“I don’t know yet. It’s about Lucia Dias.” As he passed the living room and kitchen, there were no signs of Liv’s teenage daughter. “Where’s Livana?”
“She’s at a friend’s house this weekend.” A sheen of perspiration slicked Josh’s nude back, his feet bare and hair mussed.
Christ, had he and Liv been fucking? With Kate here? Surely not. But they were into some kinky shit, and he was headed straight toward the master bedroom.
“Hey, uh…” Tate paused in the hallway, unwilling to be part of anything that involved Liv’s whips. “If I’m interrupting something…”
“I wouldn’t have been able to answer the door.” With a wink, Josh disappeared into the bedroom.
Wouldn’t have been able to because he would’ve been tied up. Literally.
Tate exhaled a sharp laugh. Of all the men Liv had captured and trained, Josh was the only true submissive.
Since Tate had spent ten weeks in her restraints, he was intimately familiar with her dominant nature. The whole Mistress thing was a total turnoff, but when she’d had him naked and chained to the wall, she found ways to arouse him, torturing his cock until he begged for release. Unlike Van, she never fucked him, but there had been times when she’d taken pity on him and relieved him with her hand.
He rubbed the back of his head and tried to clear the memories. Over the past six years, he and Liv had become good friends, and he rarely dwelled on those dark hours of his life. But he’d never been in her bedroom, and as he stepped into the room, his stomach cramped.
Josh knelt on the bed, messing with a chain that connected to the headboard. Liv stood behind him, directing the work. In the corner of the room, Kate was curled up in a chair, her gaze drifting to the doorway.
A toolbox sat open on the floor. A drill on the nightstand. A package of heavy-duty eyehooks on the bed. Hairline cracks splintered the frame of the headboard. If he looked closer, he’d find more hooks and bolts. Probably a hidden rig of chains. Maybe a ball gag and a cock ring. The usual.
That explained why Josh was shirtless and sweaty. He was fixing the bondage equipment he’d built into the frame, which clearly hadn’t held his powerful physique.
“You’re doing it wrong.” Liv parked her hands on her hips. “Stop.”
Goddamn, that commanding tone took Tate right back to the attic. His spine tingled with echoes of pain, the burning lashes of leather on his back, the skin-crawling feel of Van’s touch, and the fucking rules. Kneel. Eyes down. Bend. Suck.
The memories pissed him off, heating his face and clenching his fists.
Something moved in Tate’s periphery, and a moment later, Kate’s slender arms encircled his waist, her head tucking beneath his chin.
He pulled in a calming breath, ruffled her blond, baby-soft hair, and sent her back to the chair.
Liv smiled at him in greeting, and the scar that bisected her cheek pulled taut. The same scar that marred Van’s face. The matching lacerations served as permanent reminders that Van and Liv had suffered as much as Tate and the others before they escaped.
“Josh said you were here about Lucia?” she asked.
As Josh packed up the tools, Tate updated them on his search. They all knew he was looking for Camila’s sister. They just didn’t know the extent in which he’d gone with the private investigators and Cole Hartman.
“Cole found her, but I don’t know if she’s dead or alive. He said he’d come to me…” Tate glanced at his watch. “Anytime now.”
“He’ll come here?” Josh sat on the edge of the bed and pulled Liv onto his lap.
“Is that okay? I can leave.”
“Stay.” Liv hooked an arm around Josh’s shoulders. “If Van referred you to him, I trust him in my home.”
At the mention of Van, the room fell quiet. They’d all been there during Van’s reign of cruelty, but in the past few years, they’d watched him transform into something more human.
Still, there were things a person couldn’t forget.
While Josh and Kate had been forced to participate in intimate acts with Van, their buyers had demanded virgins, saving them from the worst of Van’s depravity. Tate and Liv hadn’t been so lucky. Ricky, Tomas, and his other roommates had likely been raped by Van as well, but they didn’t talk about it.
“Van seems hellbent on redeeming his transgressions,” Josh said, breaking the silence.
