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But I don’t. I could blame shock for the sensation that roots me into place, but that’s not it. Perhaps curiosity. Diego hurt people in front of me. More than I can count. He wanted to scare me. Horrify me. Traumatize me.
Never once, did he claim the violence was to protect me.
I’m so puzzled by the prospect that, even as Jaguar begins to roll up his sleeves, I don’t move. As much as my stomach turns to admit it…the concept of bloodshed as attrition intrigues me. It can’t be any different than the horror I’ve already been exposed to.
Can it?
“Again, Lupe, I am offering you a choice,” Jaguar says, his tone uncharacteristically soft. “Make it now.”
“I…”Dios mío, I barely recognize the voice trickling from my throat. It’s too soft. Too calm. “I want to stay.”
Jaguar rises, pivoting to face me. “Well then, you have the right to watch,” he says. “This is what happens to the men who harm what is mine.”
He seems to transform before my eyes, losing any of the softness he displayed before. He’s cold, his smile cruel as he gazes down on his prey. God, he looks so much like Gatita that I half expect his canines to lengthen into fangs as he speaks.
“I want answers, youpendejo,” he growls, turning to kick the huddled Cortez brother in his stomach.
I hear a hiss of pain, and then a grunted, “I’ll tell you nothin—”
“There was a woman,” I croak, not waiting for Cortez to finish his boast. “A blond. She lured me outside.”
“Ah… I remember the one.” Jaguar’s eyebrows go up in recognition. “Was she working with you?” he growls before issuing another punishing kick to the target of his rage. “Answer me.”
A strange feeling floods my body all at once, leaving me dizzy in the aftermath. As Bastian Cortez cowers in Jaguar’s shadow, a strange, harrowing thought slams into me—I’ve had rage directed my way before, but never has it been a weapon utilized at my disposal. No one has ever fought…forme. When Bastian spits at his feet, Jaguar doesn’t recoil in anger. He throws his head back instead for a laugh I’ll hear in my nightmares going forward. It should terrify me.
But it doesn’t.
Suddenly Jaguar stills. The absence of his laugh is chilling in the resulting quiet. Only the labored breathing of Cortez can be heard.
“That’s okay,maricón,” he taunts. “Keep your secrets a little longer. You’ll be singing like a canary when I’m done. And make no mistake, every fucker involved in your little scheme, man or woman, will be dealt with.” Cocking his head, he fixes me with a look that sets my entire body on fire. He manages to convey so much with that single, fiery glance. There isn’t a doubt in my mind that he means every word he said.
He won’t rest until he has his vengeance—and he won’t hoard it selfishly, either. As he clenches his jaw, I sense his intentions, even before he extends his hand toward me in a rare show of deference.
“First, I believe Lupe has some revenge to enact for your violation.”
Jaguar faces me fully, and the question in his eyes is clear. Am I ready for this? Do I even want to? Watching the emotions roll across his face is humbling. He doesn’t offer this opportunity lightly.
This is a gift that, to him, means more than any purse, or amount of money.
As if sensing my breaking resolve, he slowly inclines his head to that table behind him. Against my own will, my feet start to move, bringing me closer to the long surface cluttered with what I can now see is an array of weapons. Tools.
I reach out, fingering a few implements as I pass them. Another knife. A coil of rope. A hammer, that looks out of place amongst the other sleek, professional devices of torture. Without thinking, I curl my hand around the handle and lift it. Merely to test the weight of it, or so I tell myself. As the dim light glances off the round head, forming the striking surface, I catch my reflection on the metal.
“I like the way you think, Lupe,” Jaguar murmurs into my ear. I didn’t even see him approach, but this time I lean back as if leeching his strength into my trembling limbs. He feels so damn strong. Impenetrable. Without hesitation, he starts to move, guiding me toward the figure on the floor.
“I think he needs some help, loosening his tongue,” Jaguar murmurs into my ear.
Then he crouches, grasping one of the man’s meaty arms, forcing his hand flat against the floor.
An invisible switch is flipped in my brain. One second, I’m ready to drop the tool, disgusted by the mere thought of ever using it. But then…
I’m raising it, my eyes on the bastard who gleefully hurt me. As I watch the hammer come down, I stop thinking. Feeling. Caring.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The sickening series of thuds echo like gunshots as my arms tremble with the force of the impact. Again. Again.
As if from far away, I hear a man’s scream as warm liquid sprays over my face. I’m tasting blood, but I can’t stop hitting the floor over and over.
