Jagger (Broken Doll Book 2) (7 page)

At the end of the hall was a set of stairs. We had to go down—it was the only way out. What we didn’t know was where the stairs led or what we would find at the bottom.

I sucked in a deep breath and descended one stair at a time, Cat practically on top of me as we went. At the bottom, I held my knife up high in case I would need it, and peeked around the corner.

Shit.

“It’s the kitchen,” I whispered to Cat.

Probably the busiest room in the house. Good thing was that most kitchens had exits to the outside. I checked again. Still empty.

“We have to go, Cat.” I saw her nod in my peripheral vision.

We stepped into the brightly lit kitchen. It took a second or two for my vision to adjust to the light. Once it did, I spotted a glass-paneled door across the room.

“There.” I pointed with the shard of mirror.

We hurried toward the door, my heart hammering in my chest and my pulse roaring in my ears. I twisted the knob and nothing happened.

“Shit, it’s locked.”

Men’s voices rattling in Spanish came from one of the nearby rooms.

“Unlock it, Miri!”

I looked at the knob and cursed. “I can’t, it needs a key.” My stomach lurched as the voices grew louder.

“Come on!” I ran for the doorway opposite the direction of the voices. We were in an enormous and richly appointed dining room.

The men entered the kitchen, continuing their conversation. Cabinets opened and closed as well as the refrigerator. One of the men laughed at something the other said and they bantered back and forth for several minutes, punctuated now and then by the sounds of chewing.

I wanted to scream. How could they act so normal when they were torturing and raping hostages? How could they eat a meal and chat as if this were a regular house in a regular neighborhood while Cat and I were regularly beaten and terrorized? While young women were moved in and out of the house like cattle?

At that moment, I wanted to kill them. I
needed
to kill them. I didn’t realize I took a step toward the kitchen until Cat hissed under her breath.

“Miri.”

I snapped out of my daze.

“Sorry. I’m just... forget it.” I shook off the anger and focused on getting out of here.

Cat stepped forward and peeked around a fancy pillar.

“The front door is right there.”

“How far?”

“Maybe forty feet? I don’t know. There’s a big foyer with a staircase and the front door.”

“No one is guarding the door?” I was glad, but not surprised. Again, El Cuchillo’s weakness was his sense of immortality. As if he were untouchable despite living in the dark and deadly world he chose to submerge himself in.

“No,” Cat said. She turned and faced me. “No matter what happens next, I want you to know I love you, Miri. You saved me from my stepdad and I’ll never forget that.”

“I’m sorry we ended up here, Cat.” I struggled to keep the tears at bay.

Cat shrugged. “We never seem to catch a break, do we?”

I sniffed quietly. “No. We don’t.”

She turned back to the door and motioned me forward. By the time we hit the foyer we were almost sprinting. Cat flung the door open and we bolted out into the night. Barefoot, with every single muscle in my body screaming in pain, I ran as fast as I could through the grass, Cat just in front of me.

I stepped on a rock and stumbled, but scrambled to my feet quickly. Not quick enough. An arm came around my waist and flung me to the ground, hard. My abused muscles screamed and the air whooshed out of my lungs as I hit the dirt.

I shrieked and closed my eyes, slashing out wildly with the shard of glass. It must have made contact with the guy because the glass dragged through something for a brief second before continuing its path through the air.

The man above me let out a choked gurgling and a cascade of hot liquid gushed down onto my face and neck. It was so thick I was rendered blind by the sheer amount of blood pouring out of him, unable to wipe it out of my eyes as fast as it fell. Dead, his body collapsed on top of mine. I shoved the heavy weight to the side, biting the inside of my cheek so I didn’t scream in agony from the fire that ripped through my battered ribcage.

Adrenaline was coursing through my veins at an unbelievable rate. Using the burst of power provided by the hormone, I summoned the energy to turn over and somehow managed to climb to my hands and knees, the shiny piece of mirror still clutched in my wrapped hand. I wiped my eyes with the back of the pillowcase around my hand until I was able to see enough of the dark landscape to keep going. With a grunt, I pushed to my feet and turned in the direction Cat and I originally ran.

I could only hope that Cat already made it to safety.

Not sparing a thought for the man I just killed, I took off for the road I could just about see in the distance. The red-hot agony tore through my calf a fraction of a second before I heard the gunshot. My leg collapsed and I went down face-first onto the unforgiving rocky landscape. This time, when my ribs slammed into the ground, I couldn’t stop from screaming in agony.

