Page 13 of Captive Prize

"No one sent me."

"Liar," I accused, and his nostrils flared. "Are you with the Mexican cartel, or do you work for the Ivanovs?"

His lip curled, just a little at the corner, amusement flickering behind his dark eyes. "If I were, you’d already be dead."

He was a predator in a tailored suit. A killer. Of that I was certain.

My fingers twitched with the urge to wipe that smug expression off his face. I could shoot him, end his life right here. Or I could slap him hard enough to turn his chiseled cheek red, but I didn’t.

With my luck, I’d break my hand on his jaw.

Instead, I pressed the barrel of my gun to his chest, just over his heart. Standing close enough to feel the heat coming off his body. Close enough to breathe in his cologne.

It brought thoughts of danger. Of skin on skin in the shadows and hot, dirty tropical sex on the beach at night.

"Why should I trust you?" I asked. "How do I know you don’t work for my enemies?"

He still didn’t blink. The arrogant bastard leaned into my gun as he towered over me, filling my senses with that delicious dark scent.

"Because if I wanted you dead, you’d be dead."

The words slithered under my skin, and my thighs clenched before I could stop them.

Something in his tone pulled at my stomach. I didn’t know if it was the heat in them, or the promise of violence. Or both.

"He is good," Mateo said, his easy agreement disrespecting me. "I found him in an underground fighting ring. He is well known, respected, but unaffiliated."

I ground my teeth but lowered the gun for the moment, turning my attention back to the reason I was in this sad, dirty little room.

Pavel Ivanov.

He was awake, his lip and chest battered, a trail of blood seeping from a new head wound where someone must have pistol-whipped him.

"Has he given us anything?" I asked.

"Not yet, but I haven’t been working him over for long," Mateo answered, sounding bored.

He wasn’t supposed to have been working the prisoner over at all. Not until I came down and gave him the word.

With Roman and the others here, I couldn’t argue with Mateo. I couldn’t put him in his place without it appearing as though my command was being threatened.

Instead, I swallowed the insult and moved on. It was better for everyone else that they not know Mateo took liberties he shouldn’t have.

"You want my trust, Roman?" I circled the room slowly, gun still in my hand at the ready. I looked every man there in the eye until they turned their gazes away. They all needed to be reminded of who was in charge.

I stepped around the various stains of god only knew what, until I came back face-to-face with the man in question.

"You think you deserve my trust?"

I kept myself cold, controlled. This was my mission, my prisoner, and these were my men. They all needed to feel the weight of my authority. He needed to know he didn’t answer to Mateo. He answered to me, and me alone.

"I do," he said, and I nodded before putting the gun away and picking up the knife from the dirty, rusty table, placing the tip at his throat. I pressed hard enough he would feel it, but not enough to break the skin.

He needed to know what I could decide to do. It was all up to me if he lived or died.

I ran the edge of the dirty knife over his black shirt from his collarbone to his sternum and abs, leaving flakes of dried blood in a broken trail down his body.

His chest rose with each breath, but his eyes didn’t leave mine.

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