“Transgressions?” The whisper came from the chair in the corner. Kate shifted to the edge of the seat, gripping the armrests, her voice soft. “He’s a monster. There is no redemption for him.”
“Kate.” Liv’s cold tone cut like a whip. “I was a monster, too.”
“You saved us.” She pulled her knees to her chest and angled her face away.
“In the end,” Liv said, “he saved us in his own way. The money he gave—”
Tate shook his head at Liv. He knew Kate hadn’t touched her share of the six million. Despite his protests, she waited tables at a local diner in order to contribute to the household bills.
With a tug on Kate’s hair, he guided her out of the chair and toward the living room. There, he continued the conversation with Liv and Josh, outlining his speculation on Camila’s sister.
If Lucia had survived that crash, she would be thirty years old now. If she’d maintained a youthful appearance like Camila, she could still be valuable as a sex slave. She could still be alive.
Talking about it with his friends reignited the flame of hope he’d carried for so long. They didn’t ask him why he was so gung-ho about finding her. Maybe they knew. Hell, Van’s wife, Amber, had called him out for the way he looked at Camila. They all knew.
When a knock sounded on the door an hour later, he leapt to his feet, his heart hammering like a piston.
“I’ll get it.” Josh crossed the room and opened the door. “Can I help you?”
“Cole Hartman.” A tall silhouette hovered on the dark porch. “Tate’s expecting me.”
Josh stepped to the side and let him in.
“Is she alive?” Tate asked the instant Cole entered.
“Yes.”
Relief sang through his nerve endings and loosened his chest. Good fucking God, he didn’t realize how badly he needed to hear that. “Is she safe?”
Dressed in black denim and a wrinkled t-shirt, Cole looked like he hadn’t shaved or slept in days. As he slid a backpack off his shoulder, his expression was pensive. Solemn. “Take a seat.”
Not good. Not fucking good at all. She’d been missing for eleven years. Was she enslaved all this time? Beaten? Raped?
He shut the door on those thoughts and gathe
red his composure to make introductions. “This is Liv and—”
“I know who they are.” Cole gave the empty side of the couch a pointed look. “Sit down, Tate.”
Dread held him in place until Kate gripped his hand and pulled him down beside her, holding tight to his fingers. Josh settled in the side chair with Liv on his lap.
“She’s in Caracas.” Cole sat on the other side of Tate, removed a laptop from his backpack, and woke the screen.
“Venezuela.” Tate released a breath. “That isn’t that far away.”
Cole narrowed his eyes at him.
“What?” He straightened. “It could be worse, right? At least she’s not chained in a dog kennel on the other side of the world.” At Cole’s silence, Tate set his jaw. “Tell me she’s not in a dog kennel.”
“She’s not.”
Returning to the laptop, Cole opened a photo of a dingy alley with overflowing dumpsters, laundry on clothes lines, and bars on the windows. Sagging balconies hung from the buildings, and graffiti covered the brick walls.
“I shot this from the second-floor apartment I rented.” He pointed to a battered red door among a dozen others in the picture. “She lives in that one. Alone. In the largest slum in South America.” He glanced at Tate. “In the most dangerous city on the planet.”
“Why?” Tate had so many qualifiers for that question, he didn’t know where to start.
Why was she alone? Why did she live there? Why didn’t she come home? Why hadn’t his other investigators been able to find her? Every cell in his body buzzed with urgency to go to her, to get her the fuck out of that hellhole.
“Why is it the most dangerous city?” Josh asked. “Drugs? Cartel?”
“It’s the most weaponized city with the highest homicide rate. A gun for every two people, and a murder every twenty-one minutes. Street gangs and crime lords are in charge. There’s political corruption and drug trafficking, but those aren’t the only problems.”
“It’s the kidnap capital of the world,” Tate said quietly, recalling a headline he’d read somewhere.
“That’s right.” Cole flipped to a new image—another view of the slum with a huge iron gate dominating one side of the road, surrounded by armed guards in street clothes. “This compound is the main hideout for Tiago Badell, the man Lucia works for.”