Unshackle (Deliver #7) - Pam Godwin Page 0,14
several paces ahead of his long-legged gait. He allowed it a few times, because hey, he was a guy, and the view of her ass didn’t suck. But each time she lengthened her strides, deliberately shoving distance between them, he didn’t know whether to be annoyed or pleased.
He affected her. Why? Was it fear? Unwanted attraction? Or something else?
“I make you nervous.” He strolled along, hands folded at his back, listening to Tomas’ footsteps behind him.
“I don’t know why you would think that. Turn here.”
He stepped into another breezeway. “Your body language writhes with discomfort.”
“I do not writhe.”
“Pity.” He trailed her into a connecting building, separate from the main compound.
“Do you analyze everyone you meet?”
“Yes.”
She paused in a large foyer with shiny tiles and no furniture. No windows. Just a bay of double metal doors and a key reader.
With a swipe of her card, the elevator opened. They took it down one floor—the only option—and stepped into a dimly lit underground corridor. It led back toward the estate, ending somewhere beneath the guest quarters.
He was instantly aware of how different the ambiance felt down here. The floors, walls, ceiling—everything was drab concrete. No paint. No decor or embellishments. It reeked of gloom and cold imprisonment.
Like a dungeon.
His palms slicked with sweat. Cameras hung from the corners, always watching, so he quelled the urge to look at Tomas.
Relaxing into his apathetic mask, he measured his breaths and followed Vera through the tunnel.
A steel door greeted them at the end. Another card reader. Only those with access could enter. And exit.
“Do you bring all your guests down here?” He leaned a shoulder against the wall.
“Yes.” She glanced at him sidelong. “We prefer to do it on the day of their departure.”
Like a souvenir shop at the end of a tourist attraction. After they admired the art and enjoyed the rides, they took a walk through the shop and purchased a parting keepsake. A memento in the form of a sex slave.
“You haven’t tried very hard to spruce up this part of the attraction. That’s intentional, isn’t it? If a man can’t handle a walk down a crude hallway, he won’t be able to deal with what waits on the other side of that door.”
“You seem to be coping just fine.”
“I appreciate beauty in its rawest form. Unrefined. Wild. When you strip away the savagery of nature, polish it up, and make it behave, it loses its appeal.”
“You say that while looking rather polished and well-behaved in your dapper suit.”
“I assure you, Vera, I’m unapologetically primitive beneath the threads.” He leaned in. “Open the door.”
Her lips parted on a soft intake of air, her gaze fixed on his.
He’d give anything to know her thoughts, her secrets. Christ, if he just knew the coordinates of this rotten place, he would make an excuse to leave. They would blindfold him and transport him back to the hangar, where he could call in his team and tell them where to attack.
But if he had to guess, not even Vera knew how to find her way back to this corner of hell.
She opened the door.
The din of a television reached his ears, playing a commercial with a catchy jingle in Spanish. Otherwise, the room within lay quiet. The sort of eerie quiet that sent a chill along his scalp, at odds with that happy jingle.
He didn’t want to enter, but he forced his feet forward, grateful for Tomas at his back.
The space was vast and empty, except for an old couch in the corner and a hard-looking man perched upon it. A small flat-screen TV hung lopsided on the wall, holding the man’s attention.
He didn’t even spare a glance at Vera as she strode past and poked her head into a dark doorway.
“Marco?” She jumped back. “Oh! There you are.”
A tall man emerged from the shadowed depths, his brown eyes instantly locking onto Luke.
Splatters of blood stained his collared shirt. That would’ve been disturbing on its own, yet everything about Hector’s oldest son radiated violence, from his menacing stare and tense jaw to his hard-set shoulders and wordless greeting.
“This is John Smith and his assistant.” Vera gave them a nod. “He’s ready to make a purchase.”
“Are you leaving tonight?” Marco spoke around the cigarette dangling from his lips, his accent straight out of Mexico.
“Just looking.” Luke ambled forward, speaking confidently through the lie. “If you don’t have what I want, then yes. I’m leaving tonight.”
“You don’t enjoy the accommodations? Not having a good time?”
Oh, how he wanted