Into Temptation Read online

  A Ferrari FXX-K, Lamborghini Centenario, and holy shit, that was goddamn Pagani Huayra. He blinked. And blinked again. One of only a few hundred in the world, that hypercar had taken over two years to build by hand. Look at all the carbon fiber. Complete with gull-wing doors, red leather upholstery, and a 720hp AMG Mercedes engine. Un-fucking-real.

  He dragged his eyes away only to choke at the sight of the Koenigsegg Agera parked next in the line. Sexiest goddamn thing he’d ever seen. And fast. The rear wing adjusted at the push of a button for optimal speed. Not that it needed the help. It held the production car speed record of 278 mph.

  His fingers twitched. Damn. This was the closest he’d ever come to touching one.

  Back in Texas, he’d taken up mechanic work to pass the time between vigilante jobs. He’d learned the trade. Self-taught. Motorcycles mostly. But he’d always had a deep appreciation for fast cars.

  More Ferraris and Lambos filled his view, forming a glimmering, drool-worthy panorama of rolling works of art. Every hypercar here was worth over a million dollars. Some valued at three to four mil. Whoever owned this collection was a car enthusiast, someone who shared his obsession and had the money to buy the rarest, most expensive models in the world.

  There would be other guests on the property, slave buyers like him. But they would’ve been escorted here in the limo, wearing hoods. These cars belonged to someone who could come and go freely.

  “If you’re good with a stick, my brother will let you test drive one of his toys around the property.”

  The sultry feminine voice turned his head. The click of approaching heels drew his gaze. Long, shapely legs hewed his breath. Sun-kissed skin for miles.

  His insides drew taut as he took in the sinuous lines of hips in the simple black dress. Early twenties, brown eyes, black hair, slender build, golden complexion. Exquisite.

  She stepped right up to him, too fucking close for someone he didn’t know, and dragged red-painted fingernails along the curve of his bicep. He dug through a swirl of potent perfume and male arousal and found his brain.

  “Your brother owns these cars?” Prying her off his arm, he set her away. “Who is he?”

  “Marco La Rocha.”

  The eldest son. Of course.

  According to Hector, he’d fathered four sons and one daughter. While in prison, Tula Gomez saw the paternity test that confirmed her unsavory bloodline. Hector La Rocha was her father. Gomez was her mother’s surname.

  So who was this woman?

  Dread sloshed through his veins.

  “Welcome to Casa de La Rocha, John Smith,” she said with a sensual, south-of-the-border accent. Then she drifted back into his space and hooked an arm around his elbow, turning him toward the main entrance. “Except we both know that’s not your real name, handsome. Perhaps that’s what I’ll call you. Handsome.”

  “What do I call you?”

  “I… I think…” She touched her chin to her shoulder, peering up at him with a coy smile. “When you turn those arresting green eyes on me, you can call me whatever you want.” She cleared her throat and looked away, guiding him forward. “To everyone else, I’m Vera. Vera Gomez.”

  Fuck.

  It was no secret that Luke loved women. Graceful legs, voluptuous asses, small tits, pouty lips, skinny, curvy, tall, and petite… He appreciated all shapes, sizes, and ethnicities. But more than that, he admired the female inner strength. The stronger her mind and spirit, the more he wanted her.

  Lucky for him, women gravitated to him. Because he had a handsome face? A full head of auburn hair? Those were the only good things he’d inherited from the addicts who’d brought him into this world.

  Years of dedication in the gym lent him a honed physique and the stamina of a horse. But he lived a dangerous life, had a deplorable past, a crass disposition, and he didn’t know a damn thing about relationships. Unless it involved his voracious libido.

  Yeah, that was what he had to offer.

  Sex.

  Orgasms.

  Hours of unadulterated, mutually satisfying pleasure.

  He could coax an explosive release from anyone, anywhere, anytime, with only his mouth. A skill that had been ruthlessly enforced upon all Van Quiso’s captives.

  But Luke wasn’t here to worship the sexy minx on his arm.

  He was going to destroy her.

