Last Breath

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.

Except, it’s not a closet. It’s another room. A guard is sitting there, smoking a cigarette and flipping through a magazine. He stands at the sight of me, and the two guards begin a conversation. The new one eyes me lasciviously, and then I’m passed over to him.

We head through another door, and I’m taken down a narrow, cold set of stairs. Hudson’s house is a maze, and it almost feels like I’m being taken through a secret tunnel or something. I hope Daniel will know where to find me, but I’m getting more frightened with every moment.

The new guard takes me a few doors down and then opens one marked PRIVADO.

This room . . . is a sex room. There’s a cross with cuffs on it at the back of the room, a wooden horse, and all kinds of various paraphernalia in this room. It’s horrible. My frightened gasp makes the guard laugh, and he pushes me in. “Strip.”

“I . . . what?” I cling to the shift I’m wearing.

“You strip,” he tells me, pointing his gun in my direction.

Oh God, the GPS. Will Daniel know where I’m going? “Strip?” I repeat, stalling for time.

“You. Strip.”

When the man starts to head forward to do it himself, I wave him off and begin to remove my clothing. I peek at the guard, but he’s not paying attention to me. Instead, he’s heading to the far side of the room as I undress.

I remove everything and ball the clothes together, tucking the panties and bra into the shift so he won’t find the GPS. I look at the door. I might be able to escape before he shoots me . . . but then what? Then Naomi is lost. I suck in a breath and clutch the ball of clothing to my chest.

The guard returns a moment later with handcuffs. He takes the clothes from my hands, clasps one handcuff around my wrist, and drags me toward a metal pole in the center of the room. There are a few iron circles at the top of the pole and he clasps the other end of the handcuff through it, locking me there.

“Stay,” he tells me. “Good dog.” And he laughs in my face.

He’s still laughing as he leaves me in this horrible room. I’m naked, handcuffed to a bar, and surrounded by deviant toys that are clearly meant for the enjoyment of one party, and it’s not me. There are spikes and whips and things I can’t even begin to imagine their use, but it doesn’t look good.

I’m naked, and I’m trapped, and I don’t even have my GPS tracker anymore. There’s no sign of Naomi. There’s no sign of anyone. I’m stuck in this torture room all alone.

My bravery deserts me, and I begin to sob.

TIME PASSES , AND I KEEP CRYING until I’m hoarse, until the sobs that rack from my chest are ugly and painful. I can’t seem to stop. It’s like all the pressure that’s been building up has exploded with nowhere left to go except tears. I’ve messed everything up. I’m supposed to be finding Daniel’s sister and the hacker, and handling things. Instead, I’m naked and handcuffed in a sadist’s sex basement.

So I cry. And cry.

And cry.

There’s a knock at the door, which startles me out of my tears and sends me back into terror. I back up as much as the bar will let me, my now-raw wrist slamming against the handcuff above my head.

The door opens a moment later, and a woman in a beaten-up baseball cap peers in. She scowls in my direction, shuts the door, and walks toward me. “There must be silence if I’m to work. Those are the rules.”

I blink my tears back, startled. “W-what?”

“Silence. I told Hudson that if he wants me to be his Emperor, I have to have silence. Silence makes the atoms happy. If the atoms are happy, my brain functions at a higher level.” She crosses her arms and looks down at me. “You’re making my atoms very unhappy.”

“I . . . I’m sorry?” I twist in the handcuff. This girl is odd. She’s odd, but she’s also about my age, and I have a hunch. “Are you . . . are you Naomi?”

“I’ve told him,” she says as her hands smooth along the brim of her beaten-up cap, over and over again, “if he wants the Emperor to work, there must be silence and all foods must be brown or green, but not both together. Those are the rules, and he said that was fine. And now you’re here, making all this noise—” Her fingers flutter on the brim of the cap, agitated. She’s not meeting my curious gaze. “And I can’t think!”

I sniffle hard. “I’ll stop crying if you get me down from here.”

“Really?” Her gaze flicks to my face and then just as quickly skids away again.

“Yes, really.”

She considers the bar I’m handcuffed to, and her fingers slide along the brim of the hat, over and over again as she thinks. Then, she says, “I’ll have to tie you up somewhere else. Those are the rules.”

“That’s okay,” I say quickly. Anything has to be better than being handcuffed here. “If you tie me somewhere else and get me something to wear, I promise I’ll stop crying.”

“Good. Good.” She nods, and her fingers flutter on the edge of her hat again. “I’ll be back.”

“No, wait,” I say, but she’s gone as quickly as she came. I fight the urge to start screaming again, my terror over being alone returning like a tidal wave. I choke on sobs for what feels like eternity.

But then she returns, and she’s got a sleep shirt with her. “Here,” she says and holds it out.

I jangle the handcuff over my head. “Can we get rid of this?”

“Yes, of course.” She gives me the shirt and heads to the far wall, plucking a key from a hook with an expertise that makes me wonder how many other women she’s seen in this room. She returns, grabs one of the weird sex stools, climbs it, and undoes the latch on the handcuffs for me. “Now you’ll be quiet so I can work?”

I clutch my wrist to my chest once it’s free. I feel like crying again, but it won’t serve any purpose. “I’ll be quiet. You’re Naomi?”

She blinks at me, steps down off the stool, and then shrugs. “Most of the time. Sometimes I’m the Emperor.”

I tug the sleep shirt over my head. It’s a Mickey Mouse shirt, and I’m trying not to be weirded out by something so clean and childish in this bizarre place. It feels good to be wearing something. “The Emperor? That’s not another hacker? You’re the hacker?”

“I’m the hacker,” she agrees, and her gaze skids to the door again, as if she doesn’t like to look at me. “But I can’t hack anything if it’s not quiet.”

“Sorry,” I say and wring my hands. I’m feeling shaky and fragile, but excited all at once. “Daniel sent me,” I murmur in a low voice. “He’s here to come get you.”

“Oh no,” she says. Anxiety flickers across her face. Her hands go back to the brim of her cap. “Oh no. That’s not good. He can’t be here.”

“Wait, why can’t he be here? You want to stay?” I’m shocked.

Naomi looks at me then shakes her head, gaze skidding away again. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I want to leave. But he can’t be here. It’s dangerous.”

I bite my lip. “I don’t have any way of telling him not to come. I had a GPS tracker, but they took it with my clothes.”

She nods absently and pulls at my sleeve. “We’ll figure something out. Come with me.”