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The gate opened and closed, caging her inside the sprawling estate. They stopped in front of a Spanish mission-style mansion, with stucco walls, wide sweeping arches, and an expansive manicured lawn. It looked straight from the pages of Architectural Digest. Immaculate and pristine, minus the armed guards crawling around like ants in their colony.
Senor Scissor Face pulled her out of the truck and toward the mansion. They stepped to massive wooden doors, which clicked open. Cool air conditioning washed over her body. It was heaven.
Mia looked around, breathing in the chilled space. The air was fragrant. It reinvigorated her. Marble floors gleamed, the high ceilings soared, and expensive tapestries hung in each corridor. Decadence. Perfect for a maniacal narcissist with trafficking money.
They moved up one side of the grand double entryway staircase and toward the last room at the end of a bricked in corridor. His boots echoed down the unfriendly hallway. After unlocking the deadbolt, he pushed her in, a hand tight on her back, then shut the door behind him with a resounding thud. The latch clicked, and Senor Scissor Face stood against the only way out.
The windowless room was lit by a small light bulb, casting a heavy amber glow. There was a bed, a blanket, and one small closed door. He untied her wrists and pointed to the door.
“Shower. Clean up. Now.”
He leered, but left, locking the deadbolt from the hall. Shudders ran down her back. Silence caved in on the dank room.
A lot of atrocious acts had happened in this room.
She made her way into the bathroom. A dress was folded on the barren counter. No mirror. No lighting. She left the door open for a slice of light and got in the shower.
Raw welts encircled her bloodied wrists. Bruises throbbed across her body. Bug bites itched. A cold shower would clear her mind. She needed a plan. Think like Colby. What would Colby do? But his course of action didn’t surface. She closed her eyes to bite off the tears.
Someone pounded on the door, which sounded as if it would cave into the room. It brought her back to her cruel reality.
“Vamanos. Vamanos.Let’s go,” a man shouted through the door. Fear churned, slushing up the fruit salad in her stomach. She slammed the water off and wrapped the towel around her fast, praying the voice would stay outside. She ignored the raw burns and scratches, and shimmied the dress and her worn underwear on seconds before the deadbolt unlocked and heavy booted footsteps walked in.
Alejandro flanked her side in an instant. He huddled over her, harshly breathed her in. Mia’s stomach catapulted, and she braced for the worst, but he laughed and forced her into the hall. They moved through the labyrinth and arrived in a polished sitting room. Juan Carlos sat on a spotless white couch, sipping out of a demitasse cup. Spicy cologne and the aromatic coffee intermixed. Everything was flawless. Everything except that Alejandro drooled over her, and she looked like a wet dog in her cartel-gifted sundress. Her legs quaked, and she tried to lock her knees to hide her reaction to the men.
“Are you ready to contact your friend at the Titan Group?”
She didn’t know whether to hang her head or not. Mia opted to meet his gaze and hold her head high in faked confidence.
“Of course. Yes, Mr. Silva.”
Tapping his fingertips together, he didn’t respond, and Alejandro left them alone. A nervous flutter ran rampant through her stomach. Silence. Juan Carlos needed more from her. What did he want?
“Thank you for the shower.”
A surprised glint flashed on his face, and he nodded in acknowledgement of hergratitude. Alejandro walked back in and signaled to Juan Carlos, who then picked up a nearby phone and handed it to Mia. She pressed the phone to her ear. It rang.
An automatic answering system picked up.Hello, thank you for calling the corporate headquarters of The Titan Group. If you know your party’s extension, please enter it now. If not, please hold for the operator.
“I don’t know the extension,” she whispered.
Juan Carlos didn’t respond. She sucked on her lip. Apprehension tugged her thoughts. Unsure what to do, she did nothing. She didn’t know much about Titan Group, but of what she did know, it didn’t seem like they had a receptionist sitting at a front office desk. The phone rang three more times.
“Hello?” a man answered.
“Um, hello. Is Colby Winters available please?” She shook, trying to pull herself straight.
“Mia?”
“Yes.”
“It’s me,” the man said.
No, it’s not. Who is this?His delivery conveyed a trust invoking quality. It didn’t give away any concern or interest.
“Sorry. I’ve never heard you on the phone before.”
“That’s okay. I’m glad to hear your voice. Where you are? Who are you with? I saw someone take you on my security footage.”