  That made him the best man for this operation. He could separate sentiment from logic, extinguish every ounce of compassion, and get his hands dirty without losing focus.

  By the end of this, his hands would be covered in blood.

  Vera Gomez’s blood.

  She wasn’t enslaved. She wasn’t chained in a cage, beaten into submission, and awaiting an unspeakable fate. Her confident steps escorted him into the yawning foyer, her painted lips curving into a soft smile.

  What was her purpose here? Hostess? Liaison? Kinky party planner? Did she fuck the guests? Or hold down the victims while they were violated and abused?

  Glancing over his shoulder, he exchanged a look with Tomas. On the surface, his friend wore the unflinching, alert demeanor of a bodyguard. That alertness was real. While Luke played the megalomaniac pervert role with the cartel, Tomas would discreetly scope out the lay of the land.

  On Tula’s last day in Jaulaso Prison, a dying inmate had choked out, C-C-Calaaa. An attempt to tell her where to find her sister. Now, six months later, Luke was in California with Vera literally in his grasp. But where in California was he exactly?

  Beyond the open windows, acres of land stretched out in every direction. At the farthest perimeter, a fortification of walls enclosed the compound, providing protection against the cartel’s enemies. It also prevented guests on the inside from identifying any landmarks around them.

  What was out there? Desert? Suburbia? One of the edge cities in Orange County?

  It was Tomas’ job to find out, as well as gather intel on the cartel’s security guards, weapons, and technology. Once he uncovered something useful, they faced the task of transmitting it to the Freedom Fighters, who waited on standby in Orange County. Their friends would come, armed to the teeth, the moment they knew the location.

  Tomas’ expression didn’t confess their agenda. Nor did it show his outrage at seeing Vera Gomez greeting them with a smile. Tula had been so certain her sister wasn’t involved. Even now, Luke didn’t want to believe what was right in front of him.

  He planted his shoes on the tile, bringing Vera to an abrupt halt. Startled, she whirled on him, her mouth opening to speak. He didn’t give a fuck what she had to say.

  Knocking her hand off his arm, he grabbed her throat and yanked her against him. The force of his strength caused her to wobble in the heels.

  Two men stepped forward, reaching for hidden weapons. She held out a hand, staying them, and he used that opportunity to angle her neck and put her left ear near his mouth.

  “Never,” he breathed, cold and calculated, “ever touch me without my permission.”

  At odds with his cruel tone, he tenderly curled her shoulder-length hair behind her ear. A gesture meant to confuse her as he imperceptibly exposed the skin behind her earlobe.

  And there it was, exactly where Tula said it would be. A small black flower tattoo.

  Fucking fuck.

  The proof of her identity sank into his bones like burning ash. Disgusted, he stepped away, strolling ahead without waiting.

  The click of her heels sounded, giving chase.

  “Your rooms are this way.” She passed him, veering right, shoulders back, and chin raised. No eye contact. Probably because she couldn’t hide that butthurt look in her pinched expression. Good.

  She guided him through arched doorways designed to let breezes flow through the estate. High ceilings added to the open-air concept, but his stifling unease didn’t abate.

  Voices drifted from unseen rooms. Deep rumbles. Feminine titters. Sounds of flirtation and foreplay. He hardened himself against it, bracing for the hours and
days to come.

  Other than Vera, the women within these walls weren’t here of their own volition. They didn’t want rotten, horny, old men touching them. But before the night was over, Luke would shed the last of his humanity and become one of their tormentors.

  Through passageways and common areas, Vera narrated the function of each space. With flicks of a hand, she rattled off directions to the indoor gym, spa, main pool, and communal dining room.

  He focused on what she didn’t point out. Cameras in the ceilings of every room and corridor. Weapons beneath the shirts of every cartel member. Vacancy in the eyes of every young female.

  They were all young. As in not legal. Not legal age or citizenship. The half-dressed girls milled about carrying drink trays, mopping floors, and entertaining the guests.

