Her smile—empty, predatory.
Epilogue
Trinidad leaned against an arm of the leather sofa in what had once been Carreon’s penthouse suite. Soft lighting glowed beneath the lamps’ bronze shades. Coppery pavers and beige walls gave the space a Southwestern feel.
Carreon owned—or had owned—the entire building. His most important lieutenants and their families lived here so he’d always been able to keep an eye on them. On the night Carreon had died, Trinidad went to his stronghold, her intent simple. To steal as much as she could—money, weapons, the priceless art and drugs she’d heard he had there—then disappear with the treasure, selling and using it someplace else. Perhaps Vegas. Maybe New York. Even Mexico had crossed her mind.
Roberto Amo, the man who’d made torture his specialty, had been waiting for Liz and her father at the stronghold. He stopped any hope Trinidad had of escaping despite the assault rifle she held. He had his own, along with several armed men who would have killed her in a moment on Roberto’s orders.
“I should make you scream,” he’d said upon learning of Carreon’s death from Ernez. How Trinidad had ordered him to burn the body. “Then I should kill you slowly.”
“But you won’t,” she’d murmured. She’d seen the lust in his dark eyes, the sexual tension building in his large body.
He’d smiled at her audacity, then took her in front of Ernez, mounting her from behind, demanding she submit to him. During the following days, he’d enjoyed her repeatedly, their coupling wild, just as Trinidad liked. She left scratches on his back and ass. Marks from his belt crisscrossed her buttocks, his punishment meted out not only to arouse her but to make certain she obeyed his every command without hesitation.
Roberto gave her no other choice.
It took him less than a week to fill the power vacuum left by his former boss. Anyone who dissented was tortured, then murdered. Roberto stepped up the clan’s recruitment efforts among their people.
He lounged on the sofa now, his muscular legs crossed at the ankles, his expression neutral as one of his lieutenants explained the progress in finding Zeke’s stronghold. A prize Roberto intended to take along with the land and whatever other riches they had. Like Carreon, he wanted more than simply having Liz and her father as his prisoners, always ready to heal or reanimate for him. He also craved Neekoma’s ability to see the future.
Roberto interrupted his lieutenant. “You still have no idea where Neekoma and his people are holed up.”
“We’re working on it day and night,” the man said.
He was in his late thirties, married with two daughters. The few times Roberto had allowed Trinidad out of his bedroom and this suite, she’d seen the little girls at the pool or in the hall. They were four and six with wavy brown hair like their father.
“We’ll find it,” he insisted. The five men next to him nodded.
Roberto said nothing. The room fell into an uneasy silence.
“We will,” the man murmured.
Roberto held out his glass to Trinidad for her to refill.
“You belong to me now,” he told her the night of Carreon’s death. “You’ll do whatever I say without question. Without pause.”
Obediently, Trinidad took his empty glass and padded to the wet bar. She felt the other men staring at her nudity, the red marks on her ass. Roberto didn’t allow her to wear clothing around him or his men, as though being naked would somehow intimidate or shame her. The same as the collar he’d put around her throat. At night, he ran a chain through the loop in the front and secured her to his bed. While he slept, he clearly didn’t want to worry about her being able to escape…or using a weapon to harm him.
The idea absorbed her as she mixed his next Scotch and soda. She regarded the pistols and rifles strewn carelessly about the room, all just out of her reach of course, then considered whether her slight ability to heal might also be used to kill. She’d often pressed the mark on her palm against Roberto’s chest, willing it to send a shock through his system, much like a bolt of lightning would, injuring his heart.
Given his healthy color, it hadn’t even come close.
She wondered what her life would have been like if she’d been born a man with so much privilege and power at her disposal. The ability to give orders at will.
“You know that’s not allowed in here,” Ernez had barked when she’d only wanted to enjoy her cigarette.
“Heal me,” Carreon had demanded.
“On your hands and knees,” Roberto had insisted more times than she could count. “Spread your legs, lift your ass.”
For now… Only for now. Trinidad knew how to play the game.
She brought Roberto his drink and gave him a placid smile she didn’t feel, her rebellious thoughts saying what was in her heart.
No one tells me what to do.
At least not for long.
She’d wait, she’d watch for the proper time to deal with Roberto, and then perhaps Zeke Neekoma too.
About the Author
Tina Donahue is an award-winning, bestselling novelist in erotic, paranormal, contemporary and historical romance for Samhain Publishing, Ellora’s Cave and Kensington. Booklist, Publisher’s Weekly, Romantic Times and numerous online sites have praised her work. Three of her erotic romances were named finalists in the 2011 EPIC competition. The French review site, Blue Moon Reviews, chose one of her erotic romances as their Book of the Year 2010 (erotic category). The Golden Nib Award at Miz Love Loves Books was created specifically for one of her erotic romances. Two of her titles received an Award of Merit in the RWA Holt Medallion competition (2011 and 2012). Tina is featured in the 2012 Novel & Short Story Writer’s Market. She was the editor of an award-winning Midwestern newspaper and worked in Story Direction for a Hollywood production company.