There’s no clock in his bedroom. Time turns into my enemy. Minutes fade to hours as I sit and watch the sun creeping slowly across a crystal-blue skyline from behind six locked windows and a pair of sliding doors that refuse to open no matter how hard I rattle them. I’ve counted every pane of glass and every chip in every frame more times than I can remember. These are the delicate bars of my prison cell but his threats are the ones that really hold me captive.

Another interminable, tear-stained night gives way to another hopeless dawn and soon the sinking sun is setting fire to an unfamiliar horizon again. I spend my incarceration searching for clues of where in the world I might be. The heat and humidity suggest somewhere off the coast of Africa. The plush palm trees and cerulean sea remind me of a travel advert I once saw on the subway in New York. But this is not a paradise. I’m a prisoner, kept here at the whim of a man with no kindness or conscience.

Three times a day the lock turns and a young Hispanic woman with shoulder-length, copper-colored hair delivers a tray of food to me. She keeps her eyes fixed on the floor. There’s never a flicker of interest my way. I’ve tried speaking to her, asking for my captor and then demanding to talk to him, but she shakes her head each time as if she doesn’t understand my words.

The food she brings is bland and simple – bread, water, a vegetable broth and the occasional piece of fruit. He doesn’t want me to starve but he’s tightening his grip on me just the same. I’ve been given no clothes to wear, I have only this bed sheet. He’s humiliating me. His message is simple yet effective. If he’s denied the pleasure of my body then I will suffer the cost.

There are no books to read, no TV set. There’s nothing to pass the time except my thoughts. But that’s the point… I see that now. He’s left me to rot away in this cage with nothing but my imagination running wild. It’s a taste of what my brother must have felt during the last few agonizing days of his life, locked inside the prison of his mind whilst his body was wasting away in front of us.

The tears come hard and fast when I think about my parents. If they survived the hospital explosions do they think me dead? This crucifies me more than anything else. The ugly scars from my brother’s passing are still etched upon their hearts. I doubt they’ll recover if they’re forced to bury both of their children. This thought alone strengthens my resolve. I will get out of here alive. I will see them again.

I think about my captor frequently too, more often than I’d like. He’s a foreigner but there’s something so American about him. His English is excellent, his accent flawless. Has he lived in my homeland? I know his name but I refuse to call him that, even to myself. I want to dehumanize him as much as possible because it makes him easier to hate. But who is he, my beautiful tormentor? There are no clues hidden in this room. The white walls are devoid of his personality. There are no picture frames or photographs, the furniture is sparse and functional and the walk-in wardrobe is empty of all his clothes. There’s not even an old t-shirt to wrap myself up in.

I replay the events of the last few days over and over in my mind. This man walked into a hospital with every intention of killing my father – a DEA special agent. Surely that makes him some kind of an assassin? At least that would explain his military training, but it also makes him an employee for the cartels. Who else would want my father dead? My heart begins to pound. Was my hunch right? Did my dad get too close to the Santiago brothers? Is this man working directly for them?

That night I lie awake piecing together everything that I’ve learned about the cartel in the last few years. Two brothers from South America. No first names. No recognizable faces. Billionaire criminals who manipulate the narcotics game from the shadows. Master puppeteers who control the strings of this whole business. Does my captor hold the key to uncovering their true identities? Is this my chance to get close and expose them as the immoral, murdering sons of bitches that they are?

I make my decision then and there. I’ll give him what he wants. I’ll keep my mouth shut and my legs open. I’ll whore myself to this man, I’ll make him trust me, and then I’ll bring every single one of those bastards down.

I’m not doing it for myself. I’m doing it for my brother.

I sense him even before I’m fully awake. He’s sitting in that chair again wearing black jeans and a t-shirt, a dark and a dangerous juxtaposition to the lightness of his bedroom.

Watching.

Waiting.

I ignore him for as long as I dare, putting off the barrage of heartache that’s coming my way. I’ve spent the last two days demonizing this man, believing he’s nothing but a savage with no redeeming qualities whatsoever, but now that’s he here, smelling like he does, looking so damn sexy sprawled out across that chair, my feelings are swinging from hate to lust again.

“I know you’re awake, mi alma.” He sounds amused.

“If I keep my eyes shut then it’s easier to pretend you’re a bad dream.”

As I say it I deliberately turn my back on him. He likes it when I challenge him. It turns him on. I can see his erection whenever I reveal the sparks behind my eyes. As expected, he exhales with a hiss.

“I see… my angel wants to play.”

“Not with you. Never with you.”

I tense and wait for the sheet to be ripped from my body again.

“Then I’ll save that pleasure for later. Have a drink with me first.”

It’s more a statement than a question. He circles the bed and parts the mosquito net in front of my face to show me the bottle of wine in his hand. Taking my stunned silence as approval, he drops the net and I hear the sounds of liquid being poured into a glass.

“Come,” he orders, taking a key from his jeans pocket and walking over to the sliding glass doors with two full glasses of red wine in his hand, the same glass doors that he’s kept me locked behind like an animal for the past few days.

