Page 83 of Her Reluctant Hero
If any held her deepest hope.
“Up the steps, and right.”
The man didn’t follow too close. He must not think she was much of a threat. Of course, he probably saw she could barely move because of her trembling. She managed the steps to the next level, and sunlight streamed over her as she reached the deck, warming her chilled skin. Every nerve screamed to turn left, jump over the rail, anything other than face the man who could destroy her.
She turned right and saw Santiago through the glassed-in room, leaning back in a leather chair, holding a highball glass containing God-knew-what. From experience, she knew it could improve his mood or increase his violence. Preparing herself for either outcome, she straightened her shoulders and reached for the door handle.
The room smelled of cigar smoke and power. She gagged on it. Santiago turned only his eyes to her, those light eyes that saw too much, that narrowed now in hatred. The animosity snagged her breath in her throat. What would he do to her before he killed her?
“Isabella. You look like hell.”
She hadn’t even thought of that. She, who had paid attention to every detail of her appearance when she lived with him, had not so much as looked in a mirror since before she and Alex ran to the Everglades. She resisted the urge to finger-comb her hair now, to show him any sign of vulnerability.
“Where is my son?”
Santiago’s eyes widened a moment. “I do not remember you being so single-minded. You will see your son soon if you meet my conditions.”
“What conditions?” But she knew and already mourned the fact that everything she’d had with Alex would be erased by the depraved acts Santiago would have her perform to see her son. Memories were all she had left of Alex now.
She might not live long enough to save Hector. Under Santiago’s tutelage, he would become like his father. That thought weakened her knees more than fear for herself.
Santiago’s eyes flicked toward the two men standing on either side of the doorway. Neither one was Pablo, thank God, but she knew them to be her punishment. The only thing, the only thing to keep her from wishing for death was the chance to see her son again. To ensure that she did, she had to fight. She tightened her jaw to hide its trembling.
“It doesn’t matter what you do to me. The DEA has proof you killed Eric. Now you’ve killed an Army Ranger. They will never stop hunting you.”
He inclined his head and swung his glass to the side, the gesture unconcerned. “They have to know where to find me. They’ve not been able to so far.”
“They’ve never had greater motivation.” She took a step closer, though her anger was quickly being swallowed by fear. “Know when they come for you that they found you because of me.”
She didn’t see the glass tumbler swinging toward her until it was too late. It cracked against the side of her head hard enough to break. Pain sliced through her scalp and the upper part of her ear, and she dropped to her knees. The two men moved forward to grab her arms and yank them behind her. As her head swam, she prayed to fall into unconsciousness again. Even then, she knew Santiago would only make the men wait until she was awake and aware of every dirty thing they did to her.
She lifted her face to Santiago as warm blood trickled down the side of her throat. “I want to see my son,” she repeated. Her choice had been made the moment she stepped out of the compound. “Whatever you want in payment, I’ll do. Please. Is he here?”
Santiago leaned forward, forearms on his knees, a pleased expression on his face. “You will have plenty of time to pay for your mistakes before we get to Hector.” He nodded to one of the men, who pushed her to her knees in front of Santiago.
Terror rose in her throat at the anticipation of what he wanted her to do. She couldn’t bear the thought of taking his flaccid penis in her mouth. Already the scent of him gagged her.
He wrapped his fist around her hair and tugged hard, tearing strands loose from her scalp, and he kissed her hard, crushing her mouth, grinding her lips against her teeth, filling her with his filthy taste. She resisted the urge to bite down. She would do what he wanted until she saw her son.
He released her suddenly so that she slumped to the floor. “Where is your fight, Isabella?” He sat back and wiped his hand across his mouth. “Take her back to her room.”
The man who’d pushed her to her knees now pulled her upright by her hair. She couldn’t stop the squeal of pain, and she lifted her hands to relieve the pressure as she fought to get her feet under her.
“Give her time to think about all the things she knows I can do to her.”
They’d drugged the food. Isabella realized it after a couple of bites of the mouthwatering grilled vegetables and fish. Now she felt woozy, and the scent of the food she’d set across the room made her stomach growl. To keep her mind off her hunger, she’d gone through the room, looking for a weapon. Yes, she’d said she’d do anything to get to her son again, but she hated the feeling of helplessness. If she knew she had something to protect herself, she would feel braver. The problem was every drawer was empty. But the action had at least given her something else to think about. She’d finally stopped shaking after her encounter with Santiago, but she refused to be broken until after she saw her child.
She could imagine Hector wriggling in her arms, anxious to get away from the kisses she longed to give him. So she would indulge him, playing the games he loved—hide and seek, treasure hunt and blowing bubbles. They’d sing and she’d tell him stories, and cuddle him every chance she got. She could almost smell him, and her heart swelled with longing.
The door handle turned and Isabella bolted off the bed, pressing her back to the window.
The same man from earlier came through the door and her trembling started anew. She resisted looking at the bed, where her punishment would no doubt come. Instead, the man left the door open and beckoned her.
“He wants to see you.”
He glanced at the food on the tray and pressed his lips together, but said nothing, stepping to the side as she walked on wobbling legs toward the hall, forbidding her mind to go to the dark places Santiago could take her.
This time she was guided to another bedroom, stately, at the bow of the boat, windows looking over the horizon in what would be a beautiful view if she wasn’t so terrified.
