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He settled her in the tub as gently as he could and then started the shower running. He needed to get this woman clean, make sure it was Katie, then come up with a plan to get them both out without tipping his hand.
Shit.
“I’m sorry she’s not in better shape for you. If I had known…” El Cuchillo had his hands spread wide in a gesture of innocence that Antonio didn’t buy for a second. He’d known who this woman was, had taken her on purpose.
“Known what?” Antonio feigned innocence. He couldn’t let anyone know he knew this woman, even if El Cuchillo knew already.
How had he known?
“So dirty it makes her ugly, yes?” So the boss was feigning to not know anything either. Fine. He would play along.
“Where did you get her?” Antonio forced his voice to be calm, not shake.
This was a test, he was sure. One he had to pass, or they would both be dead. He couldn’t even let on that he knew her.
“Took a limo full of rich women one night. It was a poor judgment call. Grown women don’t break well. Only one other from the group lives. Too old. Nobody wants them.” He shrugged as if this were nothing to him, and it probably wasn’t.
It was everything to Antonio.
Pretending like he cared about the sex and nothing else, he cupped her breast and grinned lasciviously at his boss. “Let me keep her. I’ll clean her.” He set to work scrubbing the delicate skin that had lost every bit of luster it had.
“Just get the stink off. I want to play some cards.” Declaration made, El Cuchillo left the tiny room.
Antonio exhaled a sigh of relief. Short-lived, though. He knew he had to go out there with her and make nice for however long it took to convince these terrible people he was on the down and out with them.
He quickly washed Katie’s hair, wrapping it in a towel, then wrapping her body in a towel. She’d been unconscious throughout the entire washing, but she was starting to rouse a bit, her head lolling back and forth on her neck as she muttered to herself.
He knew what happened to women here. He was a fucking part of it. It sickened him to know he was a part of what was happening to Katy.
He scooped her into his arms again, carrying her out of the bathroom. The problem was, there was nowhere to put her with privacy. The bungalows were designed as guest cottages, one large room with a kitchen area and island on one side, couch in the middle with a TV, and a bed on the other end. His desk set up with his computers and half a dozen monitors was on the bed side, along with a chest of drawers.
The room was thirty feet by thirty feet, but there was no place for him to put her where she wouldn’t be visible. He suddenly didn’t want them to deign to look at her.
But the feel of her in his arms was doing things to him too. He had to play this cool.
He couldn’t want her this much. Not in front of these monsters.
And if she woke up and started talking to him, it was over.
He settled for depositing her on his rug next to his bed. He would put her in the bed, but as his slave, which El Cuchillo no doubt had given her to him to be, he wouldn’t let her sleep there.
But the rug was more comfortable than anything else. She certainly wasn’t going back into the cage.
How was he to act? Clearly, the card game was a cover to gauge his reaction to Katie. If he showed too much interest, they would see how important she was. If too little, they would see through him.
By washing her, he’d given them enough, he thought. Hopefully not too much. But he couldn’t let her lie in her own filth like she’d been. Now he just had to get through this game and get them to leave without putting a bullet through his head.
He went to the cabinet above his sink and got down the bottle of Giffity, a popular rum-based liquor made by the natives on the coast as a part of their Garifuna culture. He didn’t want to insult them after their “gift” and was going along with what a grateful asshole would do. Racking his brain while he got down shot glasses, he decided to “enjoy” the impromptu party.
He had to compartmentalize. His pills helped with that, but he also couldn’t take another pill in front of them. They didn’t know he depended on them as much as he did to smooth out the harsh edges of this life.
His flash drive would be useless until he figured out how to get them both out.
Imelda was making him nervous. She was uncharacteristically silent as she watched him closely with a small smile on her lips.
Hector was always silent around El Cuchillo, unless he was drunk, which with this Giffity, he would be soon.
El Cuchillo was undoubtedly the boss, the mastermind, but Lobo Gris knew better than to trust any of the people at this table.
