With her head swimming, she smacked his head with the bottle harder, praying it wouldn’t shatter. This time, he collapsed on top of her, now deadweight.

  As his hands fell away from her throat, Laila coughed and gasped in precious air, despite being trapped under his unmoving body.

  Dios, had she killed him? A part of her celebrated that idea, but that was her selfish desire. Victor’s death would mean the loss of her pawn. That wouldn’t keep her loved ones safe.

  A quick touch to Victor’s carotid proved his black heart beat on.

  With a shudder of disgust, Laila shoved him off of her. He lay unmoving, facedown across the mattress, with his pale backside in the air and his boxers halfway to his knees.

  “Cabrón.” She spit, then backed away, trying not to hyperventilate. “I hate you. You will never touch me again. Never!”

  She forced herself to think. What next? Send the video to Trees?

  Yes, but did she need to if she could simply escape and return to the man she loved?

  That notion filled Laila with relief as she reached for the phone with shaking hands, stopped recording, then disabled the device’s password. Happiness pinged to every corner of her body—until she realized that Victor would only come after her—and he would start by hunting down Trees, who would try to kill Victor on her behalf. After his injuries, she couldn’t take a chance Trees would lose that fight. And she had her family to think about, too. They would never be safe as long as Montilla lived, and since Laila could never hope to kill him alone, she still needed Victor to at least weaken him.

  So escaping this hellhole and Victor wasn’t a possibility.

  On the other hand, if she stayed, Victor might actually kill her. Then she’d be unable to help her family at all.

  Panic encroached again. Laila tried to breathe and think of some solution. Absently, she groped around for clothes, but her white skirt and blouse were ruined, stiff and stained with Trees’s blood. Even if she could leave Victor, those garments would draw too much attention. She would have to make do with something of his.

  Wincing, she yanked off his boxers and donned them. Then she grabbed his shirt off the nearby chair, where he’d tossed his discarded clothes. It was musky and it smelled like him. The stench made her want to vomit, but she couldn’t waste time recoiling. She had to sort through the jumble of her thoughts and decide what to do.

  As Laila slipped on the shirt, her thoughts drifted back to Trees. She didn’t want to send him the horrible video of her “passion” with Victor, but she couldn’t risk him coming to rescue her and running head on into this dangerous vendetta when he should be healing. Eventually, he would find a nice girl without baggage and a nightmarish past, like Madison. She would make him happy.

  That reality made Laila cry.

  She swiped at her tears angrily and retrieved Victor’s phone, then forced herself to buck up and ask Valeria for Trees’s email address. While she waited for the information, she edited the video to remove all the footage that would prove she’d staged the scene. As she saved that version, her sister sent Trees’s email address.

  Taking a deep breath, Laila drafted the man she loved a wrenching lie. She sobbed as she bled each word from her heart. Trees had undoubtedly given the address in trust, hoping it would somehow help him rescue her. Certainly, he hadn’t imagined she would use it to tear them apart.

  When she finished typing, she reread it, tears flowing. She raised her finger above the button to send it…but she hesitated. She would give anything not to press Send. It was unforgivable. It would murder whatever he felt for her. Yes, she’d been over all the reasons she must. But…maybe there was some other way to keep Trees from coming to her rescue.

  What?

  Suddenly, she remembered the informant feeding Victor information. What if she worked with him herself and found another way to bring Montilla down? Maybe she could escape Victor and return to Trees after all—without ever hurting him—while still keeping her family safe.

  Excitedly, Laila set the phone aside and dug the keys to the truck from Victor’s pants pocket. Beside them, a giant wad of cash all but fell into her palm. It was more money than she had ever seen in her life. Drug money, no doubt. Payment he had taken for selling poison chemicals to gringos looking to escape the monotony of their boring, “stressful” lives.

  In her brother-in-law’s compound, they had offered her narcotics regularly. Once, shortly after the first rape, she had accepted. But the drugs had made her feel sick and less in control. She’d hated the high. It had also made her more of a target for the ruthless men Emilo had employed. Never again.