Holding fast to my plan, I rise from the bed, knotting the white sheet above my breasts, and follow him outside. As soon as I cross the threshold my eyelids flutter shut and I gulp in great mouthfuls of the salty sea air, relishing the silky sensation of the night on my skin. It’s a blessed reprieve from my cage, no matter how temporary, and it’s a grave mistake on his part. I’m feeling stronger suddenly, bolder and more determined than ever to get the hell out of here alive.

He hands me a glass of wine and I accept it without thanks. He can take what he wants from me but he still doesn’t deserve my manners. I don’t bother to tell him I don’t drink, that it’s just a prop for this part he’s making me play.

I move to the edge of the balcony. I’m overlooking a small beach carpeted with the finest, palest sand I’ve ever seen. I shoot a quick glance at the drop on the other side. I reckon I could make it without too many broken bones. My captor follows my gaze and laughs.

“Oh I wouldn’t bother. You’ll soon find your options are limited.”

My cheeks flush, more from anger than embarrassment. For a fleeting moment I consider the unthinkable, of taking my chances in the wilderness instead of spending another second here with him but I’m losing focus. That’s when I see my brother’s face before me. He’s teasing me for being so serious all the time, for being the good girl, for following the rules, for living my life so far from the parameters of reckless that I barely exist.

“We’re celebrating,” I hear him say, holding his glass up to mine. There’s a sharp clink as they collide, more his doing than mine. His eyes are gleaming and there’s a crude, primitive look on his face. I’ve seen it once before with my father after he returned home from hunting. He’s a predator fresh from the kill. Wherever he’s been for the last few days have proved rewarding for him and he wants me to applaud his success.

“Your parents are alive,” he declares, watching my reaction carefully. “Your father’s awake and your mother escaped with minor cuts and bruises. I sent someone to check on them so raise your glass to me, my angel,” he adds with a slight edge to his voice. “It’s time to loosen up a little.”

I stare at him, my mind racing.

“To irritations, big and small,” he continues with a curl of his lips. He drinks deeply, never once taking his eyes off me.

“Let me go to them,” I say quietly. “Let me see for myself.”

A dark expression sweeps across his face. He expected gratitude from me, not more conflict. “You wanted to know if they’re still alive. Isn’t this the information you’ve been pining for? Forget them, mi alma,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “They’ll learn to forget you too soon enough.” He drains his drink and pours himself another.

“I will never forget my parents and they will never forget me,” I say angrily, heat coursing like molten larva through my veins. “How dare you try and dismiss them from my life. What gives you the right?”

“The right?” He has the audacity to laugh in my face. “Haven’t you already figured it out, my angel, or do you require another two days of nothing but bread, water and isolation? I dictate the rules in this world.”

“You won’t erase my family from my thoughts. I won’t let you!”

“Who says you have a choice?” he snarls, his mood turning, and he tosses his wine glass away. It smashes against the side of the balcony and he comes for me then. Tall, handsome, intimidating as hell. He grabs me by the back of my hair, tilting my chin upwards and ripping away my sheet at the same time.

“Did you think that throwing me tidbits of information would change things?” I cry, covering myself as best I can with my arms and hands. “You’ve kept me caged like an animal for two days with no clothes, barely any food… Go on then, fuck me. But you’ll never have my respect or my desire.”

He laughs again and shakes his head at me. “Then we’ll have to agree to disagree. Do you think I don’t feel the way your body quivers whenever I touch you, or how you moan ecstasy into my mouth when I play with you here.” He pinches my left nipple between his thumb and his forefinger and I wince in pain. “Your body betrays you time and time again, Eve Miller. But you’re right about one thing, I am going to fuck you.”

He grabs me by my wrist and drags me inside, ripping open the mosquito net and hurling me onto the four-poster bed. By the time I recover he’s already naked and climbing in next to me. I try to bolt to one side but he tips me onto my back and pins my body to the mattress with his hips.

“Stop!” I beg but there’s no real passion behind my plea. He’s right. Some messed-up part of me wants this as much as him.

He’s all I can see and smell. My senses are exploding from the heat and the length of him pressed so tightly against my bare skin and that beat is back, thrumming over and over between my legs. His erection lies heavy and thick between us as he starts to grind his body against mine, rubbing against the tip of my clitoris on purpose until I’m wet and shuddering. At the same time he wrenches my arms above my head and holds them there, kissing me hungrily, nipping at my lower lip with his teeth, demanding entry and then overwhelming my mouth with his tongue. Before I can stop them my legs are parting to increase the friction and I’m kissing him back with the same heat and intensity. There’s no gentleness today. That time has passed. He needs to claim me and I need to claim him back.

“Are you a virgin, my angel?” he murmurs and I shake my head. I watch his eyes narrow and darken. I’ve disappointed him with my reply, I’m not as pure as his endearment suggests.

