“It’s just . . .” I swallow hard. “Hudson’s not right in the head. I don’t think I could deal with two months with him. I lived through two months in the brothel, but I don’t think I could do it with him. If you can’t come get me, I’ll figure out a way—”

“A way to what?” Daniel’s voice is harsh.

“To make them shoot me,” I say. But my voice is very small in the face of his anger.

“No,” he growls, and he grabs my chin in his hand and forces me to look at him when I avert my eyes. “You think I won’t come after you? You think I’d let that fucker touch one hair on your head while I’ve still got breath in my body? You don’t do anything but what we outlined in the plan, Regan, because I swear I will fucking come and rescue you like some goddamn knight in shining armor. And you don’t believe otherwise until they roll my dead body at your feet, all right? Because the thought of you killing yourself because you don’t have any hope left eats at my fucking gut, and I’m not going to be able to let you go in there if that’s even on the table.”

“All right,” I tell him softly. “All right.”

“It’s not all right.” There’s a fierce possessiveness in his eyes as he pulls me close and begins to press feverish kisses to my skin. “You’re mine, Regan Porter. You don’t get to decide if you die or not. Because if you do, you’re destroying me, too.”

“It was just a suggestion,” I say and drag my fingers through his messy hair. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

But there I go, lying to myself again.

Twenty-three

Regan

IN THE MORNING , I’VE BEEN trussed up like the present I’m supposed to be. One of the ladies in the favela took me aside and gave me a white shift to wear that’s practically see-through. Underneath, I’m wearing a white lacy panty and bra set. I don’t know how they managed to get these things in such a short period of time, but Mendoza’s people are incredibly efficient. Once I’m dressed, the woman curls my hair, fixes my makeup, and then works a GPS tracker the size of a pearl into the seam of my bra cup. It’s utterly invisible, but I can feel it there, and it makes me anxious. I wish I had my gun, but I’m not allowed that. I’m not even allowed shoes.

When I head out to the car, Mendoza, several of his men, and Vasily Petrovich are waiting. They’re all armed to the teeth. Daniel is crouching on the ground, raking a hand through his hair over and over again, and he gets to his feet at the sight of me. He approaches, a dark expression on his face.

“How do I look?” I keep my voice light so he doesn’t know how scared I am.

“Like a fighter,” Daniel tells me grimly. His hand brushes down my arm, and he keeps looking me over, as if making sure that I’m still okay.

I force a smile to my face. “That’s not the object here, Daniel. I’m supposed to look sexy.”

“Regan,” he tells me and grabs the back of my neck, dragging me against him. My breasts mash against his tactical vest that is studded with weapons. While I’ve been getting ready, he has, too. “Look, just because we’re sending you in there doesn’t mean that you have to do whatever that sadistic bastard wants, okay? You fight him if he touches you.”

I shake my head. “Daniel, you know that I can’t. I was sent to Gomes because he wanted me obedient. If I’m not obedient, he’s not going to keep me around.”

“I don’t care,” Daniel grits out, and his voice is hoarse with barely contained rage. He presses his forehead to mine. “I’m not sending you in to get hurt. I can’t take that—”

I silence him with a kiss that’s going to ruin my lip gloss. It’s a quick one, but I love the feel of Daniel’s mouth on mine. “I know,” I breathe against his mouth when I pull away. “Daniel, I love you. I trust you. You’ll come and get me. I know you will.”

The look he gives me is tormented. “Regan—”

“And when you do,” I murmur against his mouth, wishing I had time to kiss him properly, “we’re going to go find that private island of yours, and you can spend all the time you want oiling me up. I promise.”

“Damn it, fighter. Don’t give me a boner right now.”

I giggle.

“Time to go,” Vasily says in a flat voice behind us. For a moment, my laughing, cocky, devil-may-care Daniel looks murderous. But he releases me with another quick kiss pressed to my brow.

Gomes’ car is out front, and it’s a flashy low-rider with a cherry red paint job. Yeah, we’ll be noticed. Gomes is sitting behind the front wheel, and he’s sweating with terror. “We can trust him?”

Mendoza opens his hand, revealing a small vial. “He’s poisoned, and I am the only one with the antidote. He’ll be watched. Any sign of betrayal and this goes down the drain.”

