Take (Deliver 5)

Horror consumed her, constricting and pulling. He just dissected her with all the boredom of a man playing a child’s game. She had no defenses against him, physically or emotionally.

Nothing would stop him from grabbing her throat and ripping out the meat of it. Or breaking her legs so she couldn’t flee. Or he could go for her unprotected core. Her abdomen trembled right there between his thighs. He could pummel her until she bled internally.

Any or all of it was possible, and the thought shoved her into a fresh hell of panic.

What about her friends? Would he go after them next? How did he know so much about her life? Her father was dead. But her brothers… No one knew about them.

Except Van.

Tiago coasted his fingers over her hair, slithering a chill across her scalp. “I appreciate your bravado, but it’s a portal to make-believe land. It’ll get you nowhere.” His hand retreated. “It won’t save you.”

Her head hammered, her eyes wide and unseeing. She might not know anything useful about him, but she knew his type.

Living with five alpha males, she was accustomed to the overbearing display of dominance. The vibration of confidence close to the skin, the puffed-up chests and unwavering eye contact—every action demanded respect and submission. Which begged the question…

“Why did you turn off the light?” She waited through a span of silence, strangling beneath the press of his proximity. “If I’m going to die, it doesn’t matter if I see your face. If you’re the one in control, why are you hiding in the dark? You’ve been holed up in this room for a month. Who are you running from?”

“Now that,” he breathed at her ear, “is the smartest thing you’ve said.”

The light flicked on, and the sudden brightness blotted her vision. As her eyes adjusted, she glimpsed a remote in his hand. He set it aside, and her gaze tripped along a muscled arm to the column of a masculine neck.

Stubble shadowed his chiseled jaw and outlined sculpted lips. A prominent nose, bladed cheekbones, and eyes so dark they could’ve been black—the squared cut of Hispanic features formed a ruthless, shockingly attractive face.

As she took in his unexpected beauty, the corners of his mouth levitated in a macabre smile.

He was madness with straight, white teeth. Corruption with glowing skin. A nightmare in a designer suit.

Dipping his head, he brought his eyes into the angle of light. Holographic hues of brown glittered in his irises, but it was the intelligence in that stare that jolted electricity through her heart.

His gaze was deafening. As jarring as a crack of lightning in the night. But instead of chaos writhing in his eyes, she found the steady pulse of self-control and calculation.

He watched her closely, deliberately, as if he knew it unsettled her, and that knowledge gave him pleasure.

His smile widened.

An increase in pressure and temperature swept the room. Her chest rose and fell, fighting for each shallow gasp.

He was so fearsomely, horrifyingly beautiful she had to look away, her focus landing on the only weakness she could find.

A bandage. Multiple bandages, taped in a row from his temple to the back of his head. Thick layers of gauze concealed what lay beneath, but from the size of the wrap, the injury had been severe.

Severe enough to debilitate him for weeks.

“That’s why you haven’t left this room.” Her mind swam as she glanced around at the sparse space, homing in on the duffel bag of clothes. “You fled Kidnap Alley to recover here, to remain hidden until you regained strength. Have you been unconscious all this time?”

“In and out. An inconvenient side-effect of pain killers.”

She was surprised he answered so candidly. Did someone shoot him? Knife him? Was it Tate? She returned her attention to his head, scrutinizing the wide swath of shaved scalp. How serious was the damage?

“You want to see under the bandages.” His voice purred with provocation, licking a hum across her skin. “You’re dying with curiosity.”

“Dying is a poor choice of words, considering.” She pulled harder on her arms and craned her neck to find her hands tethered to a cast iron pipe on the wall. She returned to his eyes, and a deep inhale helped her maintain that contact. “What happened?”

“Lucia Dias.” A twitch feathered along his jaw. “She went vigilante on me with a forty-pound dumbbell.”

Camila’s sister attacked him? He still hadn’t mentioned Tate. Was the attack part of Tate’s rescue mission? Did he and Lucia make it out? Were they alive?

Tiago watched her steadily, devouring the trepidation she couldn’t hide on her face. If he didn’t already know Lucia’s name meant something to her, he knew now.

“What happened to her?” A swallow solidified in her throat.

“You tell me.”

Was he fucking with her? She didn’t know how to play mind games with a psychopath, but she needed to try. Since she couldn’t overpower him, she would have to outsmart him.