Seconds later, she was wiped down and dressed in clean lounge pants and a t-shirt.
As he soaped up his neck and scrubbed the cut she’d inflicted, his gaze locked on hers in the mirror. There was something different about him. Something softer in the way he looked at her. It put her on edge.
When he clasped her hand to lead her out, she yanked free from his grip.
“Rylee.” He reached for her again, eyes hard.
“I’m not going to run.”
She walked out ahead of him and slammed into potent, eye-burning fumes of gasoline. The room had been doused in it.
“Where’s my ID? Clothes?” She spun in a circle.
“They grabbed it.” He caught her shoulders and pointed her toward the door.
With a hard swallow, she stepped around the covered corpse and into the dark parking lot.
Someone had killed the outside lights, but the moon was bloated and bright, illuminating a motorcycle, two SUVs, and two…four…seven human-shaped silhouettes.
The desert heat clung to the night air, but the atmosphere exuded a chill that seeped into her bones. All eyes turned to her, and she stumbled back as if she’d been shoved, crashing into Tommy’s broad chest.
“You’re safe.” He curled a hand around her hip and put his mouth at her ear. “You know them.”
Cole was easy to spot with his beard, leather jacket, and formidable lean against the motorcycle.
Next in line was a man with sloping shoulders, a stern expression, and red hair. That could only be Luke. Van stood beside him, gnawing on a toothpick.
Her heart thudded as she took in the others.
A Latina woman sat on the curb, cuddled in the arms of a man with dark blond hair and crystal blue eyes. Lucia and Tate? If they hadn’t been joined at the hip, she might not have guessed who they were. But Tommy’s emails often talked about how the two were never apart. He’d joked that they probably took their daily shits together.
Which brought her gaze to the imposing figure who stood away from the rest. Stubble shadowed a squared jaw and outlined sculpted lips. Dark hair, dark eyes, Hispanic features—all carved into the image of a shockingly attractive man. But his presence bespoke of something other. Something egregious, inhuman, and evil down to the morrow of his soul.
A shiver snaked through her, for she knew, without looking at the self-inflicted scars on his arms, that she was standing in the withering stare of one of the most ruthless crime lords in Venezuela.
In the name of all that’s holy, why is he here?
“I thought you…” Damn, her trembling voice. She cleared her throat. “You live on the other side of the world.”
“While I’m honored to make the cut into Tomas’ diary of angsty feelings, where I live is none of your goddamn concern, little girl.” He grinned, and it wasn’t a grin at all.
Her mouth went dry, and her pulse careened into hysteria.
“That’s enough, Tiago.” Tommy shifted her behind him and gripped her hand.
This time, she allowed it, squeezing tight to his fingers as he removed a set of keys from his pocket.
“If you let him intimidate you, he’ll never stop,” a woman spoke from the shadows of the SUVs. “He gets off on it.”
The striking image of the last silhouette emerged from the darkness, striding forward.
Dressed head to toe in black, she wore badass buckled boots, guns on her hips, and straight black hair to her waist. Slender limbs, all long and graceful, gave her the appearance of delicate femininity. But her bearing commanded attention. Her aura controlled the very air. Authority beamed from her glacial eyes.
Liv.
The queen of depravity and dominance.
She’d molded Tommy into the sexual deviant he was today, and Rylee felt an irrational stab of jealousy over that. But she was also wonderstruck, tongue-tied, and instantly enamored.
The scar that hooked across Liv’s cheek replicated Van’s in its appearance and story. And like Van’s, it only added to her allure. The woman looked like Kate Beckinsale of the underworld—all sexy power, intimidation, and seduction.
“We’ll talk in the car,” Liv said in greeting and plucked the keys from Tommy’s hand. “I’m driving.”
This was happening.
Surrounded by criminals, Rylee felt the shadows closing in, tingling her nape and smothering her chances of survival. What had she gotten herself into?
Too late to run. She was outnumbered eight to one.
Eight darkly corrupted felons had traveled all the way here because of her. Because she’d invaded their privacy and gotten herself mixed up in something terrible.
She would have to go with them, wherever that might be, and hope to God they weren’t plotting her death.
Tommy held onto her numb hand and led her to the SUV.
Behind her, someone struck a match, and the motel erupted in flames.
CHAPTER 19
In the darkness of the SUV, images of Rylee’s injuries worked through Tomas’ conscience. Something had struck her jaw with enough force to leave it swollen and red, and a nasty gash marred the length of her spine. Numerous marks cut and bruised her gorgeous flesh. But the other guy looked much worse.