Damian (The Caine Brothers #3) by Margaret Madigan Read Free Book Online

gig next week so we have to hit the road. It’s good to see you guys,” Jaxon said.
    “Listen, I’m sorry I didn’t see the whole show. I’ll make it up to you,” Damian said.
    “Hey, man, I’m happy you caught some of it, and I’m all for getting laid when you can, so no worries.”
    “Safe travels, both of you. I’m going home to get some sleep.”
    Damian took a few steps to follow his family, but stopped and looked up at the house. He didn’t know which window was Elena’s, but somewhere on the second floor. He should probably find her and say goodbye. Maybe steal one last kiss. The girl could sure as hell kiss. He licked his lips, the ghost of her mouth on his mocking him with all the kisses and sex they wouldn’t have. All the things they wouldn’t do and say together.
    Jeez. He shook his head and turned away, marching around the house to find the valet. He didn’t do regret.
    He tipped the valet when the guy handed Damian his keys, and climbed in the car, then roared down the driveway.
    They’d had some smoking hot sex and that was it. Time to get back to his life.

CHAPTER 5
    The first thing Elena noticed when consciousness finally sifted into her brain was the pounding headache that throbbed in her temples. The next thing was her dry mouth. Her swallow mechanism didn’t work the first couple of times until she managed enough saliva to coat the inside of her mouth and throat.
    Her memory came back in bits and pieces. She remembered being drugged at her parents’ house by the traitorous caterer. After that she only had flashes of being bound and gagged, the queasiness of takeoff in an airplane, being jounced around in the back of a truck. That was it.
    She rolled over onto her back and her muscles protested. Everything ached and throbbed in time to her headache.
    Although she had no idea who would kidnap her or why, the first thing she needed to do was assess her situation. She started with her peripheral senses. Sometimes when people relied too heavily on vision they missed things, so she listened, and felt, and breathed deeply to catch any scents in the air.
    No sounds of human activity in her immediate surroundings—even the quiet noises of sniffing, breathing, or shifting in a seat or from foot to foot—meant she must be alone. Ambient sounds included male voices outside the room—both inside the building and out, but beyond that the call of birds and screech of monkeys echoed in the space outside. So, she must be in a jungle somewhere with some open space around the buildings. Otherwise, she heard no other manmade sounds—no road or car noise, no aircraft, no sounds of human industry. So the location was remote.
    Heat and humidity dampened her skin and hair, but she lay on soft bedding so at the very least she was in some sort of civilized structure rather than a dirt-floored hut or cement warehouse. Remote jungle was bad, but she upgraded the situation given the state of her lodgings. A hint of breeze carried the smell of green in the air—the humid, loamy scent of thick green growth—with an overlay of coffee.
    She didn’t need to see anything to know she had to be in the home or compound of someone with money, probably somewhere in a Central or South American jungle country. It didn’t take a genius to connect the dots to drug lord.
    A well-appointed room greeted her when she opened her eyes. She lay on a queen-sized bed in a room with white and gilt décor, still wearing her sweats and tank top. It certainly wasn’t the ideal work outfit, especially since she had no shoes and no bra. A closet and dresser looked promising, though.
    She rolled off the bed and headed for the windows. Outside looked pretty much like she expected—a hilltop compound with sizeable grounds surrounded by dense jungle as far as the eye could see. A dirt road snaked off into the trees at the back of the building, but she did see several men with AK-47s patrolling the perimeter.
    The top two drawers of the