Chapter Twenty

Don’t let them know how scared you are.

Taylor kept repeating the command in her head while she fought to keep the panic at bay. They’d been on the move for the better part of forty minutes so far, best she could determine.

Her captors had stopped to change vehicles in a remote area before heading to the coast. One of them still rode in the back with her and had secured her hands behind her before putting her in this new vehicle. A van without any windows in back.

They hadn’t bothered blindfolding her and neither man had spoken to her since right after capturing her. She didn’t know where they were taking her, but they must have a specific purpose in mind for kidnapping her if they hadn’t killed her outright. If Dillon hadn’t sent them, who had?

She kept thinking about the scene of the shooting. It had been broad daylight. Chris had been on his phone, likely talking to headquarters.

Someone there must know what had happened and would be mounting some kind of rescue effort. She’d seen people standing on the sidewalk across from them, and other cars passing by. At least one of them would have seen them and called the cops. Right?

You can’t depend on that. You’ve never been able to depend on anyone.

She had to get out of this on her own.

The van slowed and made a left turn. She couldn’t see and didn’t dare risk trying to peek toward the front out the windshield. But the way the van bounced, jostling them as it drove along, told her they’d turned off a main road onto either dirt or grass.

A minute later, gravel crunched beneath its tires. The driver made a half-circle then slowed.

Taylor’s heart pounded harder. She sat up straighter, her entire body tensing as the van came to a stop. The man seated across from her pushed to his feet and aimed his weapon at her. “Get up.”

Her legs felt numb but she did as he said, watching his gun hand. For one crazy instant she debated kicking out, taking him off guard and knocking the weapon from his grip.

But the driver was armed as well, and with her hands tied behind her she wouldn’t be able to so much as escape the van before they shot her. For now, she had to go along with their demands. If an opening presented itself, she was taking it. Because the thought of enduring the kind of torture the Veneno cartel was notorious for made her stomach twist.

The driver’s door opened and shut. His footsteps came along the left side of the van and stopped behind it. A second later the rear doors swung open, revealing the tool box in the driver’s hand.

Taylor blinked at the sudden change in light and looked outside as a slight breeze brought with it the salty scent of the ocean. For the smell to be that distinct, they had to be right on the coast.

“Out,” the man holding the weapon on her said.

With one careful step after another, she made her way to the open rear doors and hopped down. They were alone in some kind of grassy clearing bordered by woods, and she didn’t know which way the water was. Were they going to take her somewhere by boat?

The urge to run was so strong it was almost overwhelming. But it would be suicide.

Without preamble, the dark-haired man from inside jumped down, roughly grabbed her bound wrists and began frog-marching her across the lot. She automatically resisted, pushing back against his iron hold, but he merely shoved her until she almost fell, and kept moving.

Through a gap in the trees ahead, she spotted a small building. A cabin or something. Icy cold fear sluiced through her. If they’d taken her to a boat, it would guarantee her living a while longer. But taking her to that shed…

Fear took over. She twisted and lashed a foot out at the man holding her. He sidestepped it easily and rammed his elbow into the side of her head.

She gasped as pain shot through her skull and neck, and dropped to her side in the grass. Before she could regain her wits, he’d wrenched her upward by her wrists.

“Ahhh!” She shot up onto her toes to try and relieve the awful pressure in her shoulders and elbows. Her captor didn’t slow, and didn’t ease up. A few more ounces of pressure and he’d either dislocate something or break her bones.

Up ahead, the shed loomed, coming ever nearer. The driver loped ahead to do a quick check and then opened the door. The man holding her shoved Taylor inside. She gasped at the sudden relief in her arms and pitched forward, landing hard on her knees on the rough concrete floor.

The sound of the door shutting sent another arrow of fear through her. She scrambled to her feet and backed away from the two men, noting the rusted metal cot in the corner, covered with a thin, filthy mattress. Still aiming the pistol at her, the dark-haired one motioned toward the cot.

There was no way she was going to give in and lie down on it.

Ignoring her, the driver knelt and set his toolkit down, then pulled something from it. A length of nylon rope.

Taylor swallowed and locked her knees to keep them from shaking.

“Lie down,” the man with the gun said, the coldness of his voice sending a shiver through her.

“Fuck you,” she spat, waves of nausea churning in her stomach. If they planned to rape her, she wasn’t going to make it easy or enjoyable. She’d rip chunks out of their skin with her teeth, would never stop fighting.

One side of his mouth lifted in a smile as cold as his eyes. “We’ll get to that eventually.”

Taylor lunged toward the door. She made it only a step before he caught her and lifted her off her feet.

She shrieked and bucked in his hold, twisted around to try and sink her teeth into any part of him she could reach. Arm, chest, belly.

His fist slammed into her jaw. Her head snapped back, pain exploding through the side of her face. Dazed, she momentarily stopped fighting.

“We’ve got a live one here, Raul,” he said on a laugh as he carried her to the cot. The other man responded in Spanish.

The man carrying her tossed her into the air. She twisted in mid-fall and bounced as she hit the mattress on her side, the impact on the hard surface knocking the air out of her lungs. As she jackknifed into a sitting position, Raul snagged her feet.

She kicked and screamed but it was no use. Within moments he had her legs tied to the end of the cot. She remained in a seated position, arms bound behind her, quaking so hard her muscles hurt, and stared at her captors.

“They’re coming for me. The DEA and the cops, probably the FBI.” It had to be true. She couldn’t bear the thought of going through whatever these two assholes had in store for her if there was no hope whatsoever of rescue. “You need to let me go.”