There’s a new roughness to his touch now as if he’s punishing me for it. He releases my hands to work his mouth down my body, tasting every part of me, pausing to draw at my nipples, dividing his time equally until they’re both tender and sore. I’m cut adrift on a golden haze of sensations until I feel his breath between my legs. Startled, I try to twist away from him. It’s too intimate. Too soon. But he just forces them wider apart with his hands as his tongue follows an unflinching line right up through my folds before circling my clitoris. Retracing his route, he rims my opening and then slides his tongue inside me, his fingers moving higher to continue their pressure.

“Oh god!”

I’m writhing beneath him now, driving my heels into the mattress in a bid to control the chaos that’s threatening to devour me. I dig my fingers into his hair and arch my back in ecstasy as he continues his never-ending assault. My core is burning with a delicious fire and I can feel myself skidding closer and closer to that precipice… With a cry I come harder than I ever have before, grinding myself into his mouth as the waves of pleasure tear the breath from my lungs.

With a growl he returns to my lips, kissing me crudely, almost viciously, and giving me no time to recover. I can taste and smell my arousal on his lips. His stubble is smarting my cheeks.

“Give yourself to me,” he says harshly, settling himself between my thighs, his erection sliding easily over my opening. I’m so wet for him and he knows it. “You’re not fooling anyone with this charade, my angel. Do you want me or not?”

“Yes,” I gasp, giving in to my desire, pushing all thoughts of betrayal and shame aside. In response, he powers forward on his elbows, driving all the way into me with one single, brutal thrust. He’s as hard as stone and big – too big.

I scream out in pain and he freezes, hovering over me, my face imprisoned between his thick forearms, his dark eyes scorching into mine. A look of understanding passes between us that shocks me even more than the intensity of my orgasm. It’s the hint – a whisper – of a budding connection that goes way beyond this bedroom.

“Relax, Eve,” he soothes, swaying his hips from side to side, loosening my core and sliding in even deeper. “I’ll only hurt you if you don’t.”

“It’s too much,” I whimper, placing the palms of my hands against his chest.

Him, his touch, the strength of this desire for each other…

“You’re wrong, my angel. We’re only just getting started.”

Another look passes between us, and in that moment I believe every word he says.

Easing himself out of me, his next thrust is much less violent. Pain starts to intermingle with pleasure as he continues to move at this new, measured pace, acquainting our bodies and deliberately hitting a sweet spot deep inside me that’s flooding my core with need.

Over and over. His stamina never wavers. The raw heat of his skin is skimming across mine, creating a delectable friction and my stomach muscles are coiling again. He curses suddenly in that unfamiliar language and I’m tipped over the edge once more as I hear him groaning long and deep into my hair. There’s a sharp jerk of his hips as he comes too, his cock lengthening and thickening as he works his climax all the way into me.

Afterwards, he pauses briefly to rest his forehead against mine, intermingling the sweat from his brow with my own.

“I’m not done yet, mi alma.”

And before I can stop him he’s flipped me over onto my front and his cock is pushing up against my entrance again. My eyes flutter open in shock. Despite his orgasm he’s still rock-hard.

Positioning himself, he drives back into me pausing only once he’s deep inside to slide a warm palm under my stomach. He then urges my body backwards until I’m resting on my knees, still delectably full of him.

With my palms pressed tightly against the wall in front of me he starts to move, his powerful thrusts jolting my body forward over and over. There’s no preamble here. I’m under no illusions of what this is – cold, hard, fucking – but the skill and control in which he’s taking my body is fragmenting every negative thought. There’s nothing but the feel of him, the delicious smell. No one else exists but us.

Minutes… Hours… I have no idea how long he takes me like this but time will never be my enemy here, not when he’s driving me on through these constant waves of ecstasy. I lose count of the number of orgasms I have. Every nerve is screaming, aching; my breath is ragged and uneven. And still this relentless pounding…

My arms are tiring, I can barely support myself; my knees keep slipping out from under me and only his vice-like grip on my hips holds me steady. Then finally, when I don’t think my body can take anymore, he comes with a strangled groan, releasing his hot seed deep inside me.

Collapsing forward against the headboard, we stay locked together for ages, his breath lacing the skin at the nape of my neck, the air around us thick with sex and sweat, the room silent save the sound of our pounding hearts. There are no words, no adjectives, to describe the power of what has just happened. This man, this beautiful maleficent devil, has crashed headfirst into me and tilted my whole world on its axis.

His weight is beginning to crush me but I’m too weak to push him away. He seems to realize this. Sliding out of my body he guides me back down to the bed until I’m splayed out on my front with him lying on his side next to me. He tucks the sheet around my lower back and kisses my bare shoulder. He starts to say something but his words fuse with my exhaustion and I’m fast asleep before he finishes.

The next thing I know bright sunshine is streaming in through the closed windows and the bed is cold and empty again. I lift my aching head from the pillow and gaze in despair at the locked door. I gave myself completely to him last night but my situation has only worsened. Before yesterday he only held my body captive.

Now he has a grip on something else as well.