  A white-haired man in a suit sat on the veranda with a snake-skinned boot propped on the coffee table. An oil baron? Texan rancher? Probably a greasy politician. A topless Asian girl perched on his lap, staring at nothing as he fondled her breasts.

  In the pool beyond, another girl bent over the side, moaning half-heartedly while an obese man plowed into her from behind.

  At the end of the hall, a petite brunette sat on the floor of a sunlit library, playing with a menagerie of plastic animal figurines. Toys. She wore two curly pigtails and a frilly pink sundress that bunched around her waist. A child’s dress.

  She was physically small enough to be prepubescent, but her profile revealed a woman in her twenties. A creepy dichotomy, made worse by the tinkling octave of her childlike voice singing in Spanish.

  He slowed in the doorway, morbidly captivated as she spread her legs and licked the long neck of a plastic giraffe. Her hand went between her thighs, exposing herself, and the figurine followed, repurposed as a different sort of toy.

  Nothing wrong with age play in a safe environment. But this place wasn’t safe. Who knew how long she’d been enslaved here? Likely captured at a young age, the girl needed a loving home. And therapy. Not a sex resort for pedophiles.

  “Como este, papá?” She worked the giraffe in and out of her body like a dildo, groaning a hollow giggling sound.

  “Yes, babygirl. Just like that.” A masculine voice rasped from around the corner. “Fuck that juicy cunt for your daddy.”

  Heat simmered across Luke’s skin, and he quickened his gait. But he couldn’t look away as he passed the room, locking onto a middle-aged, average-looking man sprawled in the chair a few feet from her.

  There was nothing normal or average in his eyes. The son of a bitch viciously face-fucked another girl while watching the one on the floor.

  Sex charged the air, humming and writhing on the breeze. Luke felt it in his pores, sizzling his blood, and tightening his trousers. It made him itchy. Restless. Primed to sink into hot, wet pussy.

  Christ, he was surrounded by temptation. Perfect bodies, soft mouths, doll-like eyes, irresistible feminine beauty, and it was all his for the taking. The wrongness of it swelled his cock, thickening with violent need.

  What a sick, twisted fuck.

  He dragged a hand down his face and looked away, catching Tomas’ blank stare behind him. At least one of them seemed to be unaffected.

  Everything about this place stank of sin, awakening suppressed urges, tantalizing him, and they hadn’t even scratched the surface. These girls were just the entertainment, the docile ones who had been beaten out of their wild state and made tractable. Usable. Stripped of all hope and will.

  There would be others hidden somewhere on the property—the untouched virgins who were freshly captured, full of fight, and caged like livestock. They were the forbidden flesh. The highest price tags. The ones who would be sold and sent home with guests.

  Despite Luke’s filthy dark appetite for sex, he only wished to free them. But that wasn’t his purpose here.

  His target was Vera.

  Why would she want any part of this? Didn’t she miss her sister? He knew her background, her education, her life story. She hadn’t been raised in an abusive household or neglected by an unloving family. What was her motivation to be here? Money? Power? Or was she in trouble? Maybe she was being blackmailed, and her participation was all smoke and mirrors?

  After surviving his own captivity and learning the tragic truth behind his captors, Van and Liv, he knew that not everything was as it seemed. The quickest way to the truth was to get close to this woman and coax her to talk.

  She waited a few paces ahead, studying her fingernails as if the scene in the library had no effect on her. Maybe it didn’t, but he needed to test her.

  A pretty Latina emerged in the hallway, carrying a stack of towels. Eyes directed at the floor, she strode by without looking up.

  He grabbed her arm, halting her. “How old are you?”

  “Whatever age you want me to be.” Her mousy voice matched the downward gaze.

  “Show me.”

  She set the towels on a chair behind her and reached for the neckline of her simple maid frock. A zipper ran down the front, which she pulled to the hem, fully opening the dress and revealing nothing beneath. Designed for easy access.

  Stepping into him, she set her feet shoulder-length apart and put her hairless cunt next to his hand at his side. He only needed to twitch his fingers to feel her heat, tease her open, and sink inside.

  He should do it. Make it look like he was interested. It was exactly what was expected of him.

