Page 2 of Thaddeus

“You okay?” Max asked.

“Not even a little bit.”

For the second time in my life, Emerson Pierce had rocked my world.

Emerson

South America was one of my least favorite parts of the world. Or maybe it was the company. Jefferson Baldwin ranked in the top five most disgusting men I’d ever met. And that was saying something. I’d met a lot of repulsive people over the last eight years.

“We’re here, darling.” Jefferson’s smooth, cultured voice drew my attention to him.

It was showtime.

“Oh, Jefferson, it’s beautiful,” I gushed.

The swank hotel the town car had stopped in front of was beautiful. Then it should’ve been considering the outrageous price tag. The eclectic villas bordered a tropical rain forest on one side with views of the Caribbean Sea from every room. The clear, crystal waters were otherworldly. Not that I’d spend any time exploring the miles of sandy beaches. I was here on business, not vacation.

“Welcome back to Venezuela, my dear,” he crooned on, as if we were on a lover’s getaway.

In his mind I supposed we were. Lovers without the sex. When I’d first met Jefferson, I didn’t think he’d take the bait, the naïve, innocent virgin act I’d played. To my grateful surprise he did. I was willing to do anything to get close to the man, if that meant I had to sleep with him, I would’ve. Thankfully I’d been able to convince him I was a virgin. Clean. Untouched. Waiting until marriage to give myself to my one and only.

What could I say? I was a really good actress.

“It’s as beautiful as I remember it.” Always playing the part as of the love-sick girlfriend, I leaned into him and placed a chaste kiss on his lips. “You spoil me.”

It was becoming harder and harder not to gag every time I touched the vile man. The need to bathe in bleach and scrub my mouth with alcohol wipes was a real thing.

I knew where his hands and mouth had been; even after he started “courting” me he still had women on the side. Women who provided all of the things I was unwilling to. Thank God. It made my role easier. All Jefferson wanted was a classy, sophisticated, beautiful woman on his arm to show off.

I could do that. I could do just about anything, but I really wanted to avoid having to have sex with him. Jefferson Baldwin was a means to an end. And the end was drawing near. I almost had what I needed from him, then I’d move on to my next mark. It was a balancing act making sure the men I picked weren’t too closely related. The business of buying and selling women was incestuous, making my job harder to find men that wouldn’t mingle with the last man I’d been with. That was if I allowed them to live when I was done with them.

Almost done.

Jefferson smiled, his eyes lighting up; he loved when I acknowledged his wealth. When I blathered on about the expensive jewelry he bought me, the clothes, the places we traveled. He was generous with his gifts; money was not in short supply for him.

“Come on, dear, we have just enough time for you to rest before tonight’s event.”

The car door was opened and a young man offered me his hand. Despite the oppressive heat of the tropics the valet was dressed in an immaculate suit.

“Thank you,” I murmured in gratitude and took his hand so he could help me out of the car.

Jefferson followed, tipping the valet. I dutifully waited for Jefferson to wrap his arm around my waist so he could walk me through the lobby.

Arm candy, that’s what I was.

Another man met us near the corridor that would once again lead us outside. I walked silently, keeping my features blank, while the two men spoke in Spanish. I pretended my attention was on the palms, orchids, and other tropical shrubbery that lined the pathway. Jefferson never asked and I didn’t offer that I was fluent in the language. The concierge was explaining the room had been set up according to Jefferson’s specifications and the new dress he’d purchased for me would be delivered to the villa in less than an hour.

The conversation continued and smoothly they’d transitioned into Portuguese, Jefferson’s native tongue. He didn’t think I knew he was born Jefferson Garcia and he’d grown up in the poorest of poor slums of Brazil. He’d changed his last name when his mother had moved them out of the area after his father had informed on a local gang and was killed. The Garcia name was tainted, marked for death. They were known as snitches and the only chance of survival was to flee.

I didn’t know Portuguese, so I’d lost the conversation. In the years I’d been on my crusade I’d tried my best to pick up as many languages as I could, the important words anyway. Words I wish I never had to know.

The concierge opened the door, and ever the gentleman, Jefferson offered for me to precede him. Or maybe it wasn’t gentlemanly and he wanted me to go first in case we were met with a barrage of gunfire and he’d use me as a human shield. That was more likely the case. One could not call a man who perpetrated the worst acts of violence against women a gentleman.

If I thought too hard about what he did, I’d cut his throat in his sleep. Not yet. I still needed more.

The conversation slipped back into Spanish and the other man informed Jefferson his dogs would be taken care of until tonight’s fight. Bile rose and in a harsh gulp I swallowed it down. Jefferson kept me away from all of his business dealings except the fights. He needed me on his arm while he conducted business, betting on his dogs or his roosters. I’d even seen him bet on bulls.

The level of cruelty was so disturbing I had nightmares about it.