Chapter 16: Echoes of Control

After the morning shower, Jaime returned alone, her damp hair clinging to her neck like a frail shroud. Relief washed over her, a cool tide against the fever of her captivity, as Captain Torres locked her into the small, familiar cell without Reggie and led him away. Maybe God had finally heard her whispered pleas, etched into the dank air night after night. She prayed Reggie was gone—shifted to another cell or cut loose—a phantom banished from her torment. Her wedding band and engagement rings glinted faintly on her finger, fragile anchors to Steve, and she clung to the hope they’d hold her through this abyss.

Reggie slouched in the Captain’s stifling office, his frame sinking into the cracked leather chair across from the hulking oak desk. The air thickened with strain, a humid snare tightening as Torres leaned in, voice low and deliberate. “Listen, Romeo, you cannot bust her face up anymore.”

The dim room pressed closer, shadows clawing at the edges. “I have to let her see her husband again. She hasn’t told him about you yet, and it’s best we keep it that way for now. You keep marking her face, he’ll start asking questions. I don’t need his suspicions flaring up—it makes things easier for all of us if he doesn’t know you’re fucking his wife. He’ll find out when the time’s right. Do you get me?”

“Yeah, I get you, Captain. But check this—he ain’t her husband no more. That’s me now, sharin’ this cell with her. And trust me, our love don’t got no limits. She warmin’ up to me, even if you doubted I could tap that white pussy,” Reggie drawled, his tone a cocky swagger laced with possession.

Torres smirked, a razor’s edge curling his lips. “Yes, it looked that way this morning, her hugging you in her sleep. Probably Stockholm setting in on the bitch—I’ve seen it before with women like her. They get all sensuous. You’re the only one she’s got, fucking her nonstop, so she’s latching onto you. But if you have to smack her to keep her in line, hit where it doesn’t show—like her ass. Speaking of, did you break that ass in last night with the lube I got you?”

Reggie flashed a wide, toothy grin, a predator’s gleam in the dim light. “Thanks for that lil’ gift. Gonna need more soon,” he chuckled, raw and guttural. “She fightin’ it now, but I got tricks to make her cozy with anal. Before she know it, she’ll be beggin’ for it without a second thought.” He winked, cocky as hell, certain he’d shatter Jaime’s Christian walls and have her craving the sodomy he’d forced upon her.

Torres and Reggie erupted in coarse, primal laughter, the sound bouncing off the peeling walls like a pack of hyenas reveling in a kill.

“You’re doing excellent work, Señor Johnson. You’ve even claimed her ass and you’re breaking her down completely. She’s becoming entirely yours. Keep fucking her if you want to get out of here sooner. By the way, the magistrate is returning from his trip at the end of the month, and your court date will be shortly after,” Torres said, his voice a smooth blade cutting through the mirth.

His tone dropped, grave and pointed, a shadow falling across his words. “Don’t forget our little agreement. I reduced your charges to misdemeanor marijuana possession and an expired tag. The drugs and the drug money you were carrying have vanished—straight into the Captain Torres retirement fund. Thank you for your support. Do we have an understanding?”

Reggie’s face twisted into a scowl, his easy grin souring. “I ain’t never thought I’d see them drugs again. But you takin’ all my cash? You leavin’ me with nothin’ after how good I been fuckin’ her for you?”

“Yes, I know this is tough,” Torres replied, voice cool and unyielding as polished steel. “But I think Mrs. Jordan has been worth it, especially since you’re banging her ass too. Seems to me you’re the one getting all the fun around here. You’ve gotten your money’s worth with her.”

Reggie’s eyes glinted, a spark of cunning flaring in the dimness. “Tell you what, Captain—if you get rid of her husband and let me keep her here in Mexico with me, maybe I can scrape up some extra for your retirement fund,” he shot back, leaning forward, his offer a dark thread weaving through the haze.

Torres’s left eyebrow arched, a slow crescent of intrigue rising at the proposal. “Sí? Tell me exactly what you have in mind, Señor Johnson...” His voice trailed off, a quiet invitation dangling like bait over a shadowed abyss, the air humming with the promise of a deeper, more sinister pact.