Complicate (Deliver 9)

And wait.

And wait.

At last, the song fell silent.

He didn’t move, didn’t lift his head from his bent knees. He could still hear the rampant adrenaline of music, the pounding discord permanently embedded in his eardrums.

Footsteps entered his cell, and three frozen hot dogs landed on the floor beside him, rolling in the dust.

He snatched them up and didn’t hesitate to shove the processed meat into his mouth, dirt and all. Eating these things cold made his stomach turn, but he preferred that over lukewarm meat. The ice coating assured him they hadn’t been sitting out. They should be safe from contamination and food poisoning.

Swallowing the last bite, he hungered for more. But it was always the same. Three hot dogs per visit. Two visits a day.

As an unarmed man swapped out the buckets, Cole stole a peek at the old factory floor beyond.

Piles of stones, discarded materials, and abandoned machinery lay beneath a coating of dust. Amid the waste material, he identified broken headstones.

It was a clue. But without any knowledge of headstone companies in Texas, it didn’t help him determine his location.

Not that he could escape.

A group of men stood just outside the door to his cell. Never less than six in total and always armed. None of them spoke Russian.

He would have to physically overpower them before they fired a weapon.

Impossible.

Any attempt to run would only get him injured, and up until now, they hadn’t inflicted so much as a bruise. So he remained motionless during their visits, biding his time.

With the buckets refreshed, the guard stepped out. But today, the door didn’t close.

The others moved out of view, their footsteps retreating but not going far. Then a tread of clicking steps approached. A slow, confident gait. Click-clack. Click-clack.

He hadn’t heard this one since he’d been thrown in this room, but he knew who it was before she appeared in the doorway.

Cheetah-print pants molded to her sexy figure, and her low-cut white shirt had a skull-and-bones pirate flag across the front.

Her fire-engine red hair was pulled into two high pigtails, leaving wisps of long bangs around her face. Same heavy makeup as the night he’d met her, her fuckable lips shiny with wet gloss.

Leaning a shoulder against the door frame, she raised a rope of red licorice to her mouth and nibbled on the end.

He rested his head back against the wall, watching her with lazy detachment.

“Are you hungry?” She bit off a length of the candy, holding it between her white teeth before slurping it into her mouth. “You look like you could use some sugar.”

He would kill for a taste of anything but hot dogs, but he wasn’t playing her games.

“You haven’t spoken since you arrived.” She tapped the licorice against her mouth.

At some point, she would tell him why he was here and what they wanted. Until then, silence was the only control he had over her.

She took a visible breath, straining the fabric of the shirt across her tits. Full, beautifully shaped tits that would more than fill his hands.

Her eyes, dark green in the distance. Her lips, a deadly trap around the candy. Her body, toned with muscle and curved to perfection. Yeah, if he were another man in a different situation, he would fuck the shit out of her.

But he wasn’t. He didn’t pursue women or harbor sexual fantasies about his enemies.

“You can get out of here.” She strolled toward him and crouched at his side, smothering his senses in her soft feminine scent. “You can have all the candy you want, the food you crave, a comfortable bed, and a woman to warm it.” She tilted her head, regarding him intently. “Multiple women, if that’s your thing.”

His lip curled. He couldn’t help it. He didn’t want anyone in his bed but Danni. His appetite for sex was constant, but wanting and doing were two different things. Celibacy was a choice. His self-punishment. God knew he deserved worse after the torment he’d put Danni through.

“Do you want a shower?” She reached out and touched his forehead, gently brushing his greasy hair from his eyes. “You want a toothbrush and clean clothes?” Her fingers drifted to his beard, softly stroking. “You can live like a free man. Or you can die like a prisoner on death row.”

If revenge was her endgame, she wouldn’t be dangling rewards in front of him.

She wanted something from him.

He waited for it, his heart thundering in his chest. What would she demand in exchange for the bullshit she offered?

She glanced down, taking in his nude form. With his knees to his chest and his feet tucked against him, she couldn’t see much.

Not that he cared. She could stare all she wanted. She could tease him, touch him, bludgeon him, and cut off his limbs. As long as he had breath in his body, he would not cower to her or her band of merry men.