Devastate (Deliver 4)

“Traquero.” Van pulled a toothpick from his pocket and cut his eyes at Liv and Josh.

“What did you say?” Josh whispered, the blood draining from his face.

Traquero? The name was familiar, but Tate couldn’t place it. “Is that…?”

“The misogynist prick who was supposed to buy Josh.” Liv crossed the room, pausing in front of Van.

Right on her heels, Josh looped an arm around her waist, holding her against him as he spoke to Van. “Cole helped you find Traquero?”

With a nod, Van moved to the chair and settled Amber on his thigh. The room fell still as everyone focused on the cozy position of the odd couple.

Amber curled against Van’s chest, arms around his neck, clinging to him compulsively. It was one of her many tics that became acutely transparent whenever she left the safety of their house. All toned limbs and long brown hair, she had once been a renowned beauty pageant queen and fitness model. Something tragic had happened to her, ending her career and forcing her into isolation. Severe isolation. She didn’t leave her house for years. Van said she was recovering from agoraphobia and OCD, but the rapid heave of her breaths and the way her fingers dug into Van’s neck suggested she was still as nutty as ever.

Contrarily, Van reclined in the chair with a toothpick rolling between his lips. The six-inch scar on his cheek radiated intimidation and ice-cold confidence, as if to say, Stare all you want. I’m a mean son of a bitch, and I won’t apologize for it.

Mean was an understatement, but since his days of human trafficking, he’d taken steps to make amends, like slaughtering the man who sodomized Liv.

Traquero.

Heavy silence clotted the room. No doubt everyone was thinking about that atrocious meeting when Josh’s buyer raped Liv while Josh was forced to watch. When Van found out, he went ballistic and dismantled the whole sex slave operation. Shortly after, Traquero was murdered. Passionately. They all knew Van was responsible for that gruesome death. They just didn’t know he’d hired Cole Hartman to hunt down the slave buyer. Until now.

“I always wondered how you found Traquero,” Liv said quietly and turned her attention to Cole. “I guess I owe you my gratitude.”

“I didn’t kill him,” Cole said. “I’m not in the business of murdering—”

“Or kidnapping. We know.” Tate caught Liv’s steady gaze. “Why did you call Van here?”

“You’re going to the kidnap capital of the world. Who better to take as backup than—”

“The man who kidnapped me?” The man who chained me in an attic and raped me for ten weeks? He released a humorless laugh. “Are you serious?”

“He’s not that man anymore.” Amber straightened on Van’s lap, her eyes alight with fire. “I know he hurt you, all of you, but he’s driving himself into the grave to make it up to you!”

“Amber.” Van rubbed his hands along her upper arms, the affection at odds with the chill in his voice. “Calm down.”

“No, I won’t calm down.” She climbed off his lap and stepped into Tate’s space, glaring up at him. “When Liv called tonight and told him what you’re planning, he didn’t hesitate.” She pivoted and strode through the room, stopping to straighten a frame on the wall. “He’s here, willing to risk his life to help you.” She whipped around and thrust at finger at Tate. “So don’t you dare judge him.”

This, coming from the agoraphobic woman Van had abducted and raped because hey, she was a shiny new toy to play with. Yet she was still with him four years later. Married him, even.

A shudder rippled through her, and she clutched her hand, cracking her knuckles. Pop-pop-pop-pop. Another tic.

Van reached for her, but she sidestepped him and scanned the room wildly until her attention locked on the kitchen doorway. “Did you know there are dishes in the sink? Can I…?”

“Sure.” Josh said. “Have at it.”

When Amber left the room to feed her OCD, Liv arched a brow at Van, her voice low. “Did she stop going to therapy?”

“I am her therapy.” Van bit down on the toothpick, flashing her a grin.

“That makes me feel so much better,” she said dryly.

Cole remained quiet as his gaze pinged between Van and Liv. Did he know about the history they shared? That they had a daughter together? Livana technically lived with her adopted mother, but she spent most of her time either in this house or at Van and Amber’s two-hundred-acre property. Because of this shared custody, Van and Liv had grown into an amicable, trusting partnership.

