After he drove off, Laila roamed his place listlessly. She picked at breakfast. She turned on a telenovela…then turned the silly thing off. She paced, praying Trees would finish this mission unscathed. She showered, hoping the soothing water would help her decide what to say when he returned.

  What was love? Did she really know? She felt something for him—a lot, actually. But love?

  If that isn’t what you feel, why do you have such angst?

  It was a fair question. Was she capable of the kind of love Trees had given her? Or had she endured too much to love him the way he deserved? After all, if she allowed another person to be tattooed onto her heart, that gave her tormentor, Victor Ramos, another weapon to use against her, the way he had her family.

  After wriggling into her pink tank and short shorts—and wishing for the hundredth time that she’d packed something warmer when she’d fled Florida—she towel-dried her curls, her thoughts turning.

  Until an electronic peal shattered the silence.

  The perimeter alarm.

  She froze. Her heart started chugging. Was someone on the property? In the house?

  Days ago, she’d told Trees safety was an illusion. Unfortunately, she’d been right.

  Laila tossed her damp towel into the sink, then rushed down the hall to Trees’s home office to scan his bank of security cameras. Her heart stuttered when she saw a sleek black truck with unreadable plates lunging up the road. That wasn’t Trees. It wasn’t his friend Zy. It wasn’t one of their three bosses, either. She didn’t know for sure who was barreling onto Trees’s property uninvited, but he wasn’t coming to borrow a cup of sugar or say hello.

  Had she been discovered again? By the Tierra Caliente cartel or by Victor Ramos himself?

  Either possibility sent panic burning through her. From her bedroom, she heard the ringing of her phone. Trees. He would already know that someone had broken past his security. Did she dare run back to grab the device?

  She peeked out the living room window, to the front of the house. The black truck was rolling to a stop in front. She didn’t have time to retrieve her phone.

  She had to hide—now.

  The ringing stopped, only to start again. Trees was panicked. She could practically feel him worrying as he pressed buttons, looked at his cameras, remotely tried to assess the situation and figure out how to save her when he was probably hundreds of miles away. She hated to worry him, but she had to shove regret aside for survival.

  As she dashed through the kitchen, she caught sight of the intruder—a man in a ski mask stomping toward the door, gun in hand. Terror iced her veins. As she feared, this wasn’t a simple burglar looking for jewelry or cool electronics he could fence. He was armed and furious.

  Laila managed to crouch down before he caught sight of her, but the sudden blast of a gunshot, followed by the shattering of glass, had her shrieking involuntarily and clinging to whatever shadows she could find in the morning light.

  As the man stepped through the wide-open window, Laila raced to Trees’s bedroom, praying she hadn’t been spotted, and eased the door shut behind her. She only had one possible hope of staying unharmed now.

  Shaking from head to toe, she fought to catch her breath as she crept into Trees’s closet and shoved aside his clothes. The keypad to his panic room and dungeon gleamed in the semi-dark. The code. She’d seen him punch it in. And she’d committed it to memory, just in case.

  Since the safe house she’d shared with her sister and her nephew in St. Louis had been breached months ago, she’d plotted escape routes everywhere she went. The grocery store. The mall. The movies. And especially anywhere she slept.

  But she’d felt so safe with Trees. Oh, he’d terrified her since he could make her body crave things that unsettled her and make her heart ache in ways that unraveled her. But he’d given her a sense of security—one she hadn’t had for nearly a decade. She’d rationalized that no one would think to look for her in the middle of Nowhere, Louisiana, out on property that had every security precaution imaginable. So she had gotten complacent. She hadn’t planned an escape route. Laila hadn’t thought she would need one.

  What a horrible time to realize she’d been wrong.

  She stared at the keypad, dragging in ragged breaths that sounded way too loud in her ears, as her thoughts raced. She knew the damn code. Why couldn’t she remember it?

  Taking a minute—and a risk—Laila closed her eyes, forced her respiration to slow, and pictured Trees in front of his panel, punching in the numbers to his underground lair.

  The digits swam though her head as another gunshot, this one inside the house, disturbed the air. She bit her lip to hold in a scream. Then she heard footsteps tromping through the place. She had to reach the panic room before the intruder found her.

  Finally, she recalled the numbers and lifted her fingers to the buttons, but the whine of electronic devices signaled that the prowler had cut the power.

  Oh, god. How would she access the panic room when the panel she needed to open the door was dead?

  The worry had barely crossed her mind when electronic devices all over the house began to clink and chime on again. The panel in front of her lit up once more, and she almost cried with relief. Of course Trees would have a generator. In his hidden room, the man kept years’ worth of freeze-dried and canned food. It stood to reason he was prepared for any eventuality, including power loss.

  As the intruder’s footsteps approached the bedroom, she quickly punched in the code with trembling fingers. A low, humming buzz warned her that her first fumbled attempt was wrong. Panic ratcheted up. She almost started hyperventilating. She forced herself to be calm and tried again.

  Her finger pressed the last number as she heard the squeak of Trees’s bedroom door open. Footsteps paused inside. The opening to the panic room appeared with a whisper. Relief swept over Laila as she squeezed through the crack, moved Trees’s clothes to cover the panel again, and eased the door shut—just as the closet door jerked open.

  Her hammering heart chugged as fast as her runaway thoughts. What if the intruder had heard her? Or saw Trees’s clothes swinging on their hangers or…any of the other hundred things she could think that would tell him he wasn’t alone in the house?

  Seconds ticked by. With her hand pressed against her rattling chest, she stood frozen, not even daring to creep down the stairs. Since she couldn’t risk turning on a light, she closed her eyes and tried to breathe through the suffocating darkness.

  Finally, she heard a door slam and his stomping footsteps retreat to the kitchen, where he banged cabinets and broke glass. With every sound, Laila felt this man’s rage, and she felt horrible for Trees. He wasn’t here to defend his house. He’d likely moved away from the city to avoid crime and people, for privacy and peace.

  That was all being defiled and defaced now, because of her.

  The sounds crossed the house, getting fainter as he moved farther away, but no less violent. Then she heard more gunfire—multiple blasts. Whoever was above her clearly had an agenda. Destroying Trees’s house wasn’t enough for him. He wanted blood.

  She couldn’t let him have it.

  Laila turned on the light in the bunker and crept to the bottom of the stairs. She looked past Trees’s dungeon equipment—implements she didn’t understand that had filled her with both trepidation and fear the first time she’d seen them. Today, she looked around for a way to call for help. But she’d had to abandon her phone across the house, and Trees had taken his iPad, so if there was any way to communicate with the outside world, she didn’t know it.

  Deep breaths. She could handle this. All she had to do for now was hide. Once whoever was out there had finished what he’d come for and left, she would emerge, call Trees, then stay to help him right his house. It was the very least she owed him.

  She wished she could do more.

  “Where are you, you motherfucking cabrón?”

  Laila stopped—breathing, thinking, living. Abject terror gripped her throat. That voice… She couldn’t mistake it for anyone else’s.

  Victor Ramos.

  And he hadn’t come for her. He’d come for Trees, to get revenge—the eye-for-an-eye kind.

  “Are you hiding like a pussy? That won’t stop me from avenging my brother. Come out and die like a man.” Victor paused in the silence, then let loose a cutting laugh. “I’m not surprised you’re hiding like a coward. You couldn’t even face my brother to kill him. You shot him from the back. And you pulled the trigger for Laila. I heard you. Where have you stashed that puta?”

  Her jaw dropped. Laila wasn’t surprised that Victor had called her a whore, but how had he heard Trees say that he’d killed Hector for her? If he had been there, he would have saved his brother.

  Only Hector’s house having surveillance made sense.

  As soon as that realization hit her, another truth swept in behind it. Victor didn’t know she was here.

  “Too afraid to face me, cabrón? Then I will burn down your house, and you better start looking over your shoulder, because I’m going to find you and put a bullet in your back, too.”

  Laila’s heart stopped. One thing she knew about Victor? His follow-through skills weren’t a problem. He meant what he said.

  She had to stop him—now. Somehow. Find a way to protect Trees and his house while keeping Valeria and Jorge’s location secret. If it kept her safe, too, even better. But that wasn’t important. She had survived Victor once. She could do it again for the people she loved.

  Laila froze. That was the second time she’d wondered if she was in love with Trees. Logic said it was too soon. She admired him. She respected him. She’d come to trust him. She melted against him when he gave her pleasure no other man had. She simply couldn’t repay all his kindness by letting Victor destroy everything he’d worked for. But that wasn’t love.

  Or was it?

  She didn’t have time to figure that out now. The seconds were ticking down, and she had to stop the maniac pacing Trees’s home, bent on torching it. Trees had put her first so many times. She needed to do the same for him. Laila knew just how. She simply had to find the right words—and the guts.

  On shaking legs, she crossed the room and plucked a semiautomatic off the wall, then jerked down its mate, just in case. She rummaged through some nearby drawers and found the magazines and a box of nine-millimeter ammunition. Of course Trees was prepared.

  Thank God.

  Then she loaded the guns—grateful she’d paid attention during the years she’d been a captive of her brother-in-law’s cartel—took a deep breath, and let herself out of Trees’s panic room, ensuring the lights were off and the door closed behind her. Once she’d shrouded the keypad with his clothes again, she did her best to steady her shaking hands and went in search of Victor.

  She didn’t have to go far. As soon as she rounded the corner out of Trees’s bedroom, she spotted Victor striding through the front door, gas can in hand. He held a lighter in the other.

  Her heart leapt to her throat, but she forced herself to stay steady. She was going to stop Victor…or die trying. She owed Trees at least that much.

  When he spotted her, he ripped off his mask and flashed her a wide smile. “Chiquita, there you are. Put down the guns and greet me the way I taught you.”

  On her knees. She wouldn’t do it. She wouldn’t betray Trees like that. And the distraction would only delay the inevitable destruction of all he held dear. Nor could she simply shoot Victor. As much as she would love to, there was a way to make the most of this situation, one that wouldn’t simply end her rapist. One that would also make her family safe from everyone in the Tierra Caliente cartel so Valeria and Jorge could finally live.

  Time to start swaying Victor to a different way of thinking.

  “Is that what you really want in life?” she challenged. “All you want? A blow job?”

  “You’re right. It will wait until I set this bastard’s house on fire. You can suck me off while I watch it burn.”

  Never. “Victor, he is not a man to cross.”

  Ramos dropped the gas can and stormed in her direction, thunder rolling across his face. “Neither am I. He killed my brother, and for that, he will pay.”

  Skittering back a step, Laila raised the guns to him, her trigger finger itching. “He told me. But stop. Think about what you are doing.”

  “Has Hector’s killer been keeping you here?”

  That question led to dangerous answers. “Does it really matter to you? Does he?”

  Victor looked at