Chapter 8
YASMINE
Something was wrong.
Yasmine felt it. It was normal for Dean to work late, but this…there was something off, she just couldn’t put her finger on it. Even when he hadn’t been able to come back to the room, he had sent word or glanced through the door.
The children had gone quiet, drifting into sleep, but the air in the villa pressed heavy on her chest.
She smoothed Isabella’s hair as the baby shifted in her crib, whispering a lullaby she barely believed in. When the girl settled, Yasmine stood, restless energy prickling her skin. She paced once, twice, then pressed her ear to the door.
Nothing.
Her gut screamed. Dean was in trouble.
Against every instinct for caution and despite him telling her to stay in the room for the day, she slipped into the hall. The guard stationed outside wasn’t there. Unusual enough to make her pulse race harder. She moved quietly, sticking to the shadows, her sock feet whispering over the stone.
Dean’s absence clawed at her, he was the other half of her soul, and if he was in trouble then she had to help.
In the weeks they’d been here, no matter how bloody, how broken, he had always made contact. Always. Tonight, the silence was too loud.
She searched every place she could get to, anywhere he would normally be. The office, library, even the kitchen…nothing. As a last resort she headed toward Carlos’s wing. Heart in her throat she peered around the corner that would take her to the man’s bedroom. No guards were there either.
What was going on?
Slipping around the corner, she walked briskly down the hall and stopped when she reached Carlos’s door. Yasmine raised her hand and froze.
Voices drifted from inside, muffled at first, then loud enough to send fear racing down her spine. A woman’s scream echoed from behind the door.
Yasmine’s breath caught. The sound twisted her stomach and filled her veins with ice. She’d heard women scream like that before and it wasn’t from passion. This was the kind of scream you heard in dark alleys, in hospitals, and in nightmares. Screams that meant pain and horror.
Her hand trembled, still in the position to knock, but before her knuckles touched the wood, an arm snaked around her waist and a hand clamped over her mouth.
She thrashed, panic searing, until a voice hissed low in her ear.
“Quiet. Don’t fight me. I won’t hurt you.”
She stilled, eyes wide. The man dragged her backward into a side corridor, then shoved her through a narrow archway into a small library. He let her go and stepped back, raising his hands. When she didn’t try to bolt, he put a finger over his lips and then closed the door.
Yasmine took a step back to put a bit of space between her and the guard. She recognized him, but didn’t know his name. She glanced to either side and spotted a large candlestick she could use as a weapon if she needed.
He turned to face her. “Names, Ricco.”
The guard had walked with Dean more than once, his gaze lingered not with hunger, but with calculation. A man who seemed sharper than the rest.
Yasmine took another step back, but Ricco didn’t seem to notice or care. He walked over to the small stand that held a decanter and poured himself a drink. Taking the shot, he looked at her.
“What the hell—”
“Shh.” He glanced toward the door, his jaw tight. “Keep your voice down.”
She nodded.
“And never…and I mean never knock on Senor’s door. Not when you hear that.”
Her skin crawled. “What is he doing?”
Ricco’s expression was flat, but his eyes were hard.
“What Carlos always does. Breaking someone. If you interrupt, you’ll be next.
Tied up in there, screaming the same way.
He’s out for blood and he doesn’t care who you are.
That’s why there are no guards in the halls.
If he sees you…you’re as good as his for the night, and it might be your last.”
Yasmine’s stomach turned. She pressed her fist to her lips, swallowing bile. “Where’s Dean?”
Ricco studied her for a beat. She saw the flicker of decision in his eyes before he finally answered. “Dragged down to the cells. Isolation.”
Her knees weakened, but fury braced her spine. “Take me to him.”
He shook his head. “It’s too big of a risk.”
“I don’t care.” She stepped forward, fire in her voice. “You said he’s in the cells. I need to see my husband.”
Ricco swore under his breath, then nodded once. “Fine. But you do exactly as I say. No questions.”
“I will, I promise.”
Ricco opened the door and waved her over.
Lifting the front of her nightdress so she didn’t trip she lightly jogged to keep up.
Yasmine followed him through a maze of corridors, her pulse pounding out of control.
When they reached the opening to a stairwell that led downward, Ricco pointed to a dark alcove across the way.
Taking the hint, she stepped into the darkness and hid behind the large statue.
He walked down the steps, and she strained to hear what he said.
“You’re relieved for the night.” Ricco said smoothly. “And make sure you steer clear of Carlos’s hallway.”
