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The man at her back pushed the pistol against her ribs as he ushered her up the deck steps. The guards paused to stare at her.
“Is this Tim’s bitch?” a bald-headed man asked.
“Yeah,” Pockmarks said. “She took out the boat. Victor and Eduardo are gone.”
The bald-headed man looked her up and down. “She’s tougher than we thought. Lock her up in the basement and keep her chained.”
They entered a lounge and exited into a short hallway. A metal door at the end gave access to a staircase going down. On the threshold, her captor gave her a nudge on the back, indicating she should enter.
The basement was cool. The walls and floor were concrete. A bare bulb threw a small circle of yellow light into the damp-smelling space. Her gaze fixed on the chains bolted to the walls. The man with the gun pushed her toward the wall with the chains and pressed her chest flat against the concrete. Turning her head to the side, she caught her first glimpse of the man at her back. He was tall and packed with muscles, sporting a mane of black hair and a long, untrimmed beard. He grinned, flashing a gold tooth. After handing the gun to Pockmarks, he took a knife from his pocket and cut the zip tie while Pockmarks pressed the gun against her side.
She tried not to panic. There were guards at the top of the stairs with AK-47s. Without her smartwatch, Joss and Cain had no way of tracking her. They wouldn’t know she was in trouble. In any event, in another twenty-four hours, maybe thirty-six, if the last bout was anything to go by, the weakness would set in. Maybe the addiction would mercifully kill her before Ilano’s torture did. Because torture her, he would. He would want to know who she was working for, and she’d die before betraying Cain.
When her arms were free, Pockmarks jerked her around and locked metal cuffs around her wrists. “Ilano will have a word with you when he wakes up tonight.” He licked his lips. “When he’s done, the real party starts.”
The men backed away, Pockmarks keeping the gun trained on her until they exited the basement. They flicked off the light, casting her in darkness. The door at the top of the stairs shut, and a key turned.
She sank down to the floor, her arms held above her head by the chains. Already the calling was kicking in, adding to her discomfort. When her muscles became stiff, she moved as much as her restraints allowed. She flexed her hands to get rid of the pins and needles. After a while, she had to stand again to allow the blood to flow back into her arms. Judging by how high the sun had been when she’d made it to the island, it was afternoon now. It would still be a few hours before nightfall, before Ilano would drag himself from wherever he napped.
The hours went by slowly. Exhaustion took over, and she dozed off in a sitting position, her head leaning against the wall. It was a fitful, dreamless rest, and she woke the minute the door opened. Artificial light spilled into the basement from the top of the stairs. Night had fallen. She pushed to her feet, her arms tingling as blood flowed back into her limbs. Ilano came down the stairs, followed by three armed guards.
“Maya,” he drawled, “welcome to my humble home.”
“Decided to lift your vampire ass, did you?”
He smiled. “Are you hungry? Thirsty?”
She was dehydrated and starving.
“Or maybe your body already needs your dhampir mate,” he continued. “Feeling cranky? Don’t worry. It’s a normal side effect. That’ll explain your rudeness.” When she didn’t reply, he nodded at one of the guards.
The man approached, but instead of inflicting pain as she’d expected, he produced a bottle of water, unscrewed the cap, and held it to her mouth. She sniffed at it to make sure it wasn’t drugged and then gulped down the welcome liquid, most of the precious rivulets running down her chin and wetting the combat suit that had dried on her body.
“Need to use the powder room?” Ilano asked.
If he was going to give her the luxury of a bathroom, it also meant the luxury of an attempt at escape.
“Yes, please,” she said sweetly, and then her words dried up when another guard stepped forward with a bucket and a knife.
“What the—”
He stuck the tip of the knife into the turtleneck of her suit and yanked down. The fabric ripped under the blade. The point grazed her skin, leaving a burning sensation in its path. When he reached her navel, the fabric fell open, revealing her breasts and the thin line of blood left by the knife.
“Stop,” she gritted out. “I won’t need to fix my makeup after all.”