  But her age was questionable, and that doubt dumped ice water in his veins, holding him immobile.

  “If it pleases Mr. Smith,” Vera said, nudging the girl back, “you’ll be sent to his room later. Go on now. Finish your work.”

  The girl grabbed the towels and made a soundless, obedient exit. He kept his eyes on Vera, watching for something, anything, that might betray her thoughts.

  She met his gaze with an unreadable expression. Impenetrable brown eyes. The stare-off stretched for a few seconds too long. Then her lips parted. A flush rose on her neck. Lashes fluttered, and her gaze pulled down and to the side.

  Submissive. Aroused. Yeah, she definitely found him attractive. If he snapped his fingers, would she lower to her knees and service his cock?

  “That girl wouldn’t please me.” He lifted her chin with a knuckle, guiding her eyes to his. “She’s too young. Too…passive.”

  “Noted.” She turned on her heels and exited the breezeway, stepping into the foyer of a connecting building.

  He followed at a leisurely stroll, admiring the way her ass swayed. As Tomas trailed, Luke refrained from stealing another glance at his friend. Too many exchanged looks would invite suspicion from whomever monitored those cameras.

  “Here we are.” She stopped at the first door and inserted a key card.

  The lock buzzed open.

  Subtle hostility stiffened her movements. Was she jealous of his interaction with the girl? Annoyed? Tired of men hitting on her? No woman looked as good as she did without constant male attention. Especially not in this haven for perverts.

  He played the part, leaning in and letting his breath brush her cheek. “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “You’re neither too young nor too passive. It would please me to have you sent to my room later.”

  “Handsome and direct.” She pushed through the doorway and into a large private sitting room. “Two bedrooms. Kitchenette. Only one bathroom, but its ample size should be sufficient to share with your assistant.”

  “Bodyguard.”

  “You don’t need those services here.”

  Tomas ambled away to investigate the rooms. Standing in the entrance, Luke already spotted multiple cameras. Probably equipped with microphones. The guests had no privacy, and the cartel wasn’t even trying to hide it.

  She launched into a spiel about the amenities. Room service, personal butler, spa, unlimited alcohol, computer, cell phone, and Internet.

  “Communication with outside parties is allowed on our d
evices.” She led him into the enormous bathroom. “What do you do exactly? For work?”

  “I’m a silent investor.”

  “And you invest in…?”

  “Emphasis on silent.”

  “Very well. I advise using that same discretion if you conduct business here. Every message you send and receive, every call you make, will be monitored to ensure the safety of our guests and organization.”

  “In other words, you’re recording everything I do, from the women I fuck to the transactions I make on-line. That’s your insurance, yeah? If I piss you guys off, you’ll use whatever dirt you have on me as blackmail.”

  “You’re paying attention.” She smiled.

  “Do you give your little warning to all the guests?”

  “Yes. It comes with the down payment.”

  The outrageous down payment bought him all the luxuries of an all-inclusive resort. Only here, the massages came with happy endings, and the whiskey was served with a side of cocaine. Pampering the guests was a small cost to the cartel, considering the amount of money they received at the end.

  The going rate for a sex slave? Upper six digits.

  Eight years ago, a buyer had paid close to a million dollars for Luke. When Liv had delivered him to the sadist, he’d stared straight into the man’s gaze, knowing he was seconds from being handed off and forced to spend the rest of his life doing more than just sucking the fucker’s cock. In that defining moment, shackled in the grip of those heartless eyes, he saw the place where the souls of evil were punished and tormented. He saw the face of hell and the terrifying power it held.

  With a hard blink, he squared his shoulders and locked down the memory.

  He needed a shower.

  Prowling through the bathroom, he counted only one camera. Tomas would check every shadow, crack, and corner to verify that.

  The wet room went on forever. At least three times the size of the bedroom he no longer had in Texas. The Freedom Fighters recently sold that house and moved to the Restrepo Cartel headquarters in Colombia. It was safer for them there, luxuriously furnished, and closer to the trafficking operations Camila was targeting.