CHAPTER 23
The scent of blood stung Tate’s nose. Not his blood. The death from earlier tonight hovered in the air and stained the concrete floor. He’d heard the man’s tortured screams through the transmitter and could now see the source of that agony glinting on the end of Tiago Badell’s finger.
The blade looked lethal enough to carve through muscle, and as it lightly scraped across his chest, he was certain it would.
His heart drummed a furious tattoo. Chains restrained his arms, and broken ribs made every breath excruciating. He had no defense, no way to protect Lucia and Van. No way out of this.
Fear should’ve been a hulking presence inside him, but it was crowded out by unholy rage. Lucia lay on the floor in dangerous need of urgent care. She’d just surfaced from what must’ve been a seizure, one that had convulsed her muscles so violently it banged her skull against the concrete. Van, with his arms shackled, had managed to wedge a thigh beneath her head. Meanwhile, Badell had stood there and watched her suffer like a morally depraved psychopath.
How would they get out of this? With Van and him shackled and Lucia clinging to life, they needed a fucking miracle.
It would be eight hours before Matias realized there was trouble, and even more hours to organize a rescue party. Maybe Cole would suspect something since his call went unanswered. That wouldn’t help them, though. He was in another country.
“There are no contacts stored on your phone.” Badell set it on the metal table and met his eyes. “No call history.”
At Cole’s request, Tate had meticulously kept the burner phone wiped clean. Thank fuck for Cole’s counsel. The man had laid out plans for every emergency, including instructions in the event Tate was captured.
“I can give you a contact.” He hardened his expression, masking the pain in his ribs. “Call my brother.” He rattled off a predetermined phone number that would alert Cole of foul play. “You’ll get your ransom money.”
“Your brother?” Badell casually strolled through the room, clasping his hands behind him and twitching that deadly finger blade. “Your shirt repelled a bullet, and your companion”—he glanced at Van—“doesn’t carry a phone.”
Tate had destroyed all the phones but one before they left the apartment. He’d also had the foresight to protect their friends and family in anticipation of repercussions for taking Lucia out of Caracas. If Badell were to discover Tate’s identity, his friends’ lives could be threatened. So when he’d called Matias, Matias vowed to send his local guys to collect Liv and Josh, Amber and Livana, and all of Tate’s roommates. They should be safely on their way to Matias’ Colombian estate at this very moment.
“You have high-tech weapons and medical supplies.” Badell paused before him, head cocked. “But no IDs. No passports. Nothing to connect you to anything or anyone. We both know you won’t be providing your brother’s number.”
A knot formed in Tate’s throat. He’d given Badell too many reasons to be suspicious. The man might’ve been clinically insane, but he was smart. There would be no ransom demands, because he smelled the trap.
Across the room, Lucia’s whimpers grew louder. She rolled off Van’s lap and pulled herself across the floor, grunting and sobbing in her determination to get to Tate.
“Lucia, don’t.” He jerked uselessly against the restraints. “Stay where you are.”
“No.” Her legs dragged behind her, slowing her down, and she cried out in frustration.
It was gut-wrenching to witness, cracking things inside him that hurt far worse than broken ribs.
He gave Badell the deadliest glare he could manage for a man hanging in chains. “She needs medicine. A doctor.”
“Whether she gets that is up to you.”
“What do you want?”
“Tell me why you’re here. In Caracas.”
Given Tate’s weapons and the bullet-resistant shirt, Badell knew this wasn’t a pleasure trip. He also knew it was personal. He only needed to watch Lucia as she hauled herself toward Tate. Her anguished cries shuddered with heartbreak. And love.
Love.
She loves me.
The intensity of that realization sent waves of pain through Tate’s fractured chest. At first, he didn’t understand it. It made him feel desperate and terrified, but underneath the panic was something new, something wholly unexpected.
When she smiles, I feel a peace unlike anything I’ve felt in my life.
Van’s words hit him with soul-deep comprehension.
Lucia’s smile was his responsibility, his goal, his everything. Her life, her health, all of her was his to protect.