  It bothered her to steal Victor’s dirty money, but survival didn’t care about her feelings or scruples. She would gladly give those up, along with her soul, not to hurt Trees. To save everyone she loved, she would pay any price.

  Hurriedly, she stepped into her flip-flops, then grabbed Victor’s phone again and searched his texts. Messages about drug deals, information from cohorts once loyal to Emilo, even conversations with his late brother. Finally, she found the interaction between Victor and his informant inside Montilla’s inner circle. She read the string in its entirety. It was clear the double agent was merely toying with Victor, promising him information and telling him what he wanted to hear. Of course, Victor was too arrogant to see that.

  Quickly, she wrote Montilla’s supposed spy with her heart pounding. Would you like to be a hero?

  She didn’t expect an immediate reply, but she got one. You’ve got big cojones, contacting me after stealing Geraldo’s Ferrari. That is not what we agreed to.

  This is not Victor. She snapped a picture of him sprawled across the yellowing sheets, tequila bottle nearby. But I can tell you where the Ferrari is if you would like to be a hero. I assume your boss wants it. Think of how he will reward you if you retrieve it…

  What is your price?

  He was willing to play? Laila glanced at Victor again. He still wasn’t stirring, so she excitedly tapped out another response. It is steep, and I do not have the patience to negotiate. I also assume your boss would like to know where to find Victor Ramos since he sent sicarios.

  If you tell me where to find the car and the rat, I will be most generous.

  And once Montilla had his hands on Victor, he would kill the bastard. Trees would be safe.

  Hope built as Laila typed back. Montilla has a hostage, an American woman named Kimber. I want her location and the means into wherever she is being held.

  She would pass the information on to EM Security. When they rescued Kimber, they would likely take Montilla down. Then her family would finally have a future—just like she might with Trees.

  The informant’s reply was immediate. You ask me to betray a man who will kill me for such disloyalty.

  But you will be in favor when you give him both the location of his precious car and his worst enemy. If you are smart, and you must be, he will not suspect you of betraying him, she argued.

  Who are you?

  No one you need to know. What is your answer?

  Laila’s heart pounded as she waited a long moment for his reply. Why should I trust you?

  She had to think about how to answer that. If I tell you where to find the car, you tell me where to find Kimber. Once I have verified that information, I will give you Victor’s location.

  The reply was a long time coming. Laila bit a ragged nail and double-checked Victor’s still form.

  Finally, a new message popped up. That is acceptable. The location of the Ferrari?

  Laila clutched the phone, her mind racing. Finally, she rattled off the name of a small market she remembered thirty minutes up the road. It should take her informant at least that long to get there, right? Now where is Kimber?

  Not so fast. Once I get the car, I will give you the location.

  She wanted to argue since she hadn’t anticipated taking Victor’s phone with her, but she didn’t have a choice. Immediately, she turned off not only location services but cellular data, so neither Victor nor Trees could ping the device.

  Fine. The car will be there. If you want Victor’s location, I will need Kimber’s.

  She received no reply, so she pocketed Victor’s phone and looked back at him, wishing she had another zip tie or some way to secure him. But she didn’t and she didn’t dare waste time looking for one. She had to get the car to the drop-off point.

  Laila let herself out of the motel room without a backward glance, driving north until she reached the little family-owned market just off the highway.

  Since it was the middle of the night, the place was closed. Laila didn’t see a soul. She breathed a sigh of relief as she backed the classic sports car out of the truck and parked it behind the building, ensuring it wasn’t visible to traffic. Then she hid the keys before hopping in the truck again and steering it down a dirt road behind the market. She parked behind some overgrown brush, between some trees, and waited in the dark, fighting the demands of her overtired body for sleep.

  She had nearly drifted off when a car with squeaking brakes stopped near the Ferrari. The sedan’s interior light came on as a man exited the passenger door and slammed it shut. Another man remained behind the wheel of the idling car.

