Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
She watched him as he watched her, seemingly just as content, but something lurked in the back of her eyes.
He spread a lock of her hair in the grass, snaking it around like a black river. “What are you thinking about?”
“Your spy problem.”
He didn’t expect that, and his heart lurched excitedly. “What about it?”
“Well, you haven’t caught this person.”
He arched a brow. “Are you questioning my competence?”
“Yep.”
“All right.” His chest filled with pride. “I’m listening.”
She leaned up on an elbow, and the twin peaks of her pink nipples drew his attention.
“Up here, Matias.”
He flicked his eyes to hers and found a glint of amusement there.
“You’ve been monitoring every outgoing transaction and message?” She cocked her head. “Even phone calls?”
“Everything. Nothing is getting leaked or discussed. We’re on virtual shutdown. We’ve flown in all of our technical geniuses and highest-ranking members to the property and haven’t let anyone leave. We have every able and trusted person hunting for this person.”
She nodded, her expression contemplative. “Have you considered the possibility that Gerardo might’ve been lying?”
“The man was in a world of pain when he confessed.” His heart skipped. “He lasted through hours of slicing and severing and—”
“He was loyal to this other group then. Loyal enough to endure that kind of torture.” She glanced away, scrunched up her nose in concentration, and looked back at him. “What if he was trying to distract you from something? What if he wanted you to congregate your cartel?”
Dread sank his stomach, and his blood pressure skyrocketed. “Fuck. No, that’s… Shit, we’ve focused all our efforts here, searching internally. And we’re all together, pulled all of our resources to one place.”
“The enemy is out there, doing hell knows what, while your attention is centered on yourselves.” She sat up and stared over the trees. “If someone were to…I don’t know, drop a bomb on this place, every important member would be blown to bloody pieces. Would the cartel die with them?”
Yes, it absolutely would.
A WEEK LATER, Camila stretched on a lounge chair on the balcony outside of Matias’ private living room, listening intently to the drone of voices around her. Not really hearing the words as much as evaluating inflections, pitch, and volume of one voice in particular.
Twilight blushed the sky and cast a radiant glow across Matias’ stern expression. Sitting at the wrought iron table cluttered with bottles of beer and aguardiente, he strategized and argued with the men in the inner circle.
His timbre was calm and even, but the Texan drawl he tried so hard to hide slipped through, barely there, pulling on some of his consonants. Was he worried? Scared?
He hadn’t let her out of his sight in over a week. Whenever he left his suite, he took her with him, to his meetings, to walk the perimeter of the property, to dinner on the veranda. Given the current topic of conversation, she doubted he would be leaving her side any time soon.
Other than the potential danger that threatened his life—as well as hers—she didn’t want to care if the cartel perished or survived. She needed to focus on the horrors Matias kept imprisoned in the west wing. She’d counted at least fourteen slaves since she’d arrived, and who knew how many others weren’t being paraded through the halls like dogs on leashes.
A slaughtered cartel meant less slave traders in the world. She tried to feel enthusiastic about that, but instead, it sank a heavy feeling in her stomach. Did she actually like these guys?
Other than her first day here, the inner circle hadn’t treated her like a slave, never even raised a brow when she voiced her opinions or asked questions in the privacy of Matias’ suite. Of course, Matias had told her multiple times that his four closest men knew who she was and why she was here.
But she couldn’t ignore their depravity. The evidence was etched into the horrified faces of the slaves they kept.
Except every time she looked at Matias, she didn’t see a man who wanted to profit from women’s suffering. She saw a man who adored her so deeply he would sacrifice everything for her.
It didn’t make sense that he loved her while doing the one thing that hurt her the most. But rather than fight him, she watched him, tried to understand his motivations and trust that there was something he wasn’t telling her, something important.
If I hit you too hard or overstep your limits without explanation, you need to trust that I’m doing it for you.
Was there another message beneath his words? Something below the threshold of her understanding? Because dammit, his involvement in human trafficking did overstep her limits, and how the fuck could he possibly be doing that for her?
She wanted to trust him, which was huge and terrifying and really goddamn hard on her heart. It shattered every night at dinner, every time she saw a sewn mouth, a shackled hand, or a fearful set of eyes. She was reaching her limits on trust.