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“He apparently pissed someone off.” A dark laugh rattles from Diego as he speaks.
Hearing a rattling sound from the back of the house, I harshly hush him as I point toward the direction of the sound, “Shhh. We aren’t alone.”
Lifting my gun and pointing it in the direction, I walk toward the back of the house with Diego only footsteps behind me. Working both deftly and meticulously, we make our way through each of the bedrooms lining the hallway. Sweeping each, we find them all vacant and nearly devoid of furniture.
Pushing open the last of the doors, we are both overwhelmed by the pungent smell that wafts into the hallway. It reeks of piss and the rancid smell of death.
Stepping into the room, my eyes are immediately drawn to the naked woman, splayed and bound to the bed.
What a miserable fucking way to die.
Walking closer to where she lies, it is beyond apparent that her final days were nothing short of hell. Her face is bruised, the skin so ruddy and purple that it only accentuates the dried trails of tears staining her face. The rest of her body is riddled with bruises and bite marks in various stages of healing. Her thighs are crusted with what I can only imagine is cum of the men who took her life.
“Lo siento,” I mutter to myself. “Que ellos se pudran en el infierno.”
“Please.” My heart stops, and I jump from my skin when the whisper of a word passes over her lips. Her heavy eyelids flutter. “No more.”
“Fuck, Diego.” I draw his attention to her as I begin cutting her free from the rope that is so tightly tied to her ankle that it has begun to embed into her skin. “Go and find something to wrap her in.”
“I can’t,” she grits through her teeth as I peel the rope from her flesh. Blood and pus seep from the infected wound, but she barely acknowledges the pain. She continues to mumble as I cut her second foot free from the bed. Most of it is incoherent, but from what little I can understand she is begging for me not to touch her.
Rounding the bed, I lean over her and free her hands. Her words clear as her faint breath blows against my face. “Please…please don’t.”
I’m a man who kills people and leaves them for dead—although never like this—caring for them isn’t in my nature. But when a single tear rolls down her cheek, I’m unable to stop myself from tenderly wiping it away with the pad of my thumb.
“We aren’t going to hurt you.” I continue to gently rub my thumb against her cheek as Diego lays a sheet over her body. “We’re going to get you out of here.”
“No…” she groans as I slip my hands beneath her back and under her legs. Being mindful of my hands and where I place them, her entire body tenses and becomes rigid as I lift her from the bed.
six
RAFAEL
Having helped Isabella Marcano with her shelter for victims of sex trafficking for several years now, I am no stranger to hearing about the things some of those women and children have endured. But this frail, battered woman curled up in my arms is the first time that I have ever actually seen it.
Felt it.
Her whole body trembles against me like a cornered animal as she alternates between leaning into my comforting touch and waiting for me to take advantage of her—like who knows how many men did while she was tied to that bed.
“Please—”
“Shhh.” I lightly stroke her hair in an attempt to comfort her. “I have no intention of hurting you. You’re safe now.”
Her lids quiver and her eyes open fully for the first time. They lock on mine as she groans painfully, “Please just kill me.”
“Those men may have led you to the slaughter, little lamb,” I pull her tighter to me and brush the hair from her face, “but this isn’t where you die.”
She opens her mouth, and I expect her to protest, but nothing passes over her lips apart from a sputtered breath. Her eyelids begin to droop as though they are too heavy for her to keep open. I stare deeply into the caramel eyes peeking through her fluttering lids, hoping she can see that she is safe with me.
I don’t know why...
No one has ever been safe with me.
Fighting against her body’s need for sleep momentarily, she finally allows it to take her. As her eyes close, she relaxes, and her head falls against my chest.
“Where to?” Diego keeps his voice light so as to not startle the woman sleeping in my lap.
I meet his gaze in the rearview mirror and hesitate as I think about what to do with her. We should take her to Isabella’s shelter. They have the medical facilities to treat her, and they are equipped to deal with what she has faced. It would be for the best, yet when I open my mouth those aren’t the words that come out. “My place. For now. The one above the warehouse in Los Cangrejos.”
