made a soundless, obedient exit. He kept his eyes on Vera, watching for something, anything, that might betray her thoughts.
She met his gaze with an unreadable expression. Impenetrable brown eyes. The stare-off stretched for a few seconds too long. Then her lips parted. A flush rose on her neck. Lashes fluttered, and her gaze pulled down and to the side.
Submissive. Aroused. Yeah, she definitely found him attractive. If he snapped his fingers, would she lower to her knees and service his cock?
“That girl wouldn’t please me.” He lifted her chin with a knuckle, guiding her eyes to his. “She’s too young. Too…passive.”
“Noted.” She turned on her heels and exited the breezeway, stepping into the foyer of a connecting building.
He followed at a leisurely stroll, admiring the way her ass swayed. As Tomas trailed, Luke refrained from stealing another glance at his friend. Too many exchanged looks would invite suspicion from whomever monitored those cameras.
“Here we are.” She stopped at the first door and inserted a key card.
The lock buzzed open.
Subtle hostility stiffened her movements. Was she jealous of his interaction with the girl? Annoyed? Tired of men hitting on her? No woman looked as good as she did without constant male attention. Especially not in this haven for perverts.
He played the part, leaning in and letting his breath brush her cheek. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“You’re neither too young nor too passive. It would please me to have you sent to my room later.”
“Handsome and direct.” She pushed through the doorway and into a large private sitting room. “Two bedrooms. Kitchenette. Only one bathroom, but its ample size should be sufficient to share with your assistant.”
“Bodyguard.”
“You don’t need those services here.”
Tomas ambled away to investigate the rooms. Standing in the entrance, Luke already spotted multiple cameras. Probably equipped with microphones. The guests had no privacy, and the cartel wasn’t even trying to hide it.
She launched into a spiel about the amenities. Room service, personal butler, spa, unlimited alcohol, computer, cell phone, and Internet.
“Communication with outside parties is allowed on our devices.” She led him into the enormous bathroom. “What do you do exactly? For work?”
“I’m a silent investor.”
“And you invest in…?”
“Emphasis on silent.”
“Very well. I advise using that same discretion if you conduct business here. Every message you send and receive, every call you make, will be monitored to ensure the safety of our guests and organization.”
“In other words, you’re recording everything I do, from the women I fuck to the transactions I make on-line. That’s your insurance, yeah? If I piss you guys off, you’ll use whatever dirt you have on me as blackmail.”
“You’re paying attention.” She smiled.
“Do you give your little warning to all the guests?”
“Yes. It comes with the down payment.”
The outrageous down payment bought him all the luxuries of an all-inclusive resort. Only here, the massages came with happy endings, and the whiskey was served with a side of cocaine. Pampering the guests was a small cost to the cartel, considering the amount of money they received at the end.
The going rate for a sex slave? Upper six digits.
Eight years ago, a buyer had paid close to a million dollars for Luke. When Liv had delivered him to the sadist, he’d stared straight into the man’s gaze, knowing he was seconds from being handed off and forced to spend the rest of his life doing more than just sucking the fucker’s cock. In that defining moment, shackled in the grip of those heartless eyes, he saw the place where the souls of evil were punished and tormented. He saw the face of hell and the terrifying power it held.
With a hard blink, he squared his shoulders and locked down the memory.
He needed a shower.
Prowling through the bathroom, he counted only one camera. Tomas would check every shadow, crack, and corner to verify that.
The wet room went on forever. At least three times the size of the bedroom he no longer had in Texas. The Freedom Fighters recently sold that house and moved to the Restrepo Cartel headquarters in Colombia. It was safer for them there, luxuriously furnished, and closer to the trafficking operations Camila was targeting.
But it wasn’t home. He’d never really had a place to call home. Before Van, he’d never experienced the comfort of money. He had plenty of it now. Over six-hundred-thousand dollars. All Van’s slaves had received a cut from his operation when he shut it down and grew a conscience.
Multiple floating vanities and countless jets and shower heads jutted from the