Page 103 of Property of Bones

“Take her to the guest room in the west wing,” Muerte says. “It’s secure but comfortable. We’ll break her in slowly. Only then will she be allowed inside mi casa.”

The call ends with a click.

Max pockets the phone and turns to me. “Okay,” he mutters under his breath. “Time to make this look real. I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I’m gonna have to put you over my shoulder. Which ribs are broken?”

Cringing, I point to the area in the center of my chest above my heart.

Yeah… this isdefinitelygoing to hurt.

“Alright,” he sighs. “I’m going down on one knee. I need you to lean over my shoulder. I’ll lift you as gently as I can. But right as I open the door, I need you to start screaming and struggling. Don’t hold back.”

“Where are we going?” I ask as he kneels in front of me.

“The west wing, of course,” he smirks. “Well… we’ll head in that direction, at least. Now, lean on up.”

I hesitate. “Are you sure you can carry me? I’m not exactly small.” I rub my tummy with a frown. Jack has been feeding me a lot more than I normally eat. I’m sure I’ve gained at least five pounds since meeting him.

His expression turns deadly serious. “I really hope you’ve never said that in front of Bones.”

I blink.

“I can carry you just fine, sweetheart. Now, come on.”

With a sigh, I lean over his shoulder. Immediately, I become self-conscious about the back of my dress riding up.

“I’ll hold it down,” he murmurs. “Don’t worry.”

I nod, bracing my hands against his hips as he rises…effortlessly.

“Wow,” I mutter. “Strong.”

“Again, don’t let Bones hear you say that,” he chuckles. “Now, I’m truly sorry about this next part. I’m gonna lock your legs down tight so it looks convincing, but I need you to fight me. Kick, cuss, bite, hit…whatever you’ve got. It’s gonna hurt your ribs, I know, but I’ll walk as fast as I can without raising suspicion.”

“I’m fine,” I lie…mostly. With all the activity today, I’ve already been hurting worse than I have in a week.

“Alright,” he breathes. “Let’s make some noise.”

Max adjusts his grip on my legs, one arm locking me into place, the other pressing down the back of my dress like he promised.

I suck in a sharp breath as pain slices through my ribs.

Then he opens the door.

At first, there’s nothing but silence. The hallway is long and sterile, lined with concrete and dull overhead lights that flicker like something out of a nightmare. The air reeks of bleach, smoke, and sweat.

“Start screaming,” Max murmurs low. “Make it good.”

I don’t hesitate. “Put me down, you sick bastard!” I scream, throwing my elbow back. The motion jolts my ribs, but I grind my teeth through the pain and keep going.

“Struggle all you want,” Max growls, loud and cold. “You’re only making it worse for yourself.”

His voice is flat…controlled. Nothing like the man I just spoke to. He sounds like a monster. And it works. I keep screaming and struggling.

As we pass a door, it opens and a group of three men steps into view, all muscle, dark shirts, and guns. Their expressions shift from boredom to interest the second they spot us.

“What’s this?” one asks with a sneer.

“Boss wants her in the west wing,” Max replies without pausing. “Says she’s a long-term visitor. One that needs extra attention.”

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