“He’s at it again?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s the third one this week.” The man stepped into view, and Yasmine pressed herself as far back as possible, wishing she could blend in with the wall. “Thanks for the heads up.”
Ricco didn’t come back right away, and she wondered if he had double-crossed her as he stepped into view, and looking both ways. He waved her over.
“Needed to make sure he was the only one on duty,” he informed, as if anticipating her question.
Ricco led her down the stairs. The damp cold seeped through Yasmine’s nightgown, making her shiver. Torches guttered along the stone, throwing uneven shadows and making everything twice as eerie.
They stepped through an open metal door and Yasmine wanted to gag.
The stench of the cells was disgusting all on their own, but add in the fact that she was pregnant and strong scents turned her stomach…
it was ten times worse. Her stomach rolled and she had to stop and take a moment so she didn’t throw up.
“You okay?” Ricco asked.
Yasmine nodded as her stomach settled enough to continue. They reached a heavy door with a small sliding cover over a window. Ricco slid it open, the metal screeching softly.
“Two minutes,” he muttered.
Yasmine pressed her face to the opening, her heart stuttering.
“Dean,” she whispered.
There was just enough light shining through the small opening to illuminate Dean. He sat in the dark cell, knees bent, back against the wall. He looked up, and for a moment the tension in his face cracked, relief flooding his eyes.
“Yasmine.”
She gripped the edge of the opening, tears burning, and wishing she could tear the door out of her way. “Dean. Oh God. Are you okay?”
He pushed to his feet, moving close, his hands gripping hers. “What are you doing down here? It’s not safe.”
“I had to find you. I knew something was wrong.” She pressed her forehead to the cool metal. “Ricco told me you were dragged away. Nothing was stopping me from seeing you.”
Dean reached through the small opening and cupped her cheek. An old memory of the confessional booth crossed her mind, making her blush and warm even in the chilly cells.
“My strong and beautiful wife…God, I love you.”
She pressed into his touch.
“I’m okay. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”
“Don’t tell me not to worry. You’re in a cell.”
He exhaled hard. “Listen. Carlos told me something. The Righteous…” His jaw clenched.
“They’re his. He’s been running them for years.
Every mission I thought was justice…I was doing his work.
He even admitted to being the one that leaked my mission that caused so many of us to die.
I lost my cool and lunged for him. That’s how I ended up in here. ”
Yasmine’s blood froze. “No. That can’t be.”
“It’s true. He bragged about it, and he knew things he shouldn’t have.” Dean’s eyes burned in the darkness. “That strike you overheard about on the Alvarez warehouse, that’s not just any military unit. That’s the Righteous.”
Her mind reeled. The one shred of hope she’d clung to, that the outside world still held good men, still fought for justice, it was poisoned. If the Righteous weren’t righteous at all, then what chance did they have? Who the hell was going to save them?
Dean’s hand tightened on hers. “I’ll play the part. I’ll get out of here. Just keep the kids safe. Don’t draw my father’s attention.”
Tears spilled hot down her cheeks. “I hate this. I hate leaving you here.”
His gaze softened. “You’re the glue, Yasmine. You keep me together. Don’t let him take that from us. I will be fine. He just wants to flex his muscles and show me who is boss, but he won’t keep me in here. I know him.”
A sound echoed in the hall…footsteps. Ricco cursed. “Time’s up, we have to go.”
“I love you.”
“Eres mi para siempre,” Dean replied, making tears well in her eyes.
Yasmine pressed a quick kiss to Dean’s fingers, then forced herself to step back as Ricco slid the window shut.
Her heart stayed locked in that cell even as her body followed Ricco back upstairs. The guards that had walked by luckily didn’t bother to check on the cells, and with Ricco walking beside her like an escort, they made it back to her room without incident.
“Thank you,” she said, before slipping into their room, the children still slept, curled up in innocence that she wished they could live in forever. She sat on the bed, wiping her eyes, willing herself to stay strong.
A faint whisper of something caught her attention. She looked around and spotted a white piece paper against stone.
A note had been pushed under the door.
She stood and walked over to the note. Picking it up she opened the door and looked around, but all was deathly quiet. Closing the door again she locked it and then opened the folded piece of white. Only three words scrawled in dark ink.
You Have Friends.
Hope ignited in her chest, but she didn’t dare believe that it could be true.
Were there others here wanting Carlos gone?
For the first time since the gates had closed around them, Yasmine let herself believe it might be true. They might get out alive.