the man and his view of Gabby. He’d tried not to look himself, but he needed the illusion of a fight. A sexual one.
He couldn’t let his disgust at that show. “Senor?” The Stallion always got some bizarre thrill when Jaime called him that, so he’d done it with increasing regularity. Being the egomaniac that he was, The Stallion never got tired of it. “An hour, no?”
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but I need you immediately. Your hour will have to wait.”
Jaime scowled. He didn’t have to fake it, either. He wanted more information from Gabriella. If the woman had remembered how many guards were dismissed every year...who knew what other kind of information she might have.
Jaime inclined his head as if he agreed, though he didn’t at all. He wanted to get information out of Gabriella as soon as possible. The more he got and the sooner he got it, the less he’d have to do for The Stallion.
He gave her a fleeting glance. Those big, dark eyes were edged with fury, and she crossed her arms over her chest. The bra she wore was ill-fitting and he couldn’t help but notice the way her breasts spilled over the fabric even under her crossed arms.
He quickly looked back at The Stallion. He handed Gabriella the remains of her shirt. “Perdón,” he offered, making sure he didn’t sound sorry in the least.
The Stallion chuckled as Jaime walked to meet him at the door. “You could be so much better at your job if you weren’t so easily distracted,” the man said, clapping him on the shoulder in an almost fatherly manner as he pulled the door closed, leaving Gabby alone in the room.
He didn’t lock the door this time and Jaime was surprised at how much freedom he allowed the women he kept there. Of course, the front and back doors were chained and locked even when The Stallion was inside, and all the windows were boarded up in a permanent, meticulous manner.
There were no phones in the house, no computers. Absolutely no technology of any kind aside from kitchen appliances. But even that was relegated to a microwave and a refrigerator. No stove and no knives beyond dull butter ones.
He wondered if the women inside knew that only a couple of yards away, in a decent-size shed, The Stallion kept all the things he denied the women. Computers and phones and an array of weapons, which was where The Stallion was leading Jaime now.
“We have a situation I want you briefed on. Then you may go back to our Gabriella and finish your...” He trailed off and shook his head as he locked and chained the back door they’d exited into an overgrown backyard. “Sex is such a base instinct, Rodriguez. Women are a worthless expense of energy. I’m fifty-three, for over half my life I have searched for the perfect woman and failed time and time again. Though, I will admit the women I’ve kept are of exceptional quality. Just not quite there...”
The man got a far-off look on his face as they walked through the long grass toward his shed. It was the kind of far-off look that kept Jaime up at night. Void of reason or sense, completely and utterly...incomprehensible.
The Stallion patted his shoulder again, tsking. “I know this is all going over your head. You really ought to work on your English.”
Jaime shrugged. It suited his purpose to be seen as not understanding everything that went on because of a language barrier, and at times it had been hard to remember he was supposed to barely understand.
But when The Stallion started going on and on about women, Jaime never had any problems keeping his mouth shut and his expression confused. It was broken and warped and utter nonsense.
The Stallion unlocked the shed and stepped inside. Two men were sitting on chairs around The Stallion’s desk, which was covered in notes and technology. The man strode right to it and sat on his little throne.
“Herman’s gone missing,” he said without preamble, mentioning The Stallion’s most used runner in Austin. “He didn’t deliver his message today, and so far no one has figured out where he disappeared to. Wallace, I’m giving you the rest of today to find him. He can’t have gone too far.”
The fair-haired man in the corner nodded soundlessly.
“If he somehow gives us the slip that long...” The Stallion continued. “Layne, you’ll take him out.”
Layne cracked his knuckles one by one, like he’d seen too many mobster movies. “Be my pleasure. What happens to him if Wallace finds him, though? I wouldn’t mind getting some information out of him.”
The Stallion’s mouth curved into a cold, menacing line that, even after two years, made Jaime’s blood run cold. “Rodriguez will be in charge if we find him. I’d like to see what he can do with a...shall we say, recalcitrant employee. ¿Comprende?”
“Sí, senor.”
“Wallace, you’re dismissed. Report every hour,” The Stallion said with the flick of his wrist. “Layne, have the interrogation room readied for us, please.”
Both men agreed and left the shed. Jaime stood as far from The Stallion as he could without drawing attention to the purposeful space between them. The man steepled his hands together, looking off at some unknown entity Jaime was pretty sure only he could see.
Jaime stood perfectly still, trying to appear detached and uninterested. “Did you need me, senor?”
The Stallion stroked his forehead with the back of his thumb, still looking somewhere else. “Once we figure out what’s going on with Herman, I’ll be moving on to a different location.” His cold, blue gaze finally settled on Jaime. “You’ll stay here and hold down the fort, and Ms. Gabriella will be yours to do whatever you please with her.”
Jaime smiled. “Excellent.” He didn’t have to fake his excitement about that, because Jaime was almost certain Gabriella had exactly the information he’d need to pull the sting to end this whole nightmare of a job.
And then Jaime could go back to being himself and figuring out...who that was again.
Gabby considered taking a nap in lieu of lunch. Her little visit, which she couldn’t begin to understand, however, had eradicated any appetite she’d had.
That man had acted like two different people. Even the way he talked when The Stallion was present and when he wasn’t was different. His voice, when he’d spoken with her, had only the faintest touches of Mexico, reminding her of her parents’ accents—a sharp, hard pang of memory.
But when he spoke to The Stallion, it was all rolled R’s and melodic vowels. Even his demeanor had changed. That goal or determination or whatever she thought she’d seen in him just...disappeared in the shadow of The Stallion. He was someone else. Something more feral and menacing.
But, despite the very disconcerting shirt-ripping, and the way his gaze had most definitely lingered on her chest, he had been honest with her thus far.
He hadn’t hurt her, but he’d let her hurt him. Blow after blow. Considering she’d gotten into the habit of exercising to keep her overactive mind from driving her crazy, she wasn’t weak. She had punched him with everything she had, and though he hadn’t made too much of an outward reaction, it had to have hurt.
She shook away the thoughts, already tired of the merry-go-round in her head. If she couldn’t nap or eat, she’d do the next best thing. Exercise until she was too exhausted to think or to move or to do anything but sleep.
She rolled to the ground, then pushed up, holding the plank position as she counted slowly. It had become a game, to see how long she could hold herself up like this. The counting kept her brain from circling and the physical exertion helped her sleep better.
A knock sounded at the door, which was odd. No one here knocked. Except the girls, but that was rare and only in case of emergency.
Before she could stand or say anything, the