CHAPTER 20
Hours later, Lucia hung upside down with a shoulder jabbing her unbearably sore stomach. Her body was too broken to obey her commands, so one of the guards had to carry her to the apartment.
She’d been punched in the gut so many times the nausea had gone silently numb. Every bone, tissue, and tendon throbbed with fire. Her legs were heavy dead things attached to joints made of sand and dust. Her skull pounded rhythmically. Her swallows felt like serrated blades, and molten lava tunneled between her thighs and buttocks.
Armando had brutally violated every hole in her body. He’d bitten her breasts and thighs, kicked her ribs and face, and repeated the torment until she lay curled in the fetal position with her arms around her head.
His cruelty had been so severe Tiago had to interfere several times to stop him from crossing the line.
But lines had been crossed. All of them. The wreckage was so complete, so excruciating, her body didn’t feel like it belonged to her. It’d become a burdensome, pulsating prison of pain. It had failed her. Over and over again.
Her arms dangled toward the oily pavement, and the shadows of surrounding buildings rocked with the guard’s heavy-booted steps.
Then those boots paused, and an impatient hand dug through her pockets and found her key.
The scraping sound of her door urged her to move her limbs, but she couldn’t. She’d left the last of her strength on the floor in that basement chamber.
But it’ll be okay now. Tate would be waiting for her inside, like he did every night.
At that thought, her traumatized heart stirred to life, beating with urgency. She needed Tate so badly. Needed the protection of his arms, the comfort of his voice, and the affection in his kisses.
He was smart enough to stay hidden until she was inside with the door shut. So she didn’t worry when the guard stepped in, dumped her on the mattress, and set her guns and shoes out of reach on the floor.
When the door clicked shut behind him, she released a shredded breath and listened.
Silence.
“Are you there?” She didn’t hear Tate’s footsteps, didn’t feel his touch, didn’t sense his imposing presence in the dark.
“Tate?” she whispered, rolling to her stomach with a painful heave.
The continued silence closed in around her, swelling her throat and heating her eyes. “Tate… Please, I need you.”
She knew he wasn’t here, but she kept calling for him, kept hoping.
Where was he? Was he safe? What if he’d left town? Maybe her test results had come back and there was nothing he could do for her. Would he return to Texas without saying goodbye?
He wouldn’t do that. It was just the voice of misery inside her, taunting her while she was down.
And she was down, face in the mattress, trapped in a dying, throbbing body. Everything burned and trembled as her injuries set in. There would be bruises, swelling, and possible scars around her rectum, but the surface stuff was negligible compared to the damage wrought inside.
“Tate… Tate, where are you?” She lay immobile, lifeless, as the tears welled up. She didn’t bother blinking or rubbing them away. There was no one here, nothing to see.
She was alone.
Alone was her normal. She learned long ago how to fend for herself, fight for herself, and endure by herself. But she didn’t want to be alone anymore. She was exhausted, hurting, and…done. She was so fucking done.
So she let the tears fall until she was emotionally bankrupt. Until all that remained was the hollow husk of a battered body.
Eventually, her eyes dried, and her vision cleared, bringing her guns into focus on the floor across the room.
One bullet. It was all she needed.
It would erase the pain. Eradicate the illness. End the loneliness.
Her arms moved without hesitation, elbows grinding against the hard floor as she hauled her body toward the end.
She was afraid to die, afraid of the terrible nothingness that awaited. But more than that, she was terrified to live, to endure another day of this vicious circle. She didn’t want to fight anymore.
As she lugged her body toward the guns, her mind traveled to a better place. She smelled the citrus grove, the sunshine, and the fertile soil. She felt the warm breeze in her hair and the tickle of long grass on her legs. She saw her sister—her beautiful, laughing, vibrant baby sister. Camila and Matias would have such adorable, brown-eyed children. Their love for each other was so strong it would carry through generations.
Then she heard Tate’s voice, his breathy whispers at her ear. A tearful sigh billowed past her bloodied, cracked lips. She ached. God help her, she ached to see him one more time.
He had a magic about him, an allurement that went beyond his model-perfect looks. He’d experienced the kind of brutality that would destroy a man, but he’d ridden it out and stood taller, stronger, despite it.
She felt the strength of his fingers around her throat. Smelled the clean scent of his breath on her face. Tasted his possessiveness on her lips.
For a moment, she thought he was actually here, but there was only the empty room and the gun that was now within her reach.
Her hand shook as she lifted the metal frame, her entire body screaming in agony from the effort it’d taken to crawl there. It was a heavy trigger, but she would have just enough determination left to pull it.
With her cheek on the floor, she positioned the gun in front of her face and stared into the barrel.
It would bring her peace.
It would bring the end.
She wanted it to end.
She needed the end.
End it.
End it.
End it.