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CHAPTER27
Katie watched as rivulets of blood flowed from Antonio’s chest. They were slashes through his black shirt, but the skin underneath was coated with blood.
How much blood?
The man had left with a dark chuckle and Antonio had passed out when he’d gone.
She could only stare at the man bleeding next to her, hoping he wasn’t dying.
He’d said he loved her, hadn’t he? Had he told the man that? She thought so. Amore meant love, and the conjugation he’d used could mean the exact same thing he’d said to her.
But had he lied about it?
He seemed too out of it to be tricky here.
And what purpose would that serve either of them?
His actions suddenly made sense. But only if he wasn’t truly one of these monsters.
But if he wasn’t one of them, how did he have his own house on the property? He seemed to be in the inner workings of the operation.
Her mind spun. Nothing made any sense, and she didn’t feel well at all. She clearly wasn’t herself, still feeling the aftereffects of the drugs.
How long had it been? Hours? Days?
There was no concept of time in this dark room, even with a light on.
Time was liquid, and she wasn’t sure when she slept and when she was awake, only that her first idea of this being death wasn’t so far from the truth.
This was hell. And she would undoubtedly die here.
She’d fallen asleep again. She couldn’t remember when and had no idea how long she’d been out. Her arms were numb to the shoulders from the chains. But her neck worked, snapping up when the door slammed open.
“Pobrecita…” The small man she hated was sneering at her, pulling a chain from around his neck.
“Fight them.” She looked over at Antonio, who was snarling at her. His body coated in sweat and blood, his words were weak, even as he sounded furious.
But nothing worked. She couldn’t even support her weight on her legs, and her arms hung uselessly at her sides as the man hefted her up.
There was a small square table with two chairs off to the side, and he deposited her in one, making an oopsie sound as she started to slide off.
He righted her, slapping her hands on the tabletop.
Then he spoke in Spanish to Antonio, who had a sudden burst of energy she was jealous of.
“No!”His roar was unholy, sending goosebumps up her back. “Fight them!”
“I can’t! I’m numb,” she protested weakly. She tried again, in vain, to move her arms. One slid uselessly off the table.
“Fuck,” Antonio muttered, glaring daggers at the little guy.
The little guy spoke again, almost reverently, as he settled her hand back on the table, caressing it. She wished she could move. She would curl it into a fist. As it was, it simply twitched, pins and needles, and pain that flowed up her arm.
Then the little guy got a dirty rope and tied it first around one wrist, then looped it under a table leg, and then her other wrist. Even if she could move, she would be restrained.
When he started moving toward a pile of crap in the corner, Antonio started yelling at him in Spanish. His eyes were wild, pleading with the man.
A sudden fear rippled through her. A little late, for sure, but she was still not herself, with everything coursing through her veins. As far as she knew, they were still drugging her in her sleep.
Nothing made sense anymore.
“Please.” Antonio turned his eyes on her. “I understand if you hate me. I’m so damn sorry. I tried to get you out, Cariño. I tried.”
She focused again on the little guy, who held a bucket aloft along with a hammer. From the bucket, he withdrew a small handful of giant nails.
She started screaming.
