But it fucking did.
Actually, the only thing that mattered right this second was getting her away from Arturo, who was standing there with his mouth ajar and his dick in his hand.
“Iliana.” He gestured at Arturo. “Finish him.”
She crooked a finger, and Arturo followed her into the front room. As she pushed him onto a mattress, Tiago didn’t miss the suspicious look she flung in his direction.
Yeah, something was definitely off with him. He never reacted on impulse or emotion. Everything in his life was studied, rehearsed, designed with patience and purpose, and meticulously positioned to prevent undesirable outcomes.
Except this.
Kate lay on the table, motionless, watchful, her face pale and soaked with tears. Long golden hair rippled around her head, and full lips bowed downward, conveying all the ways she wanted him dead. As her steely glare held fast to his, he reminded himself to breathe.
She was the fiercest, most exquisite creature he’d ever laid eyes on, and she was his.
His prisoner.
His property.
His only source of light, glowing through a crack in the coffin of a twelve-year purgatory.
Grunting sounds drifted from the front room, breaking his trance. He fished the finger blade from his pocket and tackled the rope on Kate’s arms and legs.
The instant she was cut loose, he tossed her over his shoulder.
There was no reason to carry her. But he was operating on instinct, and for the life of him, he couldn’t stop.
He left the kitchen, took the stairs, her warm body draped over his as he navigated each step and turn. Her sweet natural scent was so pervasive his skin heated, and he quickened his pace, speeding toward a delirious unknown.
Every movement was unpracticed, every step uncharted. He had no strategy, no agenda but one.
Claim her.
Blood rushed to his cock, making him thicker, hungrier, more impulsive. He charged straight to his room. Shut the door behind him. Locked it. Carried her to his bed.
The second her feet found purchase on the mattress, she attacked.
In a whirlwind of fangs and claws, she went for the wounds on his head.
Knocking her arms away was easy. Sweeping her legs out from under her and dropping her onto the bed with a knee on her chest took less than a heartbeat.
Her eyes illuminated with blue fire, signaling her next move before she swung a balled fist toward his groin. Even with the warning, that bony-knuckled punch required him to jerk back. She missed but kept coming, flinging herself at his chest with a glorious, bloodthirsty expression on her face.
He caught her, rolled them onto the mattress, and landed with her on her back and his weight pinning her down. But she wasn’t finished.
With a battle cry, she reared back an arm, and for reasons unknown, he let her have the hit.
Her fist skidded across his jaw and mouth. He tasted blood, a kiss of pain, and grinned. “That’s the only one I’ll give you.”
“I hate you.” She bucked and thrashed underneath him.
“I’d question your sanity if you didn’t.”
With the rope still tied to her wrists, he secured the ends to the cast iron pipe on the wall. She held her murderous rage behind clenched teeth until he finished restraining both arms above her head.
“You’re a heartless kidnapper,” she spat.
“Can’t argue with the evidence.”
“You’re a murderer.”
“Yes.” He put his face in hers and smiled a humorless smile. “I’m the reason people lock their doors at night.”
She took a breath, one that seemed to go all the way through her, and released it. “What are you going to do to me?”
“Everything you’re dreading and more.” He pushed off the bed and unbuttoned the cuffs of his sleeves.
A tear slipped from her eye, but she didn’t sob or beg for mercy. She simply glared, and in that single chilling look, he knew she was his perfect match.
Bending at the waist, he removed his boots while letting his gaze travel along the porcelain skin of her thighs, the dramatic tuck of her waist, and the delicate curves of her small breasts. His hunger for her was sharp and sick.
She looked like an angel, her body too pure and ethereal to touch. But she wasn’t innocent. Even though Van Quiso hadn’t fucked her, he’d put her through weeks of hands-on training. She probably learned techniques Tiago didn’t even know existed.
“Explain something to me.” He removed his socks, his shirt, and stared down at her. “How are you still a virgin?”
“I’m not.”
“Lie to me again and there will be consequences.” He unlatched his belt.
Her eyes flashed, and a huff gusted past her lips. “Van couldn’t rape me. The slave buyer paid for a virgin.”
“That was four years ago. Since then, you’ve been free to spread your legs for any man you desire.” Cocking his head, he absorbed her blinding beauty, savored every detail, utterly gobsmacked. “You lived with five hard dicks, and none of them fucked you.”