The stench of alcohol and sour sweat assaulted Zach’s nostrils as someone leaned down and spoke directly into his face. “Shut your mouth before I cut out your tongue, you stinking son of a whore.”
His manacles were unclipped from the chain, then he was hauled to his feet, one Zeta at each elbow. He stumbled blindly forward, wishing he had the strength to fight them. He’d tried on his first day here, but he hadn’t been able to get his cuffed hands in front of his body fast enough to pull his blindfold off so that he could see the men he was trying to fight. That’s when they’d kicked the shit out of him and broken his ribs.
Now he barely had the strength to stand upright.
“Zach!” Natalie’s voice came from his right. “Leave him alone!”
He dug in his heels, fought to stand his ground for just another moment. “Listen to me, Natalie. Don’t let Cárdenas get inside your head. Nothing he can do to you can change who you are. Remember that!”
Then he was shoved roughly forward, pain splitting his side, stealing his breath. Sunlight hit him full in the face, cool stone giving way to sharp, hot gravel beneath his bare feet. Every muscle in his body tensed.
I am an American, fighting in the forces that guard my country . . .
He started to recite the code of conduct, trying to prepare his mind for what was to come, but a different thought replaced it. It was nothing much—just a name—but it seemed to put steel back into his spine.
Natalie.
NATALIE BIT INTO the corn tortilla and chewed. It might as well have been sand. She swallowed, forcing it past the hard lump in her throat, eating only because she knew she must.
Do whatever it takes to survive. Do you hear me, Natalie? Just survive.
Overhead, vultures wheeled black against a blue sky, a hint of a breeze kicking up dust, the blazing disk of the sun moving toward a bank of clouds on the western horizon. The second worst day of her life was almost over, to be followed, she was sure, by an even worse day. Worse for her, but much worse for Zach.
There’d been a Zeta with a big rifle standing in front of her cell door when they’d dragged him out, so she hadn’t been able to see his face. He’d been shirtless and barefoot, and she’d seen enough to know that he was tall, his body lean and muscular like an athlete’s, his wrists in manacles behind his back, his hands covered with blood.
Another agonized cry.
She fought back tears.
God in heaven, what were they doing to him? It sounded like they were killing him. She’d never heard cries like this before—more animal than human, a cross between a scream and a roar. No wonder his voice was so rough. His throat must be raw after six days of this.
Six days.
God, help him! Please help him! Make them stop!
Her throat tight, she took another bite, chewed, then washed it down with the last of the cola, ignoring the Zeta with the skeleton tattoo, who stood within arm’s reach, guarding her while she ate, a look of mingled amusement and lust on his face. Even from here she could smell the alcohol on his breath—and the stench of his unwashed body.
Not long after they’d come for Zach, a young Zeta had unlocked her cell door and led her out into the hot sunshine, where the one with the skeleton tattoo had been waiting with a plate of corn tortillas, an overripe banana, and a glass bottle of warm Coca-Cola. Then the younger one had disappeared inside the little prison with a broom, apparently sent to sweep it clean of scorpions and spiders. Why they’d suddenly decided to clean the hovel Natalie couldn’t say, but she no longer cared about the spiders or the scorpions.
Another cry.
Long and drawn out, it ended on a high, desperate pitch that made her chest ache.
“Why are you doing this to him?” No answer. She tried again in Spanish. “
¿Por qué le haces esto a él?
”
“Se robó nuestra cocaína.”
Zach had stolen cocaine from the Zetas.
Oh, my gentle Jesus!
He called
that
a bad decision?
Understatement of the century.
Still, he didn’t deserve to be brutalized and chained like an animal. No one deserved to be treated like this.
Another cry.
The Zeta guarding her stepped closer. He reached out to caress her hair. She smacked his hand away.
He laughed. “Nice.
Le vas a gustar al Jefe
.”
The boss will like you.
Natalie ignored him.
Apparently thinking she hadn’t understood him, he translated his words into English, this time thrusting with his pelvis to show exactly what he meant. “He will like you very much. And then . . .
Él te sacrificará a Santa Muerte.”
The words were close enough to English that Natalie understood.
He will sacrifice you to La Santa Muerte
.
Saint Death?
Chills skittered down Natalie’s spine. Was that his way of saying that this Cárdenas was going to kill her? She looked up to see the guard pointing to the strange skeleton tattooed onto his forearm. Then he drew his finger across his throat in a gesture that needed no explanation.
He smiled, exposing missing teeth. “
La Santa Muerte
.”
And Natalie understood. The image on his arm wasn’t just a tattoo. It was an icon of sorts, like a dark saint, a saint of death. And he believed Cárdenas meant to sacrifice her to it.
Another long, strangled cry.
The last bit of tortilla that Natalie still held in her hand fell onto her plate.
Kidnapping. Torture. Human sacrifice to skeleton saints.
It might have been a hundred degrees in the shade, but Natalie felt ice-cold.
She hugged her arms around herself, shivering, her gazed locked on the macabre tattoo with its grinning skull. Then the door to the church burst open, and the Zeta whose nose she’d broken hurried over to them, shouting something in urgent tones to the one guarding her, both of his eyes blackened, his nose swollen.
Natalie was jerked to her feet, her plate and the empty Coke bottle falling to the ground. The one with the broken nose raised a hand, and she thought he was going to strike her again. Instead, his fingers dug into her arms and dragged her toward the church.
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,
cuñado
. 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.
”