She didn’t belong to Matias or Badell or any other man. If anyone even thought to lay claim to her, he wouldn’t step aside. He wouldn’t back down. He would fucking fight for her with every breath in his body. She was his.
I love her.
Not the kind of love he’d flirted with before. What he felt for Camila paled in the dense, feral glow burning in his chest. This was deep, consuming, world-changing love. His past, present, and future, his entire existence took on new meaning.
His reason for everything was right here, in this room, dragging herself toward him. Her pain was his pain. Her tears, her happiness, her fate—all of it was his. Protecting her wasn’t an obligation. It was his purpose.
It was the most significant thing he could ever do.
In that moment, he knew he would endure anything to make sure she smiled again. He would kill, bleed, cry, break, and die for her. There was nothing, absolutely fucking nothing he wouldn’t do for her.
Fortitude built in his mind and girded his spine. It wasn’t just a willingness to fight for her. It was an insistence.
“You know why I’m here.” He leveled Badell with a look that encapsulated the depth of his conviction. “As for finding out what I’ll do for her, the answer is yes.”
“Yes?” Badell’s eyebrows rutted together.
“Get her and Van out of here. Give her the treatment, let them go, and my answer is yes to anything you want from me.”
Lucia burst into a sobbing wail and sped up her harrowing crawl.
“Fascinating.” Badell stepped out of her path, studying her as she closed the distance.
“Tate.” She collapsed beneath him and slid a trembling hand over his bare toes, along the arch of his foot, and curled cold fingers around his ankle beneath the jeans.
His eyes burned, and his heart rate skyrocketed. God how he wanted to cradle her against him and console her. He wanted to clutch her hair and press his face to hers and smell her and hold her and kiss her. His inability to do so filled him with such maddening anger he couldn’t form words over the scalding heave of his breaths.
Across the room, Van wore a bleak expression, but there was something else in his eyes. His strength and redemption was rooted in his love for his wife. He understood.
“The human spirit intrigues me.” Badell closed the blade on his finger and pocketed it. Then he leaned down and gripped Lucia’s hips, lifting her until she was eye-level with Tate. “Show me what you want, Lucia.”
Her hands immediately slid around Tate’s torso, and tears streaked her ashen cheeks as she tried to pull herself against him.
Badell adjusted his hold, hooking an arm across her stomach and giving her what she sought—contact, connection, togetherness.
Tate clutched the chains that suspended his arms and pressed toward her, chest to chest, breathing her in. Their lips met, and he fed her what they needed. Commitment and unity. Substance and meaning. Promise and love. His tongue rubbed against hers, dedicated, possessive, licking away the salt of her grief as everything inside him roared with desperation.
It was a kiss that would carry them through the night. A kiss that hoped for tomorrow. A kiss that would survive the end of time.
Too soon, Badell pulled her away and carried her back to Van.
“No! No, please!” She sobbed, thrashing her head and feebly wheeling her arms. “Let him go! Let him go! You can’t do this.”
She continued to cry as Badell positioned her on her side with her cheek on Van’s thigh, facing Tate. The placement was deliberate and cruel. He wanted her to watch.
“You think you love her.” He returned to Tate, his dark eyes gleaming with morbid curiosity. “I’m not convinced.”
“Do we have a deal?” He gritted his teeth.
“She’s a beautiful woman. And compassionate. If you’re into that kind of thing.”
“Give her the medicine, Badell.” He yanked at the chains, coughing against the agony in his ribs. “She needs it now!”
“I understand your urgency.” Badell cast her a passing glance. When he turned back, the indifference in his expression faded, replaced with impatience and a hint of anger. He sucked on his teeth, his voice dropping an octave. “Once I’m convinced of your feelings, when I fully understand the lengths you’ll go for her, I’ll give her the medicine. Then I’ll let her leave. I’ll set her free.”
Lucia screamed her protests, her words too hoarse to be discernible.
“How can I trust you?” His heart stammered, dying a thousand deaths.
“Lucia?” Badell called over his shoulder. “Have I ever broken a promise to you?”
“No,” she wept weakly, miserably.
“We should get started.” He removed the blade from his pocket and attached it to his finger. “She doesn’t have much time.”