He sure as hell would.
In front of him, a truck battery sat on a rolling cart, two electrical cables dropped on the floor near his feet. The sight made him shudder, dread mixing with rage in his gut.
Little stinger?
Beside the cart, two Zetas held a struggling young woman between them, while a third unbuttoned her blouse, laughing to himself.Bastards.Knowing he couldn’t risk showing emotion, he met Natalie’s gaze.
His heart seemed to stop. His mind went blank. And he stared.
She looked pleadingly up at him through the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen, their irises an unusual shade of aqua blue. Her features were delicate, her otherwise flawless skin marred by dark bruises and smudges of dirt. Her dark brown hair—why had he imagined her as a blonde?—hung in thick tangles past her shoulders. She couldn’t have been more than five-foot-four or an ounce over one-twenty.
The protective urge that welled up inside him took him by surprise, and he actually took a step toward her, until chains and pain reminded him where he was—and in what condition. Then her blouse fell to the floor, followed by a lacy, white bra, revealing two beautiful, natural breasts.
A low whistle. A groan.
“¡Oye, mamacita, que buena estás!”Oh, baby, you are fine!
The testosterone level in the room surged, and for a moment Zach was afraid the Zetas’ lust for Natalie would overcome their fear of Cárdenas.
The one with a long scar—the electrical specialist who’d turned Zach’s life into a living hell—walked over to stand behind Natalie, then reached around, drew her back against him, and grabbed her breasts, hands that enjoyed cruelty manhandling sensitive flesh.
“¡Chécalo, güey—las chichis perfectas¡”Check it out, dude—perfect boobs.
Zach felt his teeth grind, seeing only the emotion on Natalie’s face—fear, revulsion, pain. Her gaze locked with his as if eye contact were the one thing keeping her shattered world together. She probably didn’t understand what was happening or why they were doing this to her. He wished he could reassure her.
Instead, he was about to make it all much worse.
Stay strong, angel.
TRYING TO BLOCK out what was being done to her, Natalie clung to the encouragement in Zach’s eyes. He had gray eyes, deeply set beneath dark brows and fringed with long lashes. Hollows in his cheeks accented high cheekbones, his square jaw and strong chin covered with a week’s growth of dark stubble. His mouth was broad, his lips unusually full. They curved into a slight smile she knew was meant to bolster her.
But behind the smile, she could see he was suffering.
By far the tallest and most physically powerful man in the room, he stood with his arms chained to the ceiling, his wrists bleeding and raw from the manacles. His bare skin was wet, red blotches on his chest and abdomen where they’d shocked him. There was a dark bruise on his left side and dark circles beneath his eyes, his face bruised and lined with pain and exhaustion, his short, dark hair tousled. His bare feet were set wide apart for balance, water in a puddle beneath him, electrical cables dangerously near.
The Zeta who was groping her said something, his hands rough as he squeezed her, kneaded her, pinched her nipples.
Then Zach replied. “No hay trato. Quítame las cadenas, y dame una hora para chingarla. Luego te diré dónde encontrar la cocaína.”
Natalie understood only part of what he said, but it was enough to send blood rushing to her head.
Give me an hour to fuck her . . . I’ll tell you where to find the cocaine.
He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t mean it.
Stunned, she stared into his eyes, looking for some sign that he was pretending, but seeing only lust.
He broke eye contact, licked his lips, his gaze raking over her, coming to rest on her breasts, his mouth twisting in a crude grin. “Me gustaría jugar con esas.”
He was talking about her breasts.
Her heart gave a hard knock. “Wh-what are you saying?”
But Zach ignored her. He was arguing with Sr. Scar Face, who quit groping her—thank God!—and began shouting in rapid Spanish. Zach answered calmly, giving a little tug on his chains and motioning toward Natalie with a jerk of his head. And although Natalie couldn’t understand more than a phrase or two, she knew their disagreement revolved around whether Zach would give up the location of the stolen cocaine before or after they unchained him and let him have her.
Then Sr. Scar Face reached up and grabbed Zach by the throat, his voice going cold and deadly quiet, each word enunciated clearly. “¿Dónde está la cocaína?”Where is the cocaine?
The room fell silent.