Take (Deliver 5)

“Tiago?” She willed him to be dressed, even as her mind entertained erotic images of his sculpted, nude physique.

He emerged from the bathroom and leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, his hair wet and body clad in sweatpants.

“Where do you want this?” She held up the tray, staring too long at the mist beading on the hard ridges of his chest.

He gestured at the mattress and gripped his forehead. A hiss pushed past his clenched teeth.

“There’s some medicine for the headache.” She set the tray on the floor near the lamp and backed toward the door. “I’m sure Boones will come—”

“Sit. You’re eating in here.” He made the short walk to the bed, dropped to his knees, and collapsed with his face in the pillow. “Fuck.”

“Maybe you just need to sleep.” She lingered by the exit, rubbing clammy palms on her jeans.

“I won’t repeat myself.” He angled his neck to glare at her.

“Fine.” She strode toward him, grabbed the food, and sat beside him on the mattress. “I don’t understand why Iliana isn’t in here with you instead?”

“I don’t trust the guards in my personal space.”

She jerked her head back. “But you trust me?”

“Not at all. Pass me the water.”

He drank, refused the pills, and after some grumbling in Spanish, he accepted the soup.

They ate in silence, and with each bite, the pain lifted from his face.

Over the past week, he seemed to be on the mend. She’d caught him holding his head a few times, but he hadn’t slowed down his workouts or shown any signs of weakness. Until now.

“Why are you exercising so much?” She collected the empty dishes and set the tray aside.

“I need strength to return to Caracas.” He rolled to his back and closed his eyes. “Too many people want me dead.”

Her friends included. Except they weren’t looking for her anymore.

“You don’t have to go to Caracas.” She considered his wealth and all the places he could live. “You can go anywhere, do anything, right? Why not retire?”

“I chose this life. End of.” He rested an arm across his brow, his expression relaxed, almost sleepy.

She’d never seen him asleep. He kept his door locked at night and was downstairs before she woke most mornings.

A peculiar blanket of warmth settled over her, and her fingertips tingled. Why did she suddenly feel so weird?

What were they just talking about?

She blinked, trying to remember as a strange pull urged her to stretch out beside him on the mattress. Something was wrong.

“I think Boones drugged the soup.” Holding her hand in front of her face, she marveled at its weightlessness. “I feel stoned.”

“Probably. He knew I wouldn’t take those pills.” He patted the mattress beside him. “Lie down.”

“That doesn’t make you mad?” She gave in to the heavy weight in her limbs and lay on her side, facing her captor without a twinge of worry or panic. How weird.

“Can’t be mad at Boones.” He shifted to his hip, bending an arm beneath his head and mirroring her position. “He cares.”

Fringes of thick lashes swept downward, hooding his brown eyes as he reached across the space between them. The pad of his finger rested on hers, barely a touch, yet it shivered every nerve ending in her body.

She held still, studying his slack expression. He seemed different, less threatening. Normal. Like a person capable of having a conversation without kicking her in the stomach.

“How do you know about my brothers?” she asked.

“Public records mostly.” His gaze lifted to hers. “Are you aware all three of them are in prison?”

“No.” She waited for a simmer of emotion behind her breastbone and felt only a brief pinch of anger. “For drugs?”

“They were smuggling cocaína for a Mexican cartel. Someone ratted them out.”

They deserved it. After her mom died, they were supposed to be her protectors. Instead, they turned her childhood home into a crack-house, exposed her to a world of drug dealers and addicts, while chasing away every boy who showed interest in her in high school.

In the end, they were the reason she fell onto Van’s radar. He’d overheard them talking about their little virgin sister in a bar, bragging about how they’d protected her virtue. Van followed them home, abducted her, and she hadn’t seen or talked to them since.

Her hand curled into a fist. “Fuck them.”

He pried her fingers open and rested his huge palm over hers. “Tell me about your time with Van Quiso.”

“I don’t want to talk about that.” She slid her hand away.

“I’m not asking.” He caught her wrist and used it to yank her chest against his.

She shrunk back, straining to hold a sliver of space between them. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

Why not just tell him? He probably already knew the details anyway.

With a deep breath, she talked through the ridiculous requirements Van had beaten into her. Kneeling, eyes down, constant nudity, perfect dick-sucking techniques… She was vague about the sexual training, and Tiago didn’t press for details. Just mentioning blow job seemed to put him on edge.