With her hands fettered behind her, it fucked with her balance. The whole thing was a stumbling, falling, slipping all-out run to some unknown destination.
Eventually, calloused fingers yanked her to a halt.
More voices. The same ones, new ones, all yelling in Spanish. The scent of motor oil and gasoline permeated the hood, tickling her nose.
“Who are you guys?” She spun around, blind and winded. “Where am I?”
A hand caught her neck, squeezing her airway, strangling. Hot breath saturated the outside of the hood, seeping through the material and heating her face.
Her mouth gulped for oxygen. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t escape the choking grip.
He held her there, waited as the very end of her life crashed toward her in a chest-squeezing, lonely, black wave of nothingness.
Alone.
She would die alone.
The collar of fingers released her with a vicious shove that sent her careening across the floor on her back. Boots shuffled out of her way. One of them kicked her into a corner.
She pressed herself there, curling into a ball, gasping for life, and swallowing silent tears.
Time passed in frantic heartbeats. Her pulse hammered for an hour. Maybe two.
The cement floor grew unbearably hard beneath her butt, grinding against her bones. Her legs bare, her body covered in only a shirt, she was overly exposed and unarmed. But still alive.
Not once did she let herself consider the possibility Tiago was dead. He was too untouchable, too impervious. Too goddamn mean to die.
He would hunt her down. Find her. Hopefully, before it was too late.
Footsteps came and went. Others scuffed around her, lingering, guarding. The men never shut up, their voices charged with energy, fear, excitement.
Then she heard a word she recognized.
Comandante.
A horrible feeling overtook her, running chills down her spine. She was already in the worst situation she could imagine. But hearing the mention of a comandante, she knew this was either a rebel group or a cartel.
She wouldn’t escape this alive.
That suspicion solidified when another set of boots entered the room and paused before her.
The hood lifted, and florescent lighting blinded her eyes. She blinked through the brightness as the cold press of steel caught her beneath the chin.
Her heart stopped.
Holy fucking goddamn, that was a huge fucking knife.
The man holding it crouched before her. Black hair and a mustache, pockmarked cheeks, and soulless eyes, he smelled of cigarettes and torture.
She scanned the surrounding shelves that lined the wall, taking in stacks of machinery, tools, a random tire, and things made of steel. A supply room full of automotive parts? A mechanic shop, maybe.
Nothing within reach to slam into his face. Not that she could with her arms handcuffed at her back.
Another man stood beside her and gathered a fistful of hair on her crown, pulling, elongating her neck.
And she knew.
They were going to cut off her head.
Her insides turned to ice as her mind spun, quickly forming an idea and weaving a bogus story.
“I’ve been waiting for you guys.” She met the eyes of the man with the knife.
He arched a brow.
“Do you speak English?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Take me to the comandante.” Her bladder threatened to release beneath the force of her almighty fear.
“I am the comandante.”
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
With a deep breath, she raised her chin above the knife. “I work for Matias Restrepo. Do you know—?”
“Everyone knows Restrepo.” His gaze pulsed with interest.
“He planted me inside Tiago Badell’s organization. The assignment was to grow close to Badell, become his lover, and wait for your infiltration. Matias Restrepo knew you would capture me, and that you would feel inclined to…uh…” Her teeth chattered. “To send my head to Badell.”
The man grinned with yellow teeth. “Go on.”
“Restrepo wants you to contact him.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because I have information. Intel I’ve been gathering on Badell. And because you just extracted me from the hands of Restrepo’s enemy, he’s now in your debt.” She hardened her jaw. “Call him. Tell him you have Kate, and you’ll be generously rewarded.”
It was a risk. He could just as easily torture her for the intel she boasted about. Of course, she didn’t know shit about Tiago’s business dealings, so it would be a slow, bloody, horrifically gruesome way to die. Much worse than getting her head sawed off.
But she was offering the comandante an opportunity to join forces with Matias Restrepo, an offer no one ever received. She didn’t know who this man was in the underground world, but she hoped her bullshit story carried some weight.
If only for a little while.
She just needed to buy some time until Tiago arrived.
Swallowing against the blade, she held the comandante’s oily gaze. After an eternity of wordless torment, he lowered the knife.
It took everything she had not to pass out in relief.
He rose to his feet and barked a string of Spanish words. The room erupted in a scurry of squeaky boots. Everyone evacuated except the man fisting her hair.