The dark-haired one cocked his head to the side and studied her with an amused look on his face. “I don’t think so, chica. You’ll be dead long before anyone finds you.”

Her chest constricted.

“But first, we’re going to get all the information out of you that our boss needs.” He stepped up next to the bed and his eyes were no longer flat. They gleamed with a cruel light that told her how excited he was about what they were going to do to her.

She arched up and flailed against his hands but he was too strong and she had no leverage. All she did was tire herself more, and the end result was being strapped to the headboard of the cot by a rope around her throat.

Raw terror clawed at her insides as the past and present collided. She was suddenly eleven years old at her father’s apartment, trapped beneath the weight of the dealer he’d sold her to for his next fix.

Then something silver glinted beside the bed. She wrenched her head to the side to see Raul standing there with an electric drill in his hands.

She stared at it, horror closing her throat up. He grinned and pressed the power button. As the shrill whine of the drill filled the cabin, she screamed.

And screamed again.

The cabin door burst open beside her, slamming against the wall with such force it bounced twice.

Raul whirled but two bullets slammed into his chest. He dropped, his eyes wide.

Behind him, the other man raised his weapon to return fire but whoever it was fired first. Two more bullets found their mark, punching into the man’s chest. His pistol clattered to the floor as he fell to his knees, then onto his belly and lay there in a pool of his own blood, gurgling.

Taylor’s heart threatened to burst as she lay there, bound and helpless, hope a painful pressure in her chest. Logan?

A tall shadow entered the cabin, weapon still pointed at the two dying men.

She stared, not daring to breathe, hardly believing what she was seeing. “Dillon!”

Dillon didn’t dare look at her until he’d kicked away Diego’s weapon and checked their carotid pulses. Diego was dead, and Raul would be within the next minute or so.

Lowering his weapon, her forced himself to look at Taylor. Anguish knifed through him.

She was trussed up on her back, the sounds of her ragged breathing loud in the cabin, but he didn’t see any blood. He swallowed. When he’d heard those bloodcurdling screams a few moments ago, he’d feared he was too late. But no, he’d gotten here in time.

“Dillon,” she whispered, her voice breaking. It cracked his heart in two.

“You okay?” he asked, sliding his weapon into the back of his waistband before crossing to the bed and starting on the knots.

“Y-yes.”

Damn, they were tied too tightly for him to untie them. He left her to rifle through Diego’s infamous toolbox and dug out his KA-BAR knife. “Don’t move. This is razor sharp.”

As he leaned over her, his stomach rolled at the way she stared up at him. Fear and hope. Dillon looked away and got busy. He wouldn’t cut or torture her when the time came, but he would kill her all the same. He had to. Because when it came down to it, he wouldn’t die for anyone.

A few quick slices and he freed her wrists and ankles from the rusted iron frame.

“Come on,” he said quietly, looping one arm around her shoulders to pull her into a sitting position. She was shaking all over, from fear and shock.

“H-how did you f-find me?” she asked, allowing him to pull her to her feet. She swayed a moment, steadied herself with a hand on his shoulder. He couldn’t stand her touch, the guilt was too raw, so he backed up a step to put some distance between them.

“I saw them take you out front of your building and followed.” He’d lost them in traffic and missed the change in vehicle, but he’d had a gut feeling they would come here, to the place they were originally supposed to rendezvous at once Dillon had killed her. “We have to go.” The cops and whoever the DEA had dispatched to find her wouldn’t be far behind. He started for the door, urgency scraping along his nerve endings.

“W-where are we going?” She followed him outside, paused beside him as he surveyed the area to make sure they were still alone. He had minutes at most to make his getaway.

“Away from here.” He grasped her arm and started walking at a fast clip through the trees behind the cabin. The marina was eighty yards east. He had a boat waiting there. If he could reach it before the cops got here, then he had a shot.

He mentally flinched at the word, thinking of what he had to do. He’d keep Taylor with him as long as he needed to use her as a human shield.

He’d let her think everything was fine, that he was saving her. When they were away from shore and cruising along the water, he could put a bullet in her head without her ever knowing she was in danger, and toss her body overboard.

It had to be done. There was no other way for him to survive this and maintain his position within the cartel. This was a test, and one he could not afford to fail.

A shrill beep emitted from his phone. The motion detector. And when he checked the camera on his phone, his worst fears were confirmed. Cops and unmarked SUVs entering the marina.

Cursing under his breath, he grabbed Taylor’s hand and pulled her after him as he darted back through the trees. He’d set up a motion detector at the entrance to the marina earlier. It was the obvious choice for any law enforcement to begin the search of the area.

But Taylor dug in her heels. When he pulled harder, she wrenched her hand free and glared at him. “Dillon. What are you doing?”

“We need to get away. There’s a boat waiting. We have to get to it.”

She shook her head slowly and backed up a step. Panic spurted through him. He lunged for her and she jumped back, her eyes huge in her pale face.

“Just let me go,” she whispered, her entire body still, poised to flee.

He couldn’t let that happen. She was his only chance now.

“I can’t.” Or could he? It wasn’t too late. If he decided to run and start over elsewhere, leave the cartel and his old life behind, he wouldn’t have to kill her. He could let her go.

His pulse thudded in his throat as he stared at her.

“Yes, you can. You don’t have to do this.”

Maybe I don’t. But he couldn’t afford to let her know that.

Steeling himself, he pulled out his weapon and aimed it at her face. “Yes, I do.”