  Quickly, she dashed off a text. Keys are under the driver’s-side floor mat.

  It took a few minutes before the man circling the classic car looked at his phone, then he bent for the keys. That told her that neither of the men sent to retrieve the Ferrari was the informant. That also told her he had some power and position in the organization since he had men of his own.

  The lackey started the sports car, then dashed off a text to someone. Three minutes later, Victor’s phone lit up with Kimber’s location and a schematic of the compound, which the Edgingtons had been desperately seeking for nearly two weeks. Still, she had to be cautious.

  She typed out a question. How do I know Kimber is really where you say she is?

  Moments later, a picture of the woman herself, all matted auburn hair and big, terrified eyes filled the screen. Laila had never met Kimber, but her heart went out to the wife and mother suddenly torn away from her comfort, her family, and her life. Kimber was holding a phone displaying a map that pinpointed the location the man had told her.

  As a precaution, she will be moved tomorrow or the next day. Montilla does that often. That is beyond my control.

  Laila would do everything she could to ensure Kimber was rescued before then.

  Now where is Victor Ramos? the man on the other end demanded.

  Since she had the information she needed, Laila answered in kind. She typed out the name of the motel, which she had noted on her way out. Our business is now concluded. I will not answer again.

  Yes, you will, Laila. As you pointed out, it is good to be a hero. Montilla saw the video of you helping Ramos steal the car. He wants blood. My boss would definitely think me a hero if I brought you to him.

  Laila’s blood ran cold. She sat frozen, not daring to reply. When the men who’d come for the Ferrari both started coming toward her, guns in hand, she started the truck and floored it, putting as much distance between her and them as possible.

  Blindly, she flew down dark roads, heedless of where she was going, simply relieved she’d been too fast for them to follow. But she needed to ditch this truck, to find safety, and to tell EM Security where to find Kimber before Montilla moved her. She had to return to the villa outside of La Pesca and try to retrieve Trees’s guns and her clothes. And as much as it killed her, she would have to send Trees the email meant to break his heart and hope that he hated her too much to ever want to save her.

  A few hours later, Trees found himself sitting beside Logan in a rented van, rumbling away from an airstrip northeast of San Luis Potosí in tense silence. The bosses had called fifteen minutes after Laila sent her backstabbing video and told him that his mission to find her was on hold. They needed all hands tonight to rescue Kimber.

  Fuck.

  Of course the bosses wanted to save their sister. But the timing goddamn chafed. Laila was out there, double-crossing him and EM Security. Hunter, Logan, and Joaquin had to know he’d been the fidiot who allowed that to happen. So he had to be the one to stop her. But Trees itched to hunt her down, tie her up, and extract some fucking answers. After she confessed when and how she’d decided to play him so he wouldn’t make the foolish mistake of trusting her again, he would do whatever necessary to exorcise her from his stupid, shattered heart.

  While Matt had driven them the 250 miles from the doctor’s office to meet Logan, Trees had tried to close his eyes. But the visual of Laila being touched by Victor Ramos—and her obvious pleasure—replayed through his brain in an endless, destructive loop. Fury boiled his blood and jacked up his mood. Sleep wasn’t happening. His one consolation? If he couldn’t get his pound of flesh from Laila now, he’d at least get to fuck up assholes pushing drugs.

  That thought had kept him going until he’d stood to greet Logan at the airstrip. Then he’d puked everywhere.

  “You still look green,” Logan remarked an hour later, steadying the wheel as he drove down an empty highway just after three a.m. Once their plane had landed, he’d sent the rest of the team ahead. Matt was now sacked out in the back of the van.

  “If you’re looking to get laid, flattery won’t work.”

  “Ha ha.” Logan shot him an acidic stare. “Matt says you have a concussion. You probably shouldn’t be turned loose with a gun.”

  “Matt should keep his mouth shut. I’m fine.” Well, good enough.

