Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
“Absolutely not. You would be kidnapped within seconds.”
“Kidnapped by people like you? Or taken by my friends?”
“Both. If Matias Restrepo found you, do you know what he would do?” He clamped a hand around her nape, seizing her gaze. “He would confine you to his compound in Colombia, with no way to leave, no access to the outside world, no freedom.”
“He would only do that so you couldn’t take me again!”
“Think through that, Kate. He doesn’t want me to take you from him. I don’t want him to take you from me. Same. Fucking. Thing.”
“He’s never hurt me.”
“No, he hasn’t. He’s safe, because you don’t owe each other anything. Is that what you want? To spend the rest of your life surrounded by risk-free bets? If that’s the case, stay far the fuck away from love. Growing close to someone, becoming attached to them, that shit doesn’t come with a guarantee.” His voice roughened, haunted by the reality of his past. “There’s no guarantee they’ll outlive you or love you back. It’s a fucking risk that could end in a lifetime of hurt.”
Her breath cut off as she searched his face. He didn’t expect her to risk anything for him, but he knew she felt something. He wasn’t alone in this unfathomable connection.
“I hate when you say things that make sense.” Her heavy exhale cumbered the space between them. “It feels manipulative.”
Fatigue fanned in lines from the corners of her eyes and hunched her shoulders. The conversation wasn’t helping.
“Come here.” He guided her to lie against his uninjured shoulder and used the washcloth to clean away the long night.
When he started to shampoo her hair, she took over, lathering and rinsing and teasing him with all that velvety blonde cascading around her arms and back.
She was such a pleasure to watch. The fluidity in her movements, the nuances of her expressions, and the sweeping dips and arches of her nude form—all of it sent a rush through his veins, invigorating him.
“If I knew then what I knew now…” He let his head fall back on the edge of the tub, regarding her beneath the weight of his eyelids. “I would do things differently.”
“Like what?”
Everything.
No, not everything.
He would never regret taking her.
“I’m sorry you didn’t see Tate before we left the desert.” He handed her a towel from the rack beside the tub.
“Me too.” She rose from the water and dried off. “I know you can’t go back now that the house is compromised, but doesn’t that mean he’s in danger there?”
“He’s safely hidden behind a monastery.” He grabbed a towel and followed her out of the tub. “No one will find him unless they’re looking for him.”
Once they had a full sleep, he would show her another video and ease some of her worry.
In the bedroom, a tray of breakfast food steamed from beneath metal domes. They ate quickly. Then he directed her into the massive bed and slid in behind her. She didn’t roll toward him but didn’t pull away, either.
Lying on his uninjured side, he tucked her backside into the bend of his hips and held her close.
Within minutes, her breathing evened into the steady rhythm of sleep. Every bone and muscle in his body thrummed to join her in slumber, but his mind refused to shut down.
With his entire world in his arms, he lay awake and made plans.
Recovering from a gunshot wound was a bitch.
Tiago should’ve been thankful the through and through injury had missed bones, arteries, and internal organs. It healed fast, and within three weeks, he could move the damaged flesh and muscle without nauseating pain.
But three weeks of recovery meant no exercise and no leaving the penthouse.
Word had gotten out he’d fled the gunfight on a motorcycle. Since that was the last time he was seen, there were all sorts of rumors in the air about his inability to maintain his power in Caracas.
Many assumed he was too weak or too dead to be a threat. His allies dwindled with every meeting, dinner, and party he failed to attend, no matter what excuses he gave.
His rivals launched attacks against his operational locations and smuggling routes, thinking they could overtake his syndicate. His men managed to hold their ground, but the constant fighting was wearing on them.
Still, he wasn’t ready to announce his location. Not until he was one-hundred-percent confident the city and its constituents would stand against Matias Restrepo when the capo attempted to retrieve Kate.
Tiago spent his days on the phone, barking orders, making deals, rallying new supporters, and repairing relationships in the criminal underground. Business as usual.
His evenings, however, belonged to a blonde spitfire.
Blindfolded and naked, she lay face up on the bed, with rope crisscrossing her body from neck to feet.
She hadn’t gone into the restraints easily. After all her thrashing and cursing, he could still feel the burning scratches from her nails on his face.