Page 687 of One More Kiss

Chapter7

A tropical stormbatters the outside of the cavernous barn. Flashes of blinding light burst in from the cracks beneath the sliding door as it rolls to a close.

Shane ushers me into an empty stall and bolts the iron bar gate, leaving me alone in my new prison cell with no bed and stale air. I stare at my shaky palms and breathe slowly for a measure of fortitude. They’re filthy and the blouse is soiled with earth. I shiver, aware I’m in a never-ending nightmare. Taking a minute to regain balance, I stumble to the secured exit, lift to my tiptoes and peer into the extensive gloominess, unable to see anything other than a concrete walkway and a sliver of light at the far end where Shane walks towards. The second he disappears, I throw my arm over the top of the gate and feel around for a sliding bar. It’s too far out of reach and the effort needed is exhausting. The soles of my feet ache and my knees tremble in the aftermath of an unjust trauma. I sigh heavily and run my fingers through the messy, damp strands of hair mapping my chest. I’m too weak to even think about an escape yet.

Moments later, a dog yaps, alerting me to Shane’s arrival. He stands in front of the gate, his solemn expression lit up with intermittent bursts of lightning as he passes through a bottle of water and a packet of cookies. Barely managing to unscrew the lid, I take a furious gulp of tepid water and feel it travel through me, gurgling in my empty stomach. I close my eyes briefly, thankful to rehydrate after such an ordeal.

I hear his boots scuff the concrete as he moves around. Before he leaves, he hesitates at the bars, penning me in and quietly tosses in a heavy blanket with straps and metal clasps. It clanks on the way in, the meeting of metal echoing to the overhead steel beams. The overpowering smell of animal sweat and damp dog hits my nostrils instantly and a cloud of short hairs sticks to my salty skin.

“You’d do best to rest up, kid.” His casual shrug and light half-smile catch a flicker of white light. “Tommy has business to talk over with Elias before we leave tomorrow. Neither of them will come out here, especially during a storm.”

My ribs tighten, the sensation similar to a cinched belt with no give in the tough leather. “What does that mean for me? If he’s going… will he leave me here with Elias?”

Flint sparks, blazing the tip of his cigarette with an orange crackle. “I can’t answer that, kid. Tommy has his father’s distrust and his grandfather's patience. He’s usually right down the line. If a guy fucks up, he’s dead. If he’s loyal, he’ll receive the respect he deserves.” He breathes out a smoky sigh. “After your little show of disrespect earlier, I thought you’d earned a bullet. I never expected him to save your ass or carry you back to the truck.” Shane inhales deeply, then puffs smoke out of his nostrils. “You’re either royally fucked, kid, or he’s satisfied you’ll serve them well.”

“That’s disgusting.” I fold my arms. “I’ll never let those bastards touch me.”

Shane turns on his heels. “One of those bastards wants you dead, the other has given you time. Something tells me it’s not that straightforward, kid. Sweet dreams,” he calls out over his shoulder.

Without another word, he whistles to the dogs, patiently waits for the last one to scurry to his heel and shunts the barn door sideways before stepping out into a deluge of merciless rain.

The frustrated scream clawing its way out of my larynx is hidden behind a crash of rowdy thunder. I shudder, my bones stiff from burnout and my limbs heavy from a soaring dip in blood sugar levels.

I crouch low, wincing when newly crusted scabs crack under the movement of my legs. My spine straightens against the wooden partition and I nibble a cookie for sustenance.

Crumbs stick to the emotional lump forming in my throat, unyielding when I take another long sip of water.

For most people, being on their own, in solitary confinement, is punishment in itself. Me—well, I’m used to it. I’d much rather be under a smelly field blanket than in the main house with that god-awful family.

Violent storms aren’t out of the ordinary in the north-western hemisphere. But what is abnormal is the cruel game Tomás had played with my life. At least his father would snap the trigger without any pretenses. Whereas Tomás had thrown me to a hungry carnivore and now, I’m trapped in a makeshift cell, uncertain of my future all over again. I understand Elias is a psychopath. He has that hallmark stamped on every glare and every evil deed. So what does that make Tomás?

A long, weary sigh blows free. What would el Fantasma tell me to do in this situation? Aside from escaping the inescapable. He fought for justice, no matter the price. In my heart, I know Shane is right. Sleep would give me the strength to run, fight, or stand my ground. Whatever horrors the morning brings, I’d be prepared.

It’s been a tiresome endurance test, from the kidnapping just days ago to ending up in the belly of Hades. My body is bruised and fatigued, my mind restless. The shirt tied to my lower leg still emits the intoxicating scent of a nefarious villain.

On closer inspection, buried treasure twinkles at me—a pair of diamond cufflinks, to be precise. Slowly, I unwind the material, peeling it from the dried cut and unfasten the jeweled finery from the grubby cuffs.

For a moment, I just stare at them blankly, a surge of disgust blooming into repulsion. Yet, for some unknown reason, I’m unable to throw the sparkly trinkets away. Instead, I pocket them without a second thought and fist his shirt into a crumpled ball, using it for a makeshift pillow.

I shudder when a nearby dog howls. The rain continues to whip the building like the gods are punishing the plantation for every unhallowed sin hidden from the world.

When I squeeze my eyes shut, disturbing thoughts of Tomás plague me. A heady waft of cologne from the material close to my nose filters inside my mind and conjures all sorts of sensual sensations. It’s a disgrace how an intelligent woman craves the very monster keeping her captive. But my blood runs hotter than ever. An unsatisfied throb leaves me in a constant state of fevered arousal and my unruly nipples harden from the masculine scent haunting the muggy air. Hatred licks at the idea of this one-sided physical attraction. However, it doesn’t dampen the needy urges I have when I imagine his potent hands all over me.

In my confusion, I consider how he’s shown both a callous nature and an unexpected thoughtfulness. His expensive dress shirt was used to soak up my blood, even if it was his fault I fell.

I am, in the most indecipherable way, utterly captivated by him. Yet deeply adamant that I’d rather burn his whole house to cinders than let him touch me.

The quandary continues, long into the evening. I lay in situ for hours, desperately trying to ignore the niggling swell between my thighs by reliving the grim interrogation.

His rapid fire probing questions.

The urgency in his husky voice.

The order to return to him.

Sinewy arms and serious searching eyes. Did he save me? Or does he have something more heinous planned?

Despite the festering grudge I have for the man, my body reacts to him in such an inglorious way. It’s an offset reaction I’ll have to endure, and I pray he never suspects a thing—ever.

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