Chapter 13

13

Bea

B ea’s mind reeled. She’d learned early on not to trust anyone. Hell, she hadn’t even trusted her own father. She’d loved him, and she’d always known he loved her, in his own way. He’d sent her away to keep her safe, and maybe because he didn’t want her tainted by his choices. So yes, she’d loved him, but she’d never fully trusted him. Then after her father’s death, there’d been no one to trust.

Her uncle had role-played the role of the grieving brother, the man willing to step up to the plate and become a father figure to his niece. He’d played it so perfectly it had been some time before she’d even stopped to wonder.

By then, there’d been nobody left around her. Her uncle had already moved them across the country and dismissed anybody from the original staff who might have become her friend or confidant.

So no, nobody could ever accuse her of trusting easily. And yet, in a matter of days, she’d come to trust the man in front of her.

Rogue.

Even his name sent tingles down her spine. Tingles of a kind she’d never felt before.

Suddenly, he tightened his hold on her wrist and jerked her hands back behind her body, pulling her front flush against him. Two strong tugs, and then she couldn’t move her wrists apart. He’s tied them with something.

“What—”

“I’m sorry,” he said in a low voice. He seemed to be trying to tell her something with his eyes. Those beautiful, deep gray eyes. It looked a lot like trust me , but then, what did she know, about men or about trust. He didn’t give her a chance to say anything else. His open palm hit the side of her face, hard enough to turn her cheek sideways.

Bea whimpered. Her first instinct was to make herself smaller, to shrink into herself. Her eyes filled with tears, not at the physical pain—the slap was more noisy than painful—but at the fear it elicited inside her.

For the last two years, she’d lived under constant fear of bodily harm. Her uncle had starved her, belittled her, and had found so many ways to ensure her cooperation, to keep her small. And while he’d never struck her, she’d seen him hit other people, always wondering when it would be her turn.

And now, to think that Rogue would?—

It didn’t compute. It didn’t compute with anything she knew of the man, with the care he’d taken with her, with?—

It doesn’t make sense because it’s not true.

Rogue roared something at her. At first, she couldn’t hear his words, couldn’t hear anything beyond the ringing in her own ears. You’re in shock. You need to pull yourself together.

Bea concentrated on the spot on her back where his large hand gripped her wrists. There was no pain, just a feeling of warmth. As she pondered that fact, the ringing finally died off enough for her to make out his words.

“You bitch,” he spat out, his Australian accent stretching the i sound further than she’d ever heard it before, his voice loud enough that she could hear him beyond the roaring of the quad engines. “I would have been long gone if it hadn’t been for you.” There was a roaring sound to their left, which cut off as three quads stopped in the clearing.

Her uncle jumped off the back of the first quad. He signaled for his men to surround them and stared at them with a cruel, pinched expression. Bea dragged in a sharp breath. Aguilar stepped away from his own quad. He stalked towards them, his steps quiet, moving like the hunter he was.

Rogue’s mouth opened in a comical expression of surprise.

The world had tipped on its edge, and Bea’s mind struggled to make sense of the new position.

Why is he surprised? He heard them coming long before I did.

Then she realized he wasn’t surprised at all.

Rogue released her and took a step back, hands up in surrender, an instant before Aguilar and another man fell on him, taking him down.

“ ?Mi flor! ” Uncle Emiliano shouted, rushing to her side.

“I’m sorry!” Rogue yelled, his voice rising in pitch. “I’m sorry I took her! It was a mistake.”

“A mistake indeed,” Aguilar said woodenly.

“I swear I didn’t hurt her,” Rogue said, and she’d never heard this begging tone from him before.

Hurt her … it took Bea a second to understand what was going on. Her stomach fell as she finally put two and two together. He’s acting out a role. He wants them to think he took me against my will.

Aguilar kicked Rogue’s ribs, hard enough to force him to the ground, then proceeded to kick him three, four, five times more. What was even worse was the way Rogue made no noise, beyond the sound of air leaving his lungs.

Her uncle cut through the rope binding her wrists together. Bea didn’t need to fake her tears that rushed to her eyes.

Please stop kicking him. She clenched her jaw to stop from screaming it out loud, knowing her concern would only make Aguilar kick him harder. She didn’t know how to stop them, but she had to do something , before they killed him.

“Please!” she begged, wrapping her arms around her uncle. Bile rose in her throat, but she pushed it down. “Take me home, Uncle. I want to go home.”

Aguilar continued kicking the fallen man, not even caring where he was striking, and by now Rogue wasn’t moving anymore. But her words succeeded in distracting her uncle, at least. His thick arms tightening around her body like a boa constrictor. He smelled of cigar smoke, the same kind of cigars her father had smoked when she was little. A wave of nostalgia hit her, followed quickly by a wave of revulsion. This wasn’t her father. This was the man who’d been willing to trade her.

Then Aguilar was there as well. Her uncle pulled back to make space for him. Bea held back a shiver of revulsion as Aguilar cleaned her tears with the thick pads of his fingers, his touch almost tender, before he pulled those same fingers to his mouth, his tongue coming out to taste her tears.

“ Querida Beatriz, even your tears taste innocent,” he rasped, licking his fingers. Bea was glad she hadn’t had much to eat that evening.

Her uncle glared at Rogue’s immobile form. “If he hurt you …”

Aguilar’s hands stopped their gentle caress and tightened painfully around her jaw. “ Did he hurt you, Beatriz? Are you still innocent?”

“You’d better still be innocent, querida , or I’ll make him eat his rabo before he dies.”

The drug dealer’s fingers pressed harder against her jaw and neck. Tears of pain filled her eyes, and she didn’t try to stop them. She addressed her uncle, instead.

“He didn’t touch me, Uncle Emiliano.” Regardless of what happened, she was going to hold on to the story that Rogue had paid so dearly to build.