CHAPTER 4
ZACH HUNG LIMPLY from the manacles, unable even to hold up his head.
His shoulders ached from supporting his deadweight, manacles biting into his bloody wrists.
But none of that could compare to the residual pain of that last electroshock.
His muscles seized in sharp spasms, his heart slamming erratically in his chest, his body shaking, his mouth filled with the coppery taste of his own blood.
Don’t give in to the pain. Adjust for it.
He willed himself to relax, slowed his breathing.
Cold water splashed over his chest, making him jerk.
It wasn’t to revive him, he knew, but to make his skin more conductive to electricity.
He waited for the next blast of agony, but instead felt a glass bottle against his lips.
A hand fisted in his hair, tilting his head back, and he swallowed, warm cola sliding down his raw, parched throat.
Electrolytes. Caffeine. Calories.
All would help him stay alive.
Then his tormenter spoke to him, as always in Spanish. “You are dying, cunado. And for what? You are alone now, forgotten, left without even a dog to bark at you. Tell us who has the cocaine and where we can find them. Then your torment will end. There will be no more pain, only sleep.”
Zach fought off a wave of despair. “?Vete a la verga!” Fuck off!
The bastard chuckled, but Zach knew he wasn’t really amused. They’d tried to break him and had failed. There’d be a price to pay when Cárdenas got the news.
Creaking hinges. Footsteps.
And Zach knew she was there. He could feel her presence, hear her rapid breathing. Hell, he could even smell her, something sweet in a world of filth.
Natalie.
“Tráela aquí.” Bring her over here.
What the hell?
Zach’s head came up. Somehow, he drew himself to his feet, his hands clenched around the chains for support, his heart thudding hard in his chest. Why had they brought her in here? Were they going to torture her to get to him?
Over my dead body.
“Zach?” There was fear in her voice, but also sympathy, concern.
He shook his head, his sign to her to keep quiet, hoping she’d remembered what he’d told her earlier. If they thought he cared what happened to her, if they thought he’d told her anything . . .
An arm went around his shoulder. “You are a brave man. No one has ever lasted so long against my little stinger, so I’ll offer you a better way out.
Tell us where the coke is, and you can have the girl.
We’ll take off these chains, give you some food and a little coke to make you strong, sí?
Then you can fuck her till your prick gives out.
And when you’re done, you get one bullet to the head.
Fast, painless—and you die happy. If you do not, your suffering will be such that those who find what is left of your body will lie awake at night weeping for you. ”
Zach might have laughed if the situation hadn’t been so serious.
Having failed to break him with pain, they were now trying to bribe him with rape.
They were only bluffing, of course. They had no intention of giving him their Jefe’s prize.
But if he played along with them, if he could persuade them to unchain him . . .
He pretended to consider the offer. “?Es bonita?” Is she pretty?
Rough hands tore off his blindfold.
“!Mira sus tetas!” Just look at her tits!
Unaccustomed to light he blinked, squinted—and quickly assessed the situation.
He was in a small room with a halfdozen armed Zetas.
There were two small windows and only one door.
Wooden chairs sat around an old table littered with dirty dishes and half-empty bottles of tequila.
A couple of AKs leaned up against the wall to his right.
You’d give your left nut for one of those, wouldn’t you, man?
He sure as hell would.
In front of him, a truck battery sat on a rolling cart, two electrical cables dropped on the floor near his feet. The sight made him shudder, dread mixing with rage in his gut.
Little stinger?
Beside the cart, two Zetas held a struggling young woman between them, while a third unbuttoned her blouse, laughing to himself. Bastards. Knowing he couldn’t risk showing emotion, he met Natalie’s gaze.
His heart seemed to stop. His mind went blank. And he stared.
She looked pleadingly up at him through the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen, their irises an unusual shade of aqua blue.
Her features were delicate, her otherwise flawless skin marred by dark bruises and smudges of dirt.
Her dark brown hair—why had he imagined her as a blonde?
—hung in thick tangles past her shoulders.
She couldn’t have been more than five-foot-four or an ounce over one-twenty.