There was no time to recover or even look at my newest injury, which, by the feel of it, was only a bullet graze. A man was on top of me. He grabbed me by my hair and hauled me to my feet, or foot, as I couldn’t put much weight on my left leg. I struck out erratically with the mirror, swinging my arm in the hopes of striking something, anything.

“
Pinche puta
!” the man roared in my ear.

His arm curled around my throat and tightened, cutting off my air. I brought the glass up to stab his arm and cried out when he brought his other arm down on my wrist. Whoever this guy was hit with so much force, a jolt of breath-stealing pain shot all the way up to my shoulder and I dropped my weapon. The man began dragging me by my throat backwards toward the house.

Hell no!

I’d rather die than set foot in there again, so I kicked and struggled to get free. His arm tightened around my neck and the lack of oxygen extinguished my ability to fight. My vision became spotty and my limbs weak. As consciousness faded, I heard El Cuchillo growl in my ear.

“You will suffer for what you have done,
coño
.”

I hope he just gets it over with and kills me.

“
Y
ou’re sure about this
, Boss?”

I was about to break Milo’s nose. He had only asked the same fucking question twenty times since we left our meeting with Brick and his men. Milo didn’t trust Brick to watch our backs, which was to be expected from any good lieutenant. Caution was important in this line of work and enemies were never truly your friends. But then, Milo wasn’t privy to the details of my deal with Brick. Because of Milo’s bizarre and antagonistic behavior as of late, I chose to bring Shade into the private meeting as my second in command.

The look on Milo’s face when I picked the head of distribution over him was nothing short of pure loathing. I wasn’t sure when, exactly, my most trusted lieutenant went from a close confidant to a man I needed to keep at arm’s length. I wanted to say it coincided with Miri’s appearance in my life and her presence turned Milo sour, but it ran deeper than that. Milo’s hostility had grown exponentially ever since I turned down El Cuchillo’s offer to join him in trafficking kidnapped women and girls. Miri just happened to be a convenient outlet for his frustration.

This erratic behavior was exactly why Milo wasn’t let in on the details of tonight’s discussions with Brick or our plan to move on Los Guerreros.

“I know what I’m doing, Milo,” I answered as I studied the ridiculously out of place mansion through a pair of Bushnell night vision binoculars from a distant clump of tangled shrubs and stunted trees. The kind that grew like weeds in this part of Texas.

El Cuchillo’s men were spread out everywhere along the edges of the property, each wielding a bright flashlight. They were searching for something… or perhaps some
one
? Was it too much to hope Miri, who Brick confirmed was inside the house, had escaped?

My phone silently buzzed in my pocket. I pressed my earpiece to answer.

“Boss here,” I whispered.

“I have some information for you,” Brick stated calmly.

I waited for the man to elaborate. When nothing further came, I became impatient.

“And?”

“And I think you should come and see for yourself. I am at the location we previously discussed.” The line went dead.

“Fuck!” I hissed. I tapped the earpiece and turned to Shade and Milo, pointing. “You two stay here. Anyone comes close to you, kill them. Quietly.” I stared at Milo so he knew not to use that fucking hand cannon of his. “And try to leave one alive for questioning.” I shot them both dark looks and gave Shade an extra second to tip his head in understanding. He knew I was silently telling him to watch Milo carefully. Milo’s behavior and attitude were so unpredictable I didn’t want to take any chances my lieutenant might do something stupid and reckless to ruin the element of surprise.

“Got it, Boss,” Shade answered. Milo simply sneered as I handed him the Bushnells.

On foot, it would take a good forty minutes to circle halfway around the rough terrain comprising El Cuchillo’s nine hundred acres. There wasn’t enough time for that bullshit. I hopped in the car I left parked far enough from the compound to remain undetected, and with the headlights off, drove the entire one and a half miles of rocky, dirt road in less than five minutes. I stopped next to Brick’s massive black SUV and yanked the keys out of the ignition before leaping from the car and jogging over to a group of men. As I got closer, I noticed they were standing in a circle, watching a single man who was crouched over a body on the ground. My breath caught and I stumbled at the sight.

Is that Miri? is she dead?

Dread swamped my veins and my heart hammered in my ears. I forced one foot in front of the other until I stood at the edges of the tight circle comprised of Brick’s men. Peering over a guy’s shoulder, I glanced down at the figure, but it was too dark to make out any specific features. All I could tell was that whoever was on the ground was female—small and rail thin, with long hair fanned out on the rocky, uneven ground. In a panic, I elbowed my way between two of Brick’s men and fell to my knees. When I saw the girl’s face, all of the air punched out of my lungs.