“Creative,” I murmur. Another bead of sweat rolls down Gomes’ nose while I watch.

Vasily hands me something. It’s a birthday card. I snort and tuck the envelope against me. “Should I, you know, do anything if it’s all going to hell? Do I need a back-up plan?”

“No,” Daniel says flatly. “It doesn’t matter because I’m coming after you either way.”

I smile at that. “Deal.”

We test the tracker to make sure it’s working, and then there’s no more time to stall. I take in a deep breath, get into the back of the car, and Gomes turns out of the compound.

I clutch the envelope in trembling fingers, watching the streets and alternately watching Gomes as we make our way through the favela. He’s sweating like crazy, and I’m worried it’s going to give something away. This has to work, though. It has to.

All too soon, I see the familiar compound rising in the distance. I quell the panic rising inside me. I can do this. I can do this. Naomi, I think. Naomi and a hacker. I need both of them. Actually, all I care about is Naomi, but if Hudson is holding someone else against his will, I want to save that man, too.

Gomes pulls up to the gate sideways, my door facing the massive gate. Two soldiers approach, guns in hand. “Time for you to get out,” Gomes says to me in a trembling voice.

“I’m going,” I say quietly and open the door.

One man trains his gun on me while the other approaches, and my heart stops. My hand is shaking as I hold out the birthday card. I say nothing.

The man takes the birthday card and looks over at Gomes. Then, he nods and eyes me. He says something to me in Portuguese—a question.

I panic. “I . . . I don’t know,” I say, my voice small, and I cringe when he repeats it again. It’s not hard to act scared in front of these men. I’m terrified.

He says something again and then begins to pat me down roughly, taking his time squeezing my ass and breasts. I cringe and endure his touch, my eyes closed, horrible memories flashing through my mind again. I can do this. I can do this.

Naomi, I repeat to myself. I must save Naomi.

The man slaps my ass and laughs when I jump, then hands the card back to me. He gestures me forward, and the gate opens. Only then do I realize I hear party music.

Of course. It’s his birthday party.

The guard leads me in, and I stare in amazement as people swirl around us. There are balloons and people in suits and girls in bikinis everywhere. And guns. Everywhere, there are guns and armed men. It’s a weird contrast to see someone holding an assault rifle and standing next to the punch bowl, but there it is.

And at a table under an umbrella near the pool, sits Mr. Freeze. He’s a sliver of ice amongst the sea of color, and I feel my stomach churn in fright at the sight of him.

The guard leads me right to him, and all eyes turn in our direction.

Oh God, I feel so utterly conspicuous. Do they know I’ve got the tracker? Oh God. Oh God.

Hudson gets to his feet, his pale hair gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. His suit is a pale, pale blue that almost seems white, and his tie the same color. His sunglasses are the only splash of color anywhere. He says something to his guard that I don’t understand and then both look at me.

With a shaking hand, I hold out the birthday card, my head bent.

Hudson takes the card, flips it open and reads it, then tosses it aside. He steps closer, and his hand brushes my cheek. Even his fingers are cold. It takes everything I have not to flinch away, but I keep my gaze downcast.

“So, little biter,” he says to me. “Are you ready to be mine now?”

“Yes, master,” I say. I hate the words. Hate them. He’s not my master.

He tucks a finger under my chin and tilts my head back, examining my face. My eyelashes flutter and I keep my gaze down and let a shiver or two in so he knows that I’m afraid.

After a moment, he grunts approval. “And have you learned the games I like?”

Games?

Panic flashes through me. Games? What games? Gomes was supposed to teach me games? What kind of sick games does this man like?

My response must show on my face. He tsks and turns to his table, saying something in a pleasant voice. Then, he gestures at his guard. “Take her to my room. Make her ready.”

The guard grabs me by the elbow, and before I can ask what he means, I’m dragged inside the house. I get a glimpse of a mansion filled with potted plants and pretty tiled floors as I’m dragged through, and then I’m heading up a set of stairs and down a hall. Passing several more doors, I’m brought into a bedroom.

The guard heads right on in through the bedroom and to a door at the back of the room.

“Where are we going?” I stammer. “Hello?”

The guard doesn’t answer me. Instead, he flings the door to the closet open.