Page 70 of Ravaged Hearts
“No!” Vaughn yelled. “She’s not a part of this. Leave her alone.”
Jorge kept coming for me. “Don’t worry, little traitor. I won’t kill you tonight. You have years of my devoted attention to look forward to.” He brought the knife to the scars on my face.
A whimper left my lips. My heart pounded faster than it ever had. I couldn’t blink or move as the tip of the blade pressed against my skin. Was I even breathing? I couldn’t be sure.
Jorge sighed. “Such a shame about this side. Maybe I should even you up?”
Vaughn growled and fought to break free. The chain clattered and swung from side to side. “Don’t you fucking touch her!” His roar boomed through the chamber.
I shivered when the cool blade switched sides and traced a path down my unmarred cheek. A little more pressure and he’d slice me open.
“Shh,” Jorge cooed. “Relax. I’m not going to ruin your face any further. Besides, that pain would only be temporary. To truly hurt you, to give you a lifetime of agony, I need to scar you here.” He tapped the flat of the blade over my heart. “So I’m going to make you watch as your boyfriend endures a death unlike any I’ve ever delivered. And then every day for the rest of your disloyal life, I’m going to remind you that it was your betrayal that caused his misery. You brought the enemy into my home. Did you think you could kill me? What about your father? Did you intend to murder the man who gave you life?”
I snarled, baring my teeth. “You and Carlos have destroyed everything I’ve ever loved.”
“Not everything.” He glanced at Vaughn. “But I’m about to.”
Firecrackers went off in the distance, and Jorge froze.
No. Not firecrackers.
Gunfire.
The team was here.
Vaughn’s eyes met mine, and we shared a brief moment of hope that we’d somehow make it out alive.
Patchy static crackled through the handheld radio on the side table. Jorge rushed for it, snatched it up, and demanded an update. None came.
Jorge clicked his fingers and pointed to the guard at the door. “See what’s going on up there, and report back immediately.”
“Yes, boss.” He jogged out of the room and down the hallway.
More gunfire popped, and the first glimmer of concern crossed Jorge’s features. He seemed torn between continuing his torture session and following his man to see for himself what was happening.
“You’re fucked, Ortega,” Vaughn said. “Your whole organization is about to be obliterated. Don’t you know who’s on your doorstep? We’re the cartel killers, and yours is the next to fall.”
Jorge blinked but didn’t say anything. If I had to guess, I’d say Vaughn’s comments had taken him by surprise. He thought Vaughn, Owen, and I were acting alone, and hadn’t considered that we were with the group responsible for bringing down the cartels.
Jorge shook his head. “They’ll never get through my security.”
Vaughn only dropped his chin and delivered Jorge a sinister stare made even more menacing by the small, knowing smile tilting his lips. “That’s what all the other cartels thought. We’d have come for you sooner, but you were the best at hiding. How does it feel to be the biggest cowards in Mexico?”
Jorge glared at Vaughn as though no one had ever spoken to him with such flagrant disrespect. The air in the room became so thick with Jorge’s fury that you could cut it with the hunting knife strangled in his fist.
Shit.
The knife. I didn’t like the way Jorge’s forearm tensed as he gripped it.
Vaughn continued, “I mean, shielding your compound with children? Helpless orphans, no less? I never imagined a drug–smuggling flesh peddler with a fetish for torture and murder could sink any lower, but here we are.”
A muscle in Jorge’s jaw ticced repeatedly, and he switched the blade to his right hand—his dominant hand.
“Vaughn,” I said in warning.
Jesus. Did he want Jorge to kill him?
The gunfire continued aboveground, growing louder by the minute, but Jorge paid it no mind. His sole focus remained on Vaughn.