Not Miri.
And not conscious either, so she wouldn’t be answering any questions at the moment.

“Who is this?” I demanded. When no one spoke I stood and scanned each bewildered face until my gaze landed on Brick. “Brick?”

The always calm and collected man motioned me over.

“She came out of the bushes over there.” Brick pointed a decent distance away. “Based on where she ended up, we think she ran out the front door. My men immediately brought her to me. But no red hair, my friend, so I knew right away she wasn’t your Miri.”

The reminder of Miri’s captivity was a slap to the face. I blinked back the hot rush of anguish, recovering fast enough to shelter my pain from Brick. “What did she say? Did you get anything out of her before she passed out?” I held my breath in the hope that this woman either knew of my doll or saw her inside. The most likely scenario was that she was one of Cuchillo’s captives for his new sex trafficking venture.

“Yes. She is tired, dehydrated, and quite confused, but she knows your woman.”

I swore my heart stopped beating for a second. “Wait. She… did you say she
knows
Miri?” Somehow I kept my voice from breaking. Honestly, I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep up the facade when inside, I had shattered into a thousand pieces, each one slicing my heart.

Brick nodded. “Quite well actually. From before all this.” Brick waved his hand in the direction of Cuchillo’s hideous, out of place, Spanish-style mansion, built in the middle of nowhere fucking Texas.

“I don’t understand. She knows Miri, like
knows
her?” The new information caused me to stagger back a step. I rubbed a hand across my forehead and dragged it down my face.

Brick shrugged. “The girl didn’t say much before she went down. She seems very thin and badly abused. Once she reached us, she dropped like a rock and we haven’t been able to rouse her. Before she fainted, she said she shared a room with Miri in the house, but also shared a room with her before.” He gave me a sympathetic look. “Whatever the hell
before
means. I got the impression it was a few years ago.” My breath hitched when I remembered Miri once mentioned a friend who went missing… a friend whose name I couldn’t for the life of me recall. Brick continued speaking while I was in the midst of a major mental struggle to dig out the memories. “The two women escaped but got separated outside. This one,” he pointed to the unconscious woman, “thinks Miri was caught and brought back inside.”

“We need our men to search the perimeter, check the ground. God, Miri could be passed out somewhere, injured… shit.” My voice got progressively louder and my words came tumbling out in a rush. Brick grabbed me by the shoulders and gave me a rough shake.

“Lower your voice,” he growled. “Unless you want Los Guerreros to know we’re here.” Scowling, I jerked out of his hold, but nodded in agreement. Of course he was right. It was imperative, now more than ever, that I remained calm. I was no good to Miri if I didn’t think every step through before taking action. Running on emotions would only get my people killed and further endanger Miri. “My men are searching, they are contacting your men to do the same,” Brick said.

“Good. Thank you for that.” I huffed out a relieved breath. “Now what?”

“Now, my friend, we wait to see if they find your woman anywhere on the grounds. If not, we go in.”

Brick was so casual, so calm, he made it sound as if it were no big deal to storm a rival boss’s home—a home filled with trained men and dozens of weapons—and grab my girl without everything going to shit.
Fuck
. My hands twitched, itching to do something, to
kill
someone, to make someone pay for Miri’s suffering and now on top of that, the suffering of her friend.

“I told my men to quietly kill anyone who comes close to the perimeter,” I said to Brick. “It will cut down on the number of armed men we have to go through to take the house.”

“I agree.” Brick snapped his fingers. “Eric?” One of the men in the huddle broke off and joined us. Tall with jet-black hair and massive muscles, I recognized the guy from the earlier meeting on neutral ground. He was Brick’s second in command, his underboss. “Let everyone know to quietly, and I mean quietly, take out any Los Guerreros that venture near the edge of the property. But not if it will alert anyone to our presence. And Eric, keep one or two alive for questioning.”

I grinned at Brick’s last order.

Great fucking minds think alike.

I woke to a dry, hoarse hacking fit that sent unending waves of pain across every single square inch of my body. My throat hurt and I could hardly swallow because that fucking bastard El Cuchillo choked me so hard… last night? Earlier today? I had no clue what time or day it was. The light in the room was low, but bright enough that it took a minute or two for my eyes to adjust. Once they did, all hope was extinguished like a dying flame.

