Chapter 6
DEAN
The man’s screams had already broken and were nothing more than whimpers and ragged gasps through the blood soaked gag clogging his mouth.
Dean tightened his grip on the pliers, the metallic tang of rust and blood thick in his nose. His father sat a few feet away, calm as a priest at confession, sipping wine while his men looked on.
“Enough,” Carlos said at last, his voice smooth. “He understands.”
Dean yanked the gag free. The man sagged against the chair, half-conscious. Carlos flicked two fingers, a signal. Dean knew what it meant.
Finish it.
Dean set the pliers down, pulled his knife, and drove it cleanly into the man’s throat.
The body jerked once, then stilled. Blood poured hot across the blade, and the splatter seared his skin even though his heart had long gone numb.
He yanked the knife free and watched the man bleed out, his body finally set free.
“Good,” Carlos murmured, standing and adjusting his cufflinks as though he hadn’t just ordered another death. “Very good, Mercurio. You are becoming what you were meant to be.”
Dean’s jaw clenched at the insinuation, but he didn’t speak. He only watched his father leave, the praise heavier than chains.
When the door shut, silence pressed down hard.
Dean looked at the corpse, then at his hands.
Blood slicked his skin, drying at the edges, crusting under his nails.
He could feel it everywhere. It would linger long after he washed it away, seeping into him with all the other deaths he’d lost count of.
Every second here, something inside him rotted a little more.
Taking the knife, he walked out of the room and down the hall to the shower that felt more like decontamination chamber.
Exhaustion dragged at his limbs. It had been two days since he’d seen Yasmine and his children.
Two days locked in Carlos’s orbit, proving loyalty with knives and silence.
His body was stone, but his soul…his soul was cracking down the middle.
So much death. So much blood. So many pleas and begging, all the voices ran together in one seamless chorus.
Dean stripped and dumped his bloodied clothes into the bin for incineration. Stepping into the small stall, he turned on the faucet until scalding water thundered over him. Red rivulets streamed down his arms, spiraling into the drain, vanishing as if none of it had ever happened.
He braced his palms against the tile, head bowed. The water pounded his shoulders, hot enough to sting, but it didn’t burn away the smell. It didn’t wash out the memory of the man’s eyes as he died.
Dean had to find a way out of here. His father had increased security and had three times as many men as years ago.
There were only two chances to get his family to safety.
Either he played the game long enough that his father let his guard down, or find someone to sneak Yasmine and the kids off the property while he stayed behind.
Carlos would be less likely to chase them if Dean stayed.
There was only one soul that his father wanted to crush.
Dean shut his eyes. Yasmine’s face rose in his mind. Green eyes ablaze, her voice fierce even when she whispered. She was the only thing that cut through all the darkness. The glue holding him together when everything else in him wanted to splinter apart.
He scrubbed until his skin felt raw, then turned the water off. Dressing quickly, he dragged his weary feet down the hall.
When he pushed the bedroom door open, he expected darkness.
Yasmine curled around the children, asleep.
Instead, she was sitting up in the plush chair, surrounded by pillows like the queen, she was.
A book lay in her lap, the lamp’s soft glow painting her hair copper.
Isabella slept in the crib, the twins curled up together in their own bed.
Yasmine looked up the second he entered, her gaze sweeping over him. His wet hair, the tension in his jaw, the exhaustion he carried like it had become part of his shadow.
“Thank God,” she whispered, relief softening her features. “I’ve been so worried.” She uncurled her legs and sat the book aside.
He shut the door behind him, leaning against it for a moment, just drinking her in. “Two days,” he rasped. His voice was rough with emotion.
“I know. Every minute has been like an eternity without you.”
Dean crossed the room, and sank to his knees in front of her.
She reached for him immediately, her fingers gentle against his cheek.
He closed his eyes, leaning into her palm.
For two days, he’d been nothing but Mercurio, the heir to the Ramírez Cartel and Carlos’s son.
Here, with her, he could remember Dean. He could be who he wanted to be and not who he was forced to become.
“I need you,” he said. Not just for sex, not just for comfort, but she was his tether to all that was good in this world. She was the reason he put one foot in front of the other.
Yasmine shifted, leaning down she kissed his lips, and he trembled with her touch.
Sucking in a deep breath, Dean soaked in the love she was pouring into him.
As she broke the kiss, he stood, pulling the sheer curtain that separated their bed from the twins’, and scooped his amazing wife up into his arms. She smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck.
He lowered Yasmine down to the bed and just stared into her eyes for a moment before their mouths met. He’d never understood how he’d managed to get so lucky when his hands had created so much darkness in the world.
As desperate as he was for her, he was soft and tender with ever touch. Her hands slid into his damp hair, pulling him closer. He let himself sink into her warmth, her certainty, her heartbeat against his chest.
He touched her worshipfully, not rushing as his hands traced her body.
Her shoulders, the curve of her waist, the swell of her belly that carried their fourth child.
His lips trailed her jaw, her throat, down to her collarbone.
Each kiss whispered the words he couldn’t voice, you’re why I’m still alive.
Yasmine tugged at his shirt, pulling it over his head. She traced the old scars that marked him as damaged, her eyes fierce.
“He doesn’t own you,” she whispered, laying her hand over his heart. “This is mine.”
