Chapter Nineteen
Mackenzie
A slap across my cheek jolts me back into consciousness.
I wince against the bright light, shaking my head slowly. Every part of my body aches. I know I’m covered in bruises, cuts, and burns from the torture that’s been doled out.
I have no idea how long I was passed out this time, or how much time has passed since Carlos and his men kidnapped us from my house. It’s hard to keep track of time inside the warehouse with its blacked-out windows.
“Mac?”
My eyes find Damon, strapped to a chair much like me, only a few feet away. I blink a few times, realizing they’ve hurt him more since I passed out from the pain. His face is a bloody, swollen mess. There are cuts across his arms and chest, some still bleeding while others have stopped.
I’m sure I don’t look much better than he does, but he’s definitely been the one taking the brunt of the torture. Probably because I keep passing out. I don’t have a high tolerance for pain in the first place, so adding in torture has meant I’ve passed out a lot. All it seems to do is piss off our captors even more.
I’m not sure what they expect. Most people aren’t used to the kind of pain they’re inflicting. Plus, it’s not like we can answer any of the questions they’ve been throwing at us.
“You’re finally awake, puta .“ Carlos shakes his head. “You really are going to need to build up your pain tolerance if you’re going to be hanging out with assassins for hire. You’d be dead already if I didn’t want to wait to kill you until Hilton arrives. It’ll have a deeper impact that way.”
“He didn’t do whatever you think he did. He was framed.” I don’t know what makes me say it, but it just slips out.
Carlos laughs, kneeling down in front of me. “I’m well aware of that fact, but that won’t be leaving this room. As soon as I have his head, I’ll serve it to Santos on a platter. Then maybe he’ll be able to move on from her death.”
All I can do is stare at him blankly. Did he just admit that he knows Parker was framed? That’s certainly what I heard. Does that mean he’s the one who framed him?
“Don’t look so hopeful, puta. You won’t be leaving this room to share that fact with anyone.“ He pulls the knife off his belt, my eyes going wide at the size of it. I don’t know much about knives, but I know what that one’s called—a machete.
There’s no way he’s planning to use that on me, right?
He slides the blade along my calf, not pressing it into my skin. It glides up my leg to my thigh. I try to clench them together, but it’s too late. The blade is already between them, and that’s one place I really don’t want to be cut. “Tsk tsk. Don’t try to hide yourself from me. If I want to see all of you, then I will. You get no say in the matter.”
I turn my head away as he nudges my legs apart, continuing to run the blade along my thigh until he reaches my center. He reaches up, grasping my shirt before cutting through it and yanking it off my body.
A whimper falls from my lips as I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Look at those tits, boys. Those are a nice handful, aren’t they? Bet they taste good too.” I can practically hear the leer in Carlos’s voice, but I still refuse to open my eyes. I don’t want to see what he’s planning to do to me. Knowing it’s coming will only make it worse.
“Don’t you fucking touch her,” Damon yells, obviously struggling in his seat. “Leave her the fuck alone.”
Carlos chuckles, the sound malevolent against my skin. He’s closer than he was, his breath ghosting across the bare skin of my stomach. “The two of you still think you’re going to get away, don’t you? We’re the fucking Santiago Cartel—no one gets away from us. If Hilton had been in my hands, he never would’ve escaped us either. None of you will be leaving here today. You might as well accept it now. Or don’t. It doesn’t make a difference to me either way.”
I flinch when a finger trails down my neck before a hand gropes my tit entirely too hard. All I want to do is vomit. I wonder how Carlos would respond to me throwing up all over him. It might be interesting to find out.
My eyes pop open at the sound of gunshots—or at least I think they’re gunshots. I’ve only ever heard them on television shows and movies, so I can’t be sure. Carlos snarls, releasing my breast as he pushes to his feet.
“They’re in the goddamn building. Why wasn’t I notified before? Go find out what the hell is going on.” Carlos shakes his head as the four men who are still in the room hurry toward the door. “It seems like Hilton has decided to finally show his face. Maybe if I get the two of you screaming, he’ll come running a little faster.”
“I don’t recommend that.”
