heritage oozed from every dip and curve on her body. Like most Colombian women, she had more of it on her legs and ass, a cola-shaped figure accentuated by a flat stomach and full hips.

“Aren’t you a pretty little thing?” Yessica sashayed toward them, long legs stretching her red floor-length dress and heels tapping against the marble.

Camila looked up at him, eyebrow arched, giving him a delectable view of the twitch in her eye.

Maybe she was jealous, but despite the borrowed t-shirt, handcuffs, and knotted hair, Camila’s natural beauty transcended that of every woman he’d ever seen, no matter how extravagantly primped, nipped, or tucked.

Not that Yessica had ever gone under the knife. Her tits were smallish, and she knew how to work them. But that didn’t make her any less shallow. Her life’s ambition was to be pampered by a wealthy man, and while there was revolution and poverty in Colombia, she refused to leave her homeland under the equatorial sun. So here she was.

“Are you keeping this one?” Eyes on Camila, Yessica trailed a blood-red fingernail along the neckline of his shirt.

“Have you checked your room?” He removed her hand from his throat. “I brought you some gifts from the States.”

“Mmmm. I’m headed there now.” She smoothed her palm over his shoulder and lifted up on her toes to press her lips against his ear. “Will I see you at dinner?”

“You will.”

“Excellent.” She turned to Camila. “Nice to meet you.”

With a devious grin on her face, Yessica disappeared down the hall, exaggerating the movement of her hips and shoulders.

The ass shaking was usually for his benefit, but this one was undoubtedly meant to unnerve Camila. When it came to her competition, Yessica was one of those kill-em-with-kindness while stabbing-them-in-the-back kind of women.

“How long have you been tapping that?” Camila didn’t even try to hide the bitterness in her voice.

“I have an idea.” He turned toward the computerized pad on the wall, leveling his eye with the screen. “Let’s share our sexual histories while I fuck you in the shower.”

The retinal scanner blinked,

and the double doors to his suite clicked open.

“God, you’re a pig.” She sneered. “No, scratch that. You’re a disgusting boar.”

In a flash, he cuffed a hand around her throat and slammed her back against the wall. “You forget yourself, Camila.”

She closed her eyes, but that stubborn chin of hers jutted above his knuckles. “Forgive me, Sir.”

The pulse point in her throat thudded steadily against his palm, but the moment he leaned in and touched his lips to her brow, he felt her heartbeat quicken.

Tenderness scared her more than cruelty. What a complicated, remarkable creature. It was no wonder she’d held his attention all these years.

Stepping back, he assessed her gaunt complexion, cracked lips, and sharper-than-normal cheekbones. She hadn’t eaten or hydrated since last night, and her arms and shoulders must’ve been killing her from being restrained for so long. Yet she hadn’t uttered a single complaint. She was a fucking trooper, and it only made him want her more.

He ushered her into his private suite, a domain that only three other people could access.

The doors locked behind him as he steered her toward the huge balcony where a dining table waited with an assortment of arepas and fruit.

“Sit.” He pulled out a chair.

She lowered into the seat and eyed the food. “Impressive service. A benefit of working for a drug lord?”

Something like that.

He removed a key from his pocket, unlocked her cuffs, and set them aside. As she rubbed at her wrists, a pinch of guilt sneaked up on him. He shook it off.

“Put any notions of running out of your head. The only way in and out of here is by helicopter.” He flicked a wrist at the roof. “Unless you have some latent survival skills.” He gestured at the endless green beyond the railing. “You can try your luck out there.”

Anyone else would’ve freaked the fuck out at the impossibility of escape, but not her. She poured a glass of water from the pitcher, leaned back in the chair, and drank deeply.

Because she didn’t intend to escape, not without getting what she came for.

She’d already guessed that he’d expected her to arrive with Van Quiso. But she didn’t know the half of it.