Take (Deliver 5)

“Three days.”

“What will you do there? Kidnap more people? Torture them and hold them for ransom? Kill them if their families can’t pay?”

She knew what he did. He didn’t need to fuel her hatred with a response.

“Retire.” Her expression morphed from fearful to determined. “You don’t need the money.”

“No.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Both.”

“Then change your business model. You want to live a life of crime? Fine. Stick to victimless crimes.”

He laughed heartlessly and stopped short when he realized she was serious.

“No more kidnapping. No more hurting innocent people. Make me that promise, and I’ll…” Her nostrils widened with a slow, deep inhale. “I’ll be whatever you need me to be.”

“No deal. I want you exactly as you are.”

“If you don’t make me that promise, all you’re going to get from this point forward is a plastic, hollow version of me.” She leaned up, as much as the rope allowed. “Don’t forget. I was trained how to please a sadist. I can make this a memorable experience for you or I can turn it into a robotic musical of fake moans and cheap quivers.”

“You said you wouldn’t surrender.” He rubbed his brow. Christ, this woman. Why was he even entertaining this conversation?

“I can’t surrender to this. Pain doesn’t turn me on. At all. But I can give you the real me.” She pulled on the restraints, trying to lift her face closer to his. “I know you, Tiago Badell. You need this to be mutually honest. No games. No bullshit. Just you and me.”

Heat surged to his balls and swelled his cock.

She jutted her chin. “Stop. Kidnapping.”

“What you’re asking for is ridiculous.” He sat up and hardened his eyes. “Caracas is the kidnapping capital of the world. You don’t survive Kidnap Alley without playing by the rules.”

“If you’re the king, you can do whatever the fuck you want.”No more kidnapping.

Was it as easy as just deciding to stop? Tiago never had a taste for abducting people off the streets, but he had a reputation to uphold and hundreds of powerful men in his pocket, including law enforcement and politicians. If he so much as appeared weak, he wouldn’t just lose their protection. They would turn on him and everyone loyal to him.

The deaths of his family had led him to this corrupt life. His last revenge kill was in Caracas, and when he finished, he stayed.

He’d slunk into the deepest, darkest corner of Kidnap Alley and became one of them. One of the irredeemable who lurked in the shadows, smuggling contraband, kidnapping tourists, and killing at will. Within a year, he’d become their leader.

His fate was sealed. He was hunted by government agencies, cartels, crime lords, influential people. They wanted him imprisoned, tortured, dead, dismembered, his head on a stake in town square. Didn’t matter. They wanted him gone.

If he left his life in Caracas, he left the protection of his crime syndicate. Walking away was the same as walking toward death row.

But he could make a minor change to the business. If he refocused his efforts on gun smuggling and expanded his routes, he could make the argument to his money-hungry constituents that it was more lucrative than kidnapping for ransom.

He could give her this one thing. He wanted to, and not because he was receiving something in return. He wanted to give her this because it was the right thing to do.

It might be the only good thing he could ever offer her.

“No more kidnapping.” He ran featherlight fingers down her neck, eliciting a shudder in her breath. “Consider it done.”

“Thank you. And you’ll take me to visit Tate before we leave.”

“You have my word.”

All she had was his word, and he could break it at any time. But he wouldn’t. She seemed to know that. She trusted it.

“Untie me.” She stared at him, a silent bid to trust her.

“No.” He climbed off the bed and collected the blade and Boones’ medical bag.

The air between them assembled and charged, a palpable battle of her fear against his anticipation. As he readied the supplies, her anxiety pressed against him, the shallow sounds of her breaths accelerating his.

She deserved so much more than the sickness inside him. But she would remind him of that. The hatred in her eyes, the derisive words from her mouth, she would never quit fighting. He counted on it.

Moving back to the bed, he climbed over her and shimmied her tank top over her head, up her bound arms, and left it gathered around her wrists. Then he lowered his hands to the button on her shorts.

“Do you already know the design you’re going to cut into me?” A sheen of wetness spread over her eyes.

“Yes.” He released the fly and dragged the denim and panties down her legs and off.

“You planned this.”

“Weeks ago.”

“Of course.” Her jaw set, and a quiver raced along her nude body. “How big will it be?”