My head jerks to the doorway at the sound of Parker’s voice, finding him, Cormac, and Royce standing there. They’re all in black tactical gear with guns in their hands—all trained on Carlos.
Before I get a chance to relax, Carlos is behind me with the machete at my throat. I hold still, afraid that any move on my part could spell my end.
“It’s over, Alvarez. Your men are dead—you’re the only one still standing. There’s no way out of this for you, but if you hurt another hair on her head, I can promise you’ll regret it,” Cormac growls. “Unless you want a slow and torturous death, then I’m happy to deliver it.”
I glare at him. Is he taunting the man with a knife at my throat? I might not have any experience in these types of situations, but something tells me that’s not the way we should go about it.
“Step away from her,” Royce adds as he takes a step closer.
Carlos growls. “I have a better idea. Why don’t I get her out of her restraints, then the two of us can leave. You won’t kill me when I have a knife to her neck.”
“Oh, we have no intention of killing you,” Parker says casually. “At least not anytime soon. The length of time between now and when we kill you will only get longer if you hurt her in any way.”
“He’s already hurt her, assholes. Unless you think she asked to be stripped in front of strangers,” Damon barks out, eyes remaining on me. “Will you get me the fuck out of the goddamn chair, please?”
Royce snickers, his gun still fixed on Carlos as he unsheathes a knife and cuts through Damon’s ties. “Get behind us.”
“Like hell I’m hiding behind the three—“
“Get the fuck behind us, so he can’t use you as a shield as well.” Cormac’s bark is harsher than Damon’s, and he begins moving immediately—probably without thinking about it. I know it’s what I would’ve done.
Carlos sighs. “It seems we’re at a standstill. I have no intention of moving from behind this woman that you seem so keen on saving, and you’re not planning to let me go.”
“He knows you were framed, Parker,” Damon calls from behind the three of them. “I’ll bet he’s the one behind it.”
“I’m sure he is,” Parker grumbles.
Carlos laughs, the machete moving slightly, and I’m not able to bite back my whimper as I feel it press into my skin. Something warm trickles down my neck—blood. It has to be blood. I’m going to die here, aren’t I?
Tears spill down my cheeks as my eyes fall shut.
I’m not ready to die. I just got Parker and Damon back. Life can’t be this cruel, can it?
“I’d say I’m sorry for framing you, but it’s nothing personal.” Carlos snorts. “An associate of mine had your fingerprint and some of your blood—though I’m still not sure how they got that. It’s what I needed to pin Rosalie’s death on someone else. I certainly couldn’t allow Santos to know I was the one who killed his wife. After all, he’d just have killed me, and that would’ve defeated the purpose.”
“Defeated what purpose?” one of the men asks, though I can’t place who it is. I’m just too fucking terrified to focus on silly things like who’s speaking when one slip of this asshole’s hand means I’m going to die.
“I wanted Rosalie out of the way, so that things could go back to the way they were.” Carlos’s laughter doesn’t sound so amused anymore. “When this is said and done either all of you will be dead or I will be, so why not just share the story with you?”
Royce scoffs. “As much as I love a good storytime, you’ve already cut Mackenzie’s throat. Why don’t you step back just a bit, so you don’t do it again? Or, even better, why don’t you let her go?”
“And risk my one chance at freedom? I think not.” He steps closer, his front pressing into my back. “Now, do you want to hear that story or not?”
I have no desire to hear the story, but I don’t think I’m going to get much choice in the matter.
How much longer until the machete cuts even deeper now that I’ve begun trembling? I can’t seem to make it stop, much too terrified at the thought of dying right here in front of two men I love and two men that I could love one day.
How did this go to hell?
I had the best weekend I’ve had in a long time, and then Damon was coming over to my place so I didn’t have to be alone—so we didn’t have to be alone. The only thing that would’ve been more perfect is if the other three men were there as well.
But somehow I was drugged and kidnapped, brought to some random place, and then tortured. Now, there’s a fucking machete pressed to my throat.
What. The. Fuck.
I just can’t believe this is where I’m at. This is not something that happens in real life, and it’s definitely not something that happens to me. I wish it was a nightmare, and that I’d wake up in my bed any moment now—but I know this is all real.
I just need it to end.