“Yours, always yours.” Dean echoed, his voice breaking. He kissed her again, slower this time, savoring every little touch. The sweet scent of her skin made him long for home. Made him wish they were in their bedroom, their bed.
“I feel you thinking,” Yasmine said, as Dean traced her jaw with his lips.
“I wish I could get all of you out of here,” he said, feathering her neck with kisses.
“You will. We will, but until then…we are each other’s home. As long as we have one another, we can get through anything.”
Lifting his head, Dean stared down into Yasmine’s determined eyes and didn’t know how she stayed so strong when he wanted to crumble into little pieces. Her eyes searched his face, before she cupped his cheeks.
“You’ve lived through worse. I know that your heart breaks having to be back here and do your father’s dirty work, but you’re stronger and smarter than he is.
You always have been. Don’t let him make you think otherwise.
If we can’t use brawn to get out of here, then we will use brain.
There is always a way,” Yasmine reminded, making him smile.
He pushed a piece of her wavy red hair away from her face and soaked in her love and strength. “You’re right, I’m sorry that you have to keep reminding me.” He kissed her forehead and her lip curled up.
“Always…we are a team.”
Dean ran his hands down her body and gripped the hem of her nightdress. He inched it up and sighed when he came in contact with her skin. Always so soft, warm, and his. Yasmine was perfect.
They undressed each other in silence, careful not to wake the children.
The lamp cast shadows over their skin, every movement painted with a golden shadow.
Dean eased her back into the pillows, sliding one under her hip to keep her comfortable, and pulled the blanket up over them.
His hand lacing with hers, their fingers linking together, he rubbed his cock up and down her pussy.
He groaned at the feel of how wet she was, and how badly she wanted him.
Dean slowly pressed forward, the tip of his cock slipping into his sexy wife, and he savored the look on her face. The dark lust in her eyes and how her nails gripped his shoulders as her knees fell wider apart.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he said with a desperate need to remember softness.
He moved slowly until he was all the way in and then just sat there, loving how the heat of her body wrapped around him. How she wrapped her one leg around his and wiggled as her own need began to take over.
Every thrust was deliberate, every touch a plea. Grabbing her leg, he drew it up a little higher and slid his hand down to grip her ass. Yasmine moaned softly, drawing him closer. She was grounding him with her body, her warmth, her love.
Dean thrust a little faster, knowing exactly how Yasmine liked it and where her G-spot was. He rubbed his cock over it again and again, and watched as Yasmine bit her lip, eyes fluttering closed as she raced toward a climax.
Their breaths mingled, their whispers still soft. Her nails scratched lightly down his back, the feel made his muscles flex and reminded him that he was alive.
“Dean,” she whispered against his ear. “Oh, God, I’m going to come. Come with me, I want to feel you come with me,” Yasmine panted.
He groaned her name, his forehead pressed to hers, sweat beading on his skin. The world outside fell away. There was only her.
Dean slowed, lingering, letting himself feel her around him, letting himself drown in the desperate way she held him. He kissed her lips, her cheeks, the corner of her eyes.
She moaned his name and even after all the years they’d been together, it still sounded as sweet as the first time she did it.
“I’m coming,” Yasmine whimpered in his ear, as her body tightened around his cock. He picked up his pace, pushing her over the edge as he released a deep guttural groan.
They came together, bodies trembling, as they breathed heavy. Dean buried his face in her neck, holding her as if he could weld their bones together. She stroked his back, murmuring words he couldn’t make out but felt in every part of him.
Afterward, he lay with her, their bodies tangled, her head on his chest. His heartbeat slowed under her ear, steadying for the first time in days.
“Each day, I feel like another piece of me is dying,” he whispered into her hair. “But when I’m with you, I’m healed. I’m whole again.”
Yasmine lifted her head and looked at Dean, the soft light reflected in her eyes. “I love you with my entire being, and I know we will get out of here, maybe not today, or tomorrow, or even a month from now, but we will…I can feel it. Do you trust me?”
He smirked. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Dean asked, smoothing her unruly hair away from her face.
“You don’t need to ask me that…I’ll always trust you, but you need to trust that I’m not going anywhere, and you need to keep faith that we will succeed and walk out those gates together.”
Dean looked away from Yasmine’s eyes, shifting to stare at the partially covered moon beyond the window.
“It’s so hard to picture that, and I’m not sure how long I can survive this place.
He’s building me up for something terrible, something that I will refuse to do.
I fear what he has planned and what he’d do as punishment if I refused him.
He’s not just training me to take over. He wants my pain, he wants to get revenge,” Dean admitted, and hated feeling so defeated.
It had only been a few weeks. What the hell would he be like six months from now?
“That may be so, but you’re not alone, you never will be again.” Yasmine kissed Dean’s chest. “And if I have to pull you back from the edge a million times, I will.”
“With all my training I still can’t figure out an escape plan. We need help.”
“You will, I know you will. And if you get the chance to kill him…take it,” Yasmine stated firmly, locking her gaze with Dean’s. “You have me. You have them. Together we’re stronger than anything Carlos thinks he can hold over you.”
Dean kissed her again, softly.
She was right. She was always right.
Yasmine was the glue holding him together. The reason Mercurio hadn’t devoured Dean completely.
And as he drifted into the first real sleep he’d had in days, his last thought was a vow.
For her. For them. For the life stolen from them.
Carlos Ramírez would die before this was all over. Of that, he was positive.