The protective urge that welled up inside him took him by surprise, and he actually took a step toward her, until chains and pain reminded him where he was—and in what condition. Then her blouse fell to the floor, followed by a lacy, white bra, revealing two beautiful, natural breasts.
A low whistle. A groan.
“?Oye, mamacita, que buena estás!” Oh, baby, you are fine!
The testosterone level in the room surged, and for a moment Zach was afraid the Zetas’ lust for Natalie would overcome their fear of Cárdenas.
The one with a long scar—the electrical specialist who’d turned Zach’s life into a living hell—walked over to stand behind Natalie, then reached around, drew her back against him, and grabbed her breasts, hands that enjoyed cruelty manhandling sensitive flesh.
“?Chécalo, güey—las chichis perfectas?” Check it out, dude—perfect boobs.
Zach felt his teeth grind, seeing only the emotion on Natalie’s face—fear, revulsion, pain.
Her gaze locked with his as if eye contact were the one thing keeping her shattered world together.
She probably didn’t understand what was happening or why they were doing this to her. He wished he could reassure her.
Instead, he was about to make it all much worse.
Stay strong, angel.
TRYING TO BLOCK out what was being done to her, Natalie clung to the encouragement in Zach’s eyes.
He had gray eyes, deeply set beneath dark brows and fringed with long lashes.
Hollows in his cheeks accented high cheekbones, his square jaw and strong chin covered with a week’s growth of dark stubble.
His mouth was broad, his lips unusually full.
They curved into a slight smile she knew was meant to bolster her.
But behind the smile, she could see he was suffering.
By far the tallest and most physically powerful man in the room, he stood with his arms chained to the ceiling, his wrists bleeding and raw from the manacles.
His bare skin was wet, red blotches on his chest and abdomen where they’d shocked him.
There was a dark bruise on his left side and dark circles beneath his eyes, his face bruised and lined with pain and exhaustion, his short, dark hair tousled.
His bare feet were set wide apart for balance, water in a puddle beneath him, electrical cables dangerously near.
The Zeta who was groping her said something, his hands rough as he squeezed her, kneaded her, pinched her nipples.
Then Zach replied. “No hay trato. Quítame las cadenas, y dame una hora para chingarla. Luego te diré dónde encontrar la cocaína.”
Natalie understood only part of what he said, but it was enough to send blood rushing to her head.
Give me an hour to fuck her . . . I’ll tell you where to find the cocaine.
He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t mean it.
Stunned, she stared into his eyes, looking for some sign that he was pretending, but seeing only lust.
He broke eye contact, licked his lips, his gaze raking over her, coming to rest on her breasts, his mouth twisting in a crude grin. “Me gustaría jugar con esas.”
He was talking about her breasts.
Her heart gave a hard knock. “Wh-what are you saying?”
But Zach ignored her. He was arguing with Sr. Scar Face, who quit groping her—thank God!
—and began shouting in rapid Spanish. Zach answered calmly, giving a little tug on his chains and motioning toward Natalie with a jerk of his head.
And although Natalie couldn’t understand more than a phrase or two, she knew their disagreement revolved around whether Zach would give up the location of the stolen cocaine before or after they unchained him and let him have her.
Then Sr. Scar Face reached up and grabbed Zach by the throat, his voice going cold and deadly quiet, each word enunciated clearly. “?Dónde está la cocaína?” Where is the cocaine?
The room fell silent.
Zach laughed, winced as if laughing hurt, then answered in Spanish.
Sr. Scar Face glowered at him and shouted something to the other Zetas.
As abruptly as her blouse and bra had been removed, they were shoved into her hands.
She turned her back on the men to dress, her fingers fumbling as she tried to fasten her bra clasp and buttons, angry shouts filling the little room.
When she turned around again, Zach was blindfolded once more. Confused, afraid, she wanted answers. “Zach, what—”
He turned his face toward her, a black bandana tied tightly over his eyes. “Go, Natalie! Go, and don’t ask questions!”
The Zeta with the skeleton tattoo grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the door, but not before she saw Sr. Scar Face pick up the electric cables and move in on Zach.
She heard her own voice shout in protest. “Stop it! Please don’t—”
Then a hand closed roughly over her mouth, and she was dragged out the door, Zach’s agonized cry following her back to her cell.