Free Jagger (Broken Doll Book 2) by Heather C. Leigh

up at El Cuchillo. The fucking bastard was smiling. He was literally getting off on my fear. Feeding on my terror. Every scream was pleasure, every jerk against the cuffs a sultry stroke that brought him closer to satisfaction, every whimper a lover’s word whispered in his ear.
    Fuck him.
    I stopped struggling and forced my muscles to relax. It took every bit of strength I had—strength I’d earned from years of abuse at the hands of my mother, from scraping and working my fingers to the bone to support myself and Cat in our apartment, from the six months I was kept as Mason’s whore and drug addict—to lift my chin and lock my eyes onto the dark ones of my captor.
    “Kill me. I don’t care. You’re a sick fuck. Go ahead and do it, but I’ll never break.”
    His brow furrowed and his lip curled into a furious sneer.
    “We’ll see about that, puta . We’ll see.”

5
    Jag
    T he most recent video from Cuchillo sent me flying into a fucking wrecking ball of rage. I was so out of my mind, I didn’t remember half of what happened, but I sure as fuck felt it when it stopped. Everything hurt. My muscles, my joints, my heart, my soul. When I finally exhausted myself physically, I collapsed in a sweaty heap on the floor and sagged against the kitchen wall to catch my breath.
    “Boss.” Milo slid down next to me. “You okay?”
    With my elbows on bent knees, I hung my head between my legs and ran a hand across the back of my damp neck. “No, I’m not fucking okay.” I was goddamn drained. Lack of sleep, the images from the seemingly untraceable videos that never seemed to stop showing up in my inbox, the constant searching that came up empty day after fucking day… No. Okay was not a word in my vocabulary right now.
    Revenge. Death. Torture.
    Those were the words on the tip of my tongue every minute of every day. Ten fucking days since she was taken from my arms. Ten days of terrifying videos of the walking dead man hitting, punching, and groping my Miri. His newest thing was to cut off her clothes with a fucking knife and beat her naked body. There wasn’t a single inch of her skin that wasn’t a nauseating shade of black and blue. But goddamn, I was so proud of my doll. She never stopped fighting. Physically, she might have given in, but I could see it in those green eyes of hers. Miri was still there, as fiery as ever.
    Hold out for me, baby. I will get you.
    The front door flew open and heavy footsteps thundered down the hall. Milo leapt to his feet, his massive pistol in his hand and aimed at the doorway to the kitchen.
    “Jesus, fuck. You goddamn morons,” Milo growled. He stuffed his hand cannon back into its holster and leaned against the granite countertop. “Announce yourself next time or you’ll end up with your brains all over the wall.”
    I forced my weary body to my feet as three of my men, Shade, one of Shade’s guys from the warehouse, and One, my best area dealer, entered the kitchen. The large space suddenly seemed small, what with me and Milo, and now the three of them standing around the kitchen table. None of us were exactly small. Five of us in one room were a little overwhelming.
    “What’s going on?” I asked. My eyes met each of theirs and what I saw had my heart leaping into my throat and flutters assaulting my stomach.
    Shade grinned. “We think we found Cuchillo, Boss.”
    “What?” I pushed past Milo and grabbed Shade by the shoulders. “Where? How? Why aren’t we on our way? Fuck, tell me everything.” I motioned for him to follow me and barked out orders as I turned to leave. “Milo, call in the troops.”
    “Yes, Boss,” he replied.
    I strode out of the kitchen and hurried up the stairs, Shade close on my heels. While I changed clothes and strapped on my weapons, including my handgun and three knives, Shade told me everything, from who found Cuchillo, how they tracked him down, to the address of El Cuchillo’s safe house in Victoria, a two-hour drive from both