I was back in the torture room. Not tied to the chair, though. No, this time, I was bound to a flat surface—a table or a bar top if I had to guess. I knew I should test my restraints to see if I could get out, but what was the point? I hardly had the strength to keep my eyes open, let alone break free of any kind of ties or chains. Instead, I closed my eyes and waited for everything to end. Preferably soon.

In the distance, I heard doors banging open and closed. Every once in a while, the eerie quiet was interrupted by quick bursts of guttural Spanish before it fell silent again. Something was happening. Something not related to my escape attempt, I just didn’t know what. The corner of my mouth pulled into a tiny smirk. Maybe Cat got away and they were freaking out over it. Maybe she was sending the police.

I immediately squelched that idea. There was no more room in my heart for hope. It had gotten me far, kept me going long enough to withstand the daily beatings, the rapes, and the horrific amount of pain inflicted. It helped me formulate a plan to escape, and hopefully, for Cat to get free. But I was done with hope. I was going to die here. It was merely a matter of how and when. The sooner I resigned myself to that fact, the easier it would be to let go—of Jag, of a future, of Cat, of a life that would never be.

A single tear trickled down my cheek. I wanted to wipe it away so my captors wouldn’t get the satisfaction of seeing me break down, but with both hands bound above my head and tied to something sturdy, the tear would have to remain where it was. I must have dozed off again because I didn’t realize anyone else was in the room until the hard slap landed on my face. Stars exploded behind my eyes and my teeth rattled from the force of the blow.

“Wake up,
puta
. It is time.”

El Cuchillo.

He slapped me again and my head snapped to the side, my brain rocking inside my skull.

Bastard.
I clenched my teeth and curled my hands into fists.

Not wanting him to see my fear, I kept my eyes squeezed shut in defiance. There might be no hope for me to get out of here, but I’d be damned if I was going down without a fight. He unleashed on me again, this time with his fists on my tender ribs. I yelped as fire spread from my side, making it difficult to breathe. Still I kept my eyes squeezed tight.

“I can keep this up all night, stupid cunt,” he growled.

When I ignored him again, El Cuchillo cursed under his breath. It was clear my lack of crying and pleading was getting to him. He was probably used to meek, cowering women, terrorized and huddled at his feet, begging for mercy. I huffed a dry laugh.

Meek and cowering? Not this girl. Not in a long time. Not since Jag brought me back from the brink of death.

“Raoul,
traerme mi cuchillo
.”

That got my attention. I stiffened and opened my eyes to glance over at Cuchillo, the one man I despised more than any other. The word
cuchillo
meant knife. I knew the translation simply because of Jag’s references to the sick bastard’s name. I asked and he explained the meaning behind the San Antonio drug lord’s title. Besides, the knife tattoo every single man in the house proudly wore on his forearm was pretty much a dead giveaway.

El Cuchillo was going to cut me. Apparently, he earned his name for a reason.

Chills shot down my spine. My raw, ragged throat tightened and my pulse roared in my foggy head. As much as I didn’t want to show weakness, I wasn’t sure I could remain strong if El Cuchillo began cutting me. Nerves attacked my stomach, twisting it into knots, nausea welling up fast. Terror caused me to tremble from head to toe. I was freezing, yet sweat collected between my shoulder blades, making the flat surface beneath my body slick.

My lip quivered when Raoul handed a long, shiny blade over my bound and prone figure to his boss’s outstretched hand. There was no doubt Cuchillo did it on purpose to instill fear in me. To allow the victim to see the deadly weapon before it was used on her flesh. To put gruesome visions in my head so my mind would break before he even got started.

He wanted me afraid.

He wanted me to beg.

He wanted me broken. Destroyed. Ruined.

All so he could film the horrors inflicted on me and send the video to Jag. To break the powerful Boss and bring him to his knees.

El Cuchillo was so wrong. Boss wouldn’t break. He would gather all of that rage and use it. He would bring his wrath down upon every single man in this house and then some. Jag wouldn’t stop until he had his bloody revenge.

The rust-skinned man with the dead, black eyes leaned over my face and grinned. He ran the back of the knife against his cheek, the metal scraping loudly on his unshaven face. Without saying a word, Cuchillo made several lightning quick slices and I gasped. The fabric covering my body slid away, leaving me bare.

“Raoul,
puedes irte
.”

Raoul slipped out of the room, leaving me alone with my worst nightmare.

“So much perfect, supple flesh,” he murmured. The creepy bastard dragged the tip of the blade from my collarbone, between my breasts, and down my abdomen. The pressure wasn’t enough to break the skin, but it was enough to scare me shitless.