Lace and Bullets(12)
She would never survive.
He jerked his head to the right. “Bedrooms are this way. Come on.”
The door to the first room opened with a creak. He ushered her inside. “There’s a shower. You can clean yourself up if you want. I’ll look for some clothes.”
Mia tugged the comforter tighter. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll try something?”
“You want to live, right?”
She nodded.
“Then don’t.”
After a minute, she nodded and headed toward the bathroom. The door shut and Damien heard the lock click into place. He exhaled and slumped down onto the bed.
He had looked grown men in the face and pulled the trigger. He had watched the life bleed out of someone a pint of blood at a time. Beatings, confessions, drug deals. You name it. He either did it or witnessed it.
But never in all the years he had worked for Marcelo had he ever done something this fucking hard. He rubbed his eyes and tried to focus. Mia wasn’t some drug addict Marcelo threw his way.
She was beautiful and strong and so fucking stubborn. Damien didn’t know whether to knock her out or kiss her senseless. If she hadn’t made a sound…If she hadn’t seen his face…
He would be back at home, half drunk on vodka so cheap rubbing alcohol tasted better. But she had fallen into his lap. Mia Davenport was his ticket out of hell. His chance to get out of the cartel once and for all.
The water turned on in the shower and he glanced up at the door. He just needed to survive her first.
With a grunt, he stood up and made his way over to the dresser. While she showered, he would get everything ready.
By the time the bathroom door opened, Damien leaned on the wall, a handful of women’s clothes in his hands. “Found these.”
Mia took them and shut the door. When she emerged again, Damien could finally look at her without cursing. The sweatshirt was too big and the jeans hung off her hips, but they were clothes.
As long as he couldn’t see her tits, he’d do okay. “Do you have any injuries?”
“I-I’m sorry?”
“Are you hurt? Do you need any bandages? There’s a first aid kit in the kitchen.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why do you care?”
He shrugged. “Just thought I’d offer.”
After a moment, she nodded. “I have a few cuts on my wrist. They could use some attention.”
“Ladies first.” Damien moved out of the way and Mia eased past him. Her hair smelled fresh and clean and he leaned in as she walked out the door. Mmm. He wouldn’t mind breathing her in all night.
When they reached the kitchen, he pulled out a chair. “Sit. Show me the wound.”
She followed his instructions and he pulled out bandages and ointment.
The cuts were angry and red, but not that deep. She’d really worked that phone cord to get free. “Lucky for you, they’re just surface scratches. You’ll survive.”
“Will I?”
Damien didn’t answer as he dabbed the ointment on the gash. He pulled open a bandage. “You won’t die from these.”
“Comforting.”
“I try.”
Mia snorted. “If you’re not going to kill me, then tell me why I’m here. What good am I to you alive?”
“There are other people who want you more than me.” He placed the bandage on her arm and pretended not to notice her quiver.
“You mean Marcelo.”
Damien’s eyes snapped up. “How do you know that name?”
“Come on, Mr. Kidnapper. You’ve got more sense than that.”
“From your father.”
“No. The TV news. Every time there’s a crime in this town, his name is the first one mentioned. Everyone knows about the Marcelo empire. The drugs. The weapons. The girls.”
“Then why ask?” Damien ran his fingers over the bandage until it laid flat against her skin. He didn’t let her go.
“I needed to hear it from you.”
“Happy now?”
“No. I’m terrified.” She pulled her arm away. “Handing me off to a thug like Marcelo is a death sentence. You have to know that.”
Damien steeled his expression. “I don’t have a choice.”
“Everyone has a choice.”
“Not in this. I’m sorry.”
She crossed her arms. “Not sorry enough.”
Damien stood up in a rush. He didn’t need to justify himself to this woman. Just because she looked up at him with those pleading brown eyes full of fear and sadness. He couldn’t help her. It was too late.
He grabbed the rope off the table and walked around behind her chair. “Give me your arms.”
“Why?”
“Do it before I chop one off.”