Page 54 of Ravaged Hearts
Seriously, who said stuff like that?
All this ridiculous talk about marriage and impregnating was pissing me off. I wanted to scream in Jorge’s face that not in a million years would I let him knock me up with his devil spawn, and that I had a hell of a lot more to offer this world than being his baby incubator.
As for Carlos, he deserved to pay for the crimes he’d committed, but I wasn’t sure how I felt about killing him now that he seemed so frail and powerless. It would be like walking into a nursing home and carrying out an execution.
To appease Jorge and hopefully earn myself the freedom to move within the compound, I needed to make him think he’d won. But he’d be suspicious if I buckled without negotiating.
I folded my arms. “I have conditions.”
“Of course you do.”
“You’ll get a divorce so your wife can live.”
He shook his head. “No. That will take too long, and she knows too much.”
I hadn’t thought he’d budge on that, but I had to try. I only hoped I could kill him before the baby was born and her time was up.
I held up a finger. “I’ll give you one child.”
“Four.”
“Two and no more.”
Jorge shrugged. “If they’re boys, I can live with that.”
Pig.
I folded my arms. “I get my own room.”
This was something I wouldn’t concede. For all I knew, Jorge planned on booting his pregnant wife out of theirs and moving me in.
“Agreed, but I’ll visit whenever I want.”
I sent him a glare fiery enough to turn stone to ash. “You’ll visit when I say you can. Otherwise, I’ll slice off your balls inyour sleep and have them crafted into the ugliest coin purse you’ve ever seen.” When Jorge froze, I narrowed my eyes and added, “I’m sorry. Did you forget whose daughter you’re talking to?”
A sinister grin formed on Jorge’s lips. “You’re going to make a fine cartel queen.”
Jorge’s phone beeped, and he checked the screen. He frowned at whatever it said. “Something’s come up. We’ll talk more soon.” He snapped his fingers at the nearest guard. “Lock her in the guest suite next to my quarters. Have someone stay outside her door at all times.”
“Jorge, don’t be ridiculous.” I scoffed. “This is supposed to be my home. I’m not a prisoner.”
He walked away without a response, leaving me seething in his wake.
How the hell was I going to search for a weapon?
23
HOPE
With its exposed-beam ceiling, rich red-and-gold woven rug, and artwork depicting a historic Mexican village, the beautiful first-floor room Jorge had ordered me to stay in was nothing more than a gilded prison cell. If he kept me stuck in here, I’d be grateful for the small but full bookshelf and the wall-mounted TV above it.
Since there was a guard posted in the hallway and I had nothing better to do, I snooped through the drawers on either side of the huge four-poster bed. It didn’t surprise me to find them empty. So, too, were the dresser and walk-in closet, and aside from towels and toiletries, the en suite contained little of interest. That sucked. It wasn’t like I’d expected to find a pistol or sharp knife, but even a flashlight could become a weapon. I supposed the lamp on the nightstand could inflict damage if swung hard enough.
I swept aside thick ecru curtains and tried the handles on the set of French doors that led out to a small balcony. An amazed gasp escaped me when they opened. No alarms went off—that was a good sign—so I stepped outside.
Already plotting my imminent escape, I glanced over thewrought-iron balustrade to the gardens below. Dammit. The drop to the ground would probably break an ankle or two.
“No te pareces a las putas que Jorge usualmente trae.”You don’t look like the whores Jorge usually brings in.The raspy but feminine voice made me jump.