Tate shifted toward Van, hands resting on his hips. “Are you actually considering this? Do you understand the stakes?”

“Yes.”

“What about Amber? You’re willing to leave your wife for weeks, if not months?”

A dish clanked in the kitchen, and Amber poked her head through the doorway. “I’m not a helpless ninny, Tate!”

Van cracked a smile, straining the scar on his cheek. “Come here, baby.”

“One minute.” She slipped back into the kitchen, and the sound of running water drifted from the sink.

Tate moved to the couch and took the seat closest to Van, keeping his voice soft. “What happens to Amber and your daughter if you’re captured or killed?”

“Liv explained the risks.” Van sat back, legs sprawled wide, taking up too much space. “I’m not going to Caracas to die, Tate.”

Bullheaded dumbass. He pinched the bridge of his nose, warring with the emotions that always accompanied interactions with Van Quiso. Tate forgave his former captor years ago, but had he ever admitted that aloud? Part of him wanted to hang onto the grudge, because what kind of man would he be if he made allowances for the monster who raped him?

The other part of him recognized this as what it was. An opportunity to wipe the slate clean. He wouldn’t forget those weeks in Van’s attic. He couldn’t. But he could hold out an olive branch to the man.

“I forgive you.” Tate lowered his hand and met Van’s eyes. “For all of it. I mean it. You. Are. Forgiven. So take your wife home and sleep easier knowing one less person in the world wants to castrate you.”

“Yeah? Well, here’s the thing.” Van plucked the toothpick from his mouth and pointed it at him. “I’m not doing this for forgiveness or preservation or whatever rose-colored reason you concocted in your head. I’m doing it because it’s the right thing to do, and I have the experience to impact how this turns out.” He turned his silver-bladed eyes to Cole. “When do we leave?”

CHAPTER 4

Deafening screams of agony chased Lucia out of the basement, sharpening the cramps that plagued her insides. She yanked off the balaclava face mask and dropped it in the hall.

Though she’d done nothing more than operate the camera this morning, she stayed long after the recording ended, ensuring she was the last one to leave the chamber. Tiago’s stooges enjoyed forcing themselves on the female captives, but it was Lucia’s ass on the line if the victim was too broken or lifeless to exchange for ransom.

The click-click of her heels along the spiral stone stairwell conjured power and confidence. She tried hard to exude that perception, even when she was alone, but she couldn’t stop herself from gripping the handrail and using its support for the upward climb.

Fuck, it hurts.

It always started with a rush of saliva over her tongue. Nausea and excruciating stomach pain came next. Then the loss of coordination and the tingling sensation of impending paralysis, like now.

Her ankle twisted, and she righted it, dragging herself around the final bend on the stairs. The doorway to the main floor came into view, and standing just beyond it was Tiago.

She breathed a sigh of relief.

His authoritative stance, hard lines of his lean body, unflinching intensity of his gaze—all of it embodied strength. Strength she so badly needed to scale those last few steps.

Her pulse weakened, and her legs wobbled as she struggled to close the distance. Tiago didn’t move, didn’t stretch ou

t a hand to help her. He simply watched her, his disarmingly handsome features void of emotion.

When she finally reached him, she handed over the burner phone with the video footage from this morning. He turned, passing it off to one of his lackeys.

The video would be sent to the victim’s father, who would watch a faceless man rape and kick his daughter repeatedly with steel-toed boots. The woman was an American college student, whose vacation was cut short when she stumbled into the wrong alley. If her father didn’t pay the demand, her pretty face would be blown away by a shotgun.

“You look pale.” Tiago brushed the backs of his fingers across Lucia’s cheek with aching tenderness.

If he didn’t have an armed guard standing beside him, she would’ve drawn one of the Berettas from her waistband and shot him in the face.

“I feel worse than usual today.”