  As long as he didn’t think about Laila…which was proving impossible. How had she suckered him so badly? How had she lied and so thoroughly convinced him of her sob story? He would have sworn everything about her was painfully honest, but maybe life with a cartel had carved the need to survive—fuck her scruples—into her psyche. Maybe she’d decided she could stay alive most easily by mesmerizing schmucks like him with her body. Maybe she’d never felt anything for any man who’d been inside her, except Victor. Maybe her wide-eyed surprise when he’d supposedly given her both her first kiss and her first orgasm had been bullshit designed to make him feel special. And maybe he’d believed it because he’d wanted to.

  If he were a forgiving man, he’d reconcile himself to the fact she was damaged and simply let her go. Too bad for her. Laila was about to find out that he was a nice guy…until he wasn’t.

  “You’re full of shit. You seriously look ready to puke again.”

  Trees shook his head and lied through his teeth. “Nope. I’m solid.”

  “Stay in the van and be our lookout.”

  So he could…what? Fixate on how he’d repay Laila and miss his chance to kill some motherfuckers? “Is that an order?”

  Logan sighed. “Fine. You’re a big boy, and we need all the guns we can get. But you better not be BSing me. I don’t want to take anyone back in a pine box.”

  “If you do, it won’t be me.” Not when he had a score to settle.

  “Hunter is going to kill me.”

  Trees didn’t care. “What’s the plan?”

  Since most of EM Security, along with Deke Trenton and Caleb Edgington, Oracle agent Trevor Forsythe, and Ghost had flown in together, they’d powwowed on the plane midair. Once everyone had landed, Matt had warned his bosses about Trees’s injury, so no one had felt the need to clue him in.

  He was going to change that bullshit now.

  “Fine. According to our intel, Kimber is being held in one of Montilla’s haciendas. It’s remote, up in the mountains. Getting up there will be a bitch. Deke, Dad, and Hunter took Ghost and went ahead to do some recon. Once they return, they’ll join Joaquin, Matt, Trevor, Zy, Walker, and the two of us. We’ll split into two teams.”

  Trees guessed Kane had stayed behind to guard Valeria and Jorge. “Roger that. Then what?”

  “The preliminary plan is that one team will go in from the south, near the stables. The other will go in from the west, between some storage buildings. Supposedly, security is more lax around those sides of the estate. We’ll avoid the front altogether. We’ve got a schematic of the place, so I’m confident that, if the security pattern holds, we have the right approach. But…”

  The bosses were meticulous strategists. They could be motherfuckers, but they were smart. He didn’t remember a time any of them had sounded less than confident. “What’s the catch?”

  “We got here as fast as we could, but the information is already a few hours old.”

  “That’s why we’re inserting on top of recon?”

  “Yeah. We were warned that Montilla moves Kimber frequently as a precaution. But this also might be a trap. Are you sure you want to do this if you’re not one hundred percent? It’s going to be rough.”

  Then it would match his mood, but they weren’t leaving him behind. “And abandon everyone else when another gun could make the difference between success and failure? No. How reliable is the information?”

  Logan hesitated. “We really have no idea. Laila called it in.”

  Trees scowled. “Tonight?”

  “About four hours ago.”

  Around the same time he’d received the video of Victor fucking her. “Then I hate to burst your bubble, but it’s probably bullshit. She’s proven she’s a really good liar.”

  “Matt told us what happened.”

  “Happened?” Like the universe had just shit out that horrible fucking video to rip out his heart. “No, what she did. Let’s be clear. And I’m fucking sorry I fell for it.”

  “This is why you shouldn’t touch a client. But that train left the station. I know.” And Logan looked pissed. “Did you ever think she sent that video to stop you from coming after her because she didn’t want you in danger?”

  Logan still believed there was a chance Laila hadn’t played him? It was a nice fantasy, and definitely something Laila would do—for Valeria and Jorge. He’d just been an annoyance, a toy she’d been done playing with, so she’d made sure he wouldn’t bother her with his protectiveness, his affection, or his heart beating for her anymore.