Yassine re-crossed his legs and set down his espresso, smacking his lips and embracing the burn on his tongue. His to-do list was growing at a rapid pace with the upcoming Big Ben event. But... was it big enough? Did it have the sticking power of, say, a meat dress or riding into an award banquet in an egg? God, he loved Lady Gaga. She was brilliant. His phone rang, and he tossed his magazine. The number was not only familiar, it was a pleasant surprise. "Hello, my friend. I thought I'd lost you."

His tried-and-true distributor laughed into the phone. "The last few weeks were a testament to my network. I have to say, when our last project didn't go as planned, I felt the heat."

Yes, he bet so. "But no longer?"

Half-waiting for an answer, half-distracted, he picked up an unread newspaper with a headline reading that the royal family and the US president had an upcoming event. An event like that would make quite the splash.

"But no longer, my friend." His pleased voice brought Yassine back to the conversation.

This was good. Buying his explosives and weapons from his regular dealer was more comforting, plus he had a sudden idea for a different project. An American project.

The man on the phone cleared his throat. "If you are still interested in making a deal, I am still interested in providing what you need."

"Perfect." He wouldn't have to use an unknown like Locke.

Yassine's mind wandered to Locke's wife. Her olive skin would be a perfect shade if she were paler and... icy cold. He took another sip of the scalding espresso and imagined the feel of frigid skin under his palms. Locke had the nerve to charge him more for looking at his wife? There were so many ways to teach that man a lesson. How would he break off their agreement? Something memorable. Something that said El Mateperros was to be respected and remembered. Several ideas came to mind as he scalded his tongue on espresso again and wished for an icy remedy. He ended the call, thrilled with the opportunities flooding his mind. His excitement raced. Time to go end the deal with Locke.

Slurping the last sips of his espresso and jittery from finishing it so quickly, he called for his men to ready the car. El Mateperros had business to take care of.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR.

Caterina lay in bed, buried in pillows, with a grin she couldn't wipe away. Last night had been amazing. This morning... she had no words and still hadn't recovered from being all love-drunk. Every time with Rocco was better than before, and where were his thoughts at- Knock, knock.

She jumped. He hadn't been gone long enough to grab breakfast. A smile still painted on her face, she wrapped the sheet round her and nearly skipped to the door. "Forget something?"

No answer.

The hairs at the back of her neck stood a second too late as her hand turned the handle. Eyes focusing, she knew her instinct was right.

El Mateperros.

His smooth as sin features smirked through the cracked opening. All the terror from her childhood crushed her chest. She froze. Panicked. Unable to move. Unable to reason.

Until El Mateperros cackled, startling her back to a shell-shocked reality.

"Daniel's not here." She slapped her palm against the door-both hands-and used her bare foot as a fulcrum point. It didn't help as he pushed in. The sheet started to fall, and her elbows pinched it to her side.

El Mateperros wrapped his fingers on the inside of the door. "This is no way to treat a business partner."

Shaking her head, she tried to remember where the closest weapon was. Much farther than El Mateperros's, she was sure. "Come back later."

He pushed the door again, then his shoulder crashed onto it. Him against her, no contest, he had the upper hand, and she couldn't keep him out. All of her weight wasn't slowing the bastard's advance, and he didn't stop until he stood in the living room. "Mrs. Locke."

I know who you are. His watery eyes nearly glowed. Behind him, two of his thugs stood uninterested in her refusal of entry.

"Por favor." The octave of her voice jumped, and she hated herself for it. "I can't let you in. Daniel va a estar de vuelta en un minuto." Nerves were getting to her because the Spanish was coming on its own.

She had to play her part until Rocco came back. He'd confirm their cover. Mr. and Mrs. Locke. There would be no doubt. Their identities had been put together quickly, but they were primo. The room looked like a newlywed couple's: rumpled bed, lingerie in the closet, condom wrapper... somewhere.

There was just no way El Mateperros knew they weren't the Lockes. She'd been too careful.

He snickered. "I prefer not to wait in the hall."

"You should have called." She wrapped the sheet tighter around her, forcing away the disgust and alarm buzzing in her ears. She couldn't let years of training become useless. He could overpower her, but she could bring him within an inch of his life and make him beg for mercy. She just needed the upper hand. "My husband will be furious."

"Your husband?"

Maybe he did know. Shit. How? "Yes."

"Interesting." Two of El Mateperros's henchmen stepped into the hotel room and locked the deadbolt. "Say it again, your husband."

This felt all wrong. He asked about her husband, but he wasn't angry. "Get. Out."

"I found another distributor. I don't need your weapons."

"They're not mine, and I don't talk business for my husband." She stepped away but didn't turn her back. What was that cadence to his voice? "Now, let me get dressed and-"

His arm shot out and grasped her bicep. "Not so fast, Mrs. Locke."

She clenched her teeth. "Let. Go."

A rip of her arm and he pulled her close, the sheet tripping her feet, and she slammed into his chest. He breathed her in. "You smell like smut."

Her stomach dropped. Arousal tinged his words. Sicko. She struggled in his grip, kneed for his nuts but missed. "He'll kill you."

"A beef-head arms dealer? No chance." He turned to one of the henchmen. "Start the water."

Water? What was this? Did he plan to work her over? And why did he sound turned on? Ugh, disgusting.

If she could anticipate his moves, then she could survive them. Waterboarding was more mental than physical. If that was his plan, she could last until Rocco came back. What else could he do with water? Soak her and shock her. That was a tough one too. Electrical shock was always hit or miss. It messed with the heart and fried the nerves. Her mind raced down the list of water-related ways he could elicit information from her. Stop. Buy time.

"No." She painted fear on her face, terror in her voice. Partially because it was already there, partially she needed to play to his ego. How long would it take Rocco to grab breakfast? "I don't have anything to do with his business. I don't know anything."

El Mateperros pulled her close. The mint on his breath was so different than the mint that'd been on Rocco's, and it made her stomach revolt. "I'm not here to talk business."

El Mateperros backed her against a wall. Her head hit. Hard. Pain exploded at the back of her skull, and he pushed into her. The crushing effort knocked the air from her lungs. His erection jabbed into her stomach. Her eyes went wide. The fear became real. Shit. Shit. Shit. The man who'd turned the water on came out with the trash pail. He grabbed the second one from the living room.

"I always like it better when they're married," El Mateperros said as the man passed and headed to the door. "Newly married is even more fun."

Caterina fought the hold. El Mateperros's perfect face was flawless, every pore microscopic, each eyebrow hair perfectly in place. Deep breath in and she slammed her forehead into his nose as hard as she could. Pain exploded between her eyes. Stars shone. A dizzying spin almost made her lose her balance, but she recovered, teeth snapping, hoping to sink into his perfect flesh.

"Bitch!" El Mateperros's nose bled. He roared back and smacked her face. "Fucking whore!"

Caterina hit the ground, scampering back on her bare ass, knowing she'd seen Rocco tuck a small caliber pistol under a couch cushion. Her attacker wiped his nose with the back of his hand, smearing the blood but not stopping the flow.

The man with the trash pails came back into the room, holding them differently-as if they were heavy-and went into the bathroom. The second henchman deadbolted the door. The tub's water turned off, and she heard a rush, like the sound of ice falling into a glass.

Ice?

Ice had filled the two pails.

Ice was now in the water. In the bathtub.

What the fuck?

She lunged to the side, hoping to reach the couch, but El Mateperros was on her. His fingers dug into her scalp and bashed her head against the carpet. Fireworks lit up the hotel room walls. The floral print on the wallpaper burst into an array of colors as she fought to remain conscious.

"No!" Her head pounded, but her eyes focused. She kicked and clawed. The sheet fell completely away. "Help!"

He laughed. His weight pressed on her, holding her in place. Caterina pumped her legs. Her arms wanted to swing, her fists wanted to find flesh, but he held her down on the floor and forced her to look up.

Beneath him, panic and fear paralyzed her body while her mind remained absolutely coherent. No! She snapped out of the shock, shoving her shoulder into his face; another direct impact and his bony nose might even have broken. He threw his head back and she lunged away, growling and grunting, needing to get to a weapon. Or simply get away.

"Help!" She wasn't too proud to beg for help. It was him versus her while his two men stood by. Three against her one. "Help!" Her voice screeched, throat ripping in pain, positive she had screamed loudly enough to make her vocal cords bleed.

El Mateperros clamped his hand over her mouth. Fast breaths tried to force their way out. But didn't. She couldn't breathe. Not enough air came through her nose. Panic. Oxygen.

They battled back and forth, and she had no idea who would win. Her nostrils flared. Moisture seeped out of her nose, her eyes, her mouth.

"Someone!" Hoarse, harsh pleadings didn't make it past the hand he held over her mouth. The room went hazy. Not enough air. Too much panic. And she was about to- He moved his hand. Caterina gulped for air, drinking it in, coughing and sputtering, trying like hell to maintain consciousness. "Go away." It should've been an order, but it was a sad, weak plea. "Don't do this."

El Mateperros wiped his nose again and nudged her leg with his shoe.

"She's a fighter." One of his bulked up men step forward. "Ready for her?"

His bodyguards were ensuring he didn't need assistance? Caterina spat at him. "Fuck you."

El Mateperros's erection tented in his pants while he licked his lips. "No, that's my job." She could smell the mint on his breath when he got close. "Take her."

Take her? Take her where?

The other man dragged her away from the Dog Killer. She kicked and clawed, but it did no good. "Help. Help me!"

The more she yelled, the quieter she got. Her voice was gone. Blood seeped in her mouth from the force of overexerting her throat. Half-dragging, half-carrying her, the man who held her smelled like sweat. He dropped her in a pile. She stared at the ceiling. The bathroom lights blinded her.

"Here you go. Chill out." And with a toss, she was off the cold tile floor and landing in the ice bath.

Frozen agony surrounded her, cramping her muscles and burning her skin as she fell underneath the water. She couldn't pull up, couldn't push out. Her legs flayed, arms splashed, trying to push above water and out of the deep two-person tub. A hand held her head down. Ice cold water rushed into her nose and burned, choking her. Ice cubes sloshed around the tub, covering her, bumping against her skin. She flailed. Every head turn, each push to come up for air was refuted. Her lungs ached. Her body wanted to gasp but only inhaled water. A hand pulled her head up, just enough to breathe and she gasped and choked, swallowing air. Coughing and sputtering. Her lungs couldn't jump start.

Where was Rocco?

Held up by the stinging roots of her hair, she shivered, shaking violently as she dangled from a hulk's grip. Ice cubes clinked against the tub. Her temperature was in free fall and serious hypothermia concerns poisoned her drive to survive. He pushed her in and out of the water a few more times until she was far past disoriented.

Just as fast as she'd gone into the tub, she was yanked out. Her head snapped back, and her limbs shook so severely she couldn't use them to defend herself. Hell, at that second, she couldn't use them to even stand. Sopping wet, bitterly frozen, she was held by one foot, on elbow and dragged to the bedroom, tossed onto bed.

El Mateperros lorded over her. "Now she's ready."

Licking his lips again, he turned them up.

She would kill him. She would. He'd murdered her family, and now he would rape her? Not without her tearing him apart as soon as she could move. Soon as she could run. Save herself and come back, just to slit him open knuckles to nuts and watch him bleed out. Slowly. Goddamn him.

The metal clink of the buckle brought her back to the hotel room, away from her plans for vengeance. He unbuckled his belt like he was putting on a show. A terrorist, rapist burlesque number, just for her. Every ounce of her strength shot into her ice-numbed limbs. She popped up and pushed back. Her feet fought to find the bed. She kicked, hitting him hard, the heels of her feet beating into him.

No effect. More kicks, screams...

It didn't faze him at all, and a predatory look of arousal blossomed on his face. He was growing more amused, more turned on by the second.

No. A growl roared from deep in her chest.

The bastard dropped his trousers. His erection pushed in his briefs, straining toward her, then he snagged her kicking ankles. "I love a cold, wet bitch."

His fingers squeezed too tight on her ankle. The bone felt ready to shatter under his strength. Fuck it. Let him break it. She pulled back, hard as she could, grabbing the comforter, the sheets, sliding in the mess of fabric while he laughed. And laughed and laughed. Wannabe necrophiliac bastard.

He pulled her forward to the foot of the bed and pounced between her legs, shoving himself into the vee of her body. Gorilla fingers gripped her flesh, bruising as he clawed up her body. Knees. Thighs. Hips. She tried to roll. Scream. Kick. His free hand fell hard, slapping her, and blood exploded in her mouth.

All went white...

...and she was back.

She shook her head for focus. Her eyes struggled to open. Then did. His fucking smile. His cock. Greeting her like some sicko jack-in-the-box, bobbing over her. Crushing weight dropped down, smashing her bare breasts, rubbing his vulgar, hard penis all over her.

He hissed, "Wet and cold."

Tears streamed down her face, and the blunt head of his erection pressed painfully against her sex. Her body clamped down. God no. Please. No. God help me. Her teeth steeled together. Blood filled her mouth. She swallowed and choked when he tore into her, sensitive flesh tearing with his invasion. Splitting muscle. Cries coughed out. Tears and snot ran down her face. And he thrust. And thrust. And rammed... grunting. Wrists pinned down. Vomit rose in her throat, into her mouth, stinging into her nose. Hot moisture seeped between them. Blood. She knew it without seeing it. The vicious tear of flesh. The raw burn and the blistering friction that she never could've imagined. She couldn't move her legs, her arms. Pins and needles from his physical restraint and dead weight. Complete desperation paralyzed her. And she sobbed. Harder and more, and her eyes cracked opened. His teeth were sealed together, lips bare, chin jutting every time he slammed into her. The tears wouldn't stop, and that deep, body-destroying hurt wouldn't quit.

His groan cried out, partnered with a thrust so deep that she almost passed out. He shuddered and pulsed, quivering his awful climax into her damaged body. El Mateperros stilled for a heartbeat. His teeth parted, mouth gaping, and his sick grin appeared. He pulled from her quickly, patting her on the chin. "Ice cold and wet. Does it every time."

His torso, his cock.... her blood stained his skin. He bent to pull his pants up, the belt clinking as he did, and she threw up, barely turning her head to keep from choking on it.

But that's all she could do. Lie in a pool of her vomit, bleeding between her legs and cry...

El Mateperros's voice smiled even if she didn't open her eyes to see it. "Good thing I knew what you wanted."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE.