“But you will tell me that you want me, puta…loudly! If you want to save your husband, you will do what I tell you to do.”

She knew with a dim part of her barely conscious mind that she was saying what he wanted her to say, parroting the words he had whispered to her, hating him but compelled to obey in the hopes that she could stall for enough time to warn Steve of his danger.

Then Luna’s hand clamped down on her shoulder, pushing her down until her knees struck the hard floor. Her heart pounded furiously and there was a ringing in her ears like fire bells.

Kneeling on the rough floor, her knees pressed against hard planks, she curled her fingers into her palms until the nails dug half-moons into her skin.

“Perhaps,” he said, his voice penetrating the thick mist of her fear, “you need some wine to cool you off.”

Ginny tried to twist away, but he forced her to drink some of the wine. It splashed over her white silk shift, over her ribs and belly, and onto her thighs. She swallowed some, choking on it before he took away the bottle. A coughing spasm wracked her. In a moment he came back to her and knelt in front of her, his hand bringing her chin up so that she had to face him.

“Now, perhaps you will be more agreeable, chica.”

Ginny swung a hand at him. He grasped her wrist, bending her arm backward, and laughed at her gasp of pain. She was pulled swiftly to her feet, falling forward into his arms.

He held her hard against his chest, ignoring her struggle to free herself as he laughed softly. “Ah, it is time, I think, for it to begin….”

It was then that Ginny heard the door slam open and heard Steve Morgan say, “Let go of my wife.”

35

It was all a horrible blur after that. Later, she would vaguely recall watching in numb, silent horror as Steve and Rafael fought, viciously, with a savagery that held her unwilling gaze.

Rafael Luna had planned well. With the Rurales he had hired posted just outside the door, Steve Morgan had walked into a trap, and Luna smiled triumphantly.

“It is customary for you to choose the weapons, I admit, but time has not permitted me to be so generous. You will pardon me for the breach of etiquette, Morgan, but I have taken the liberty of providing swords for our duel. I find pistols so…crude.”

“It doesn’t matter to me. Just get on with it.”

Steve sounded impatient, hard, his lean body and dark, piratical face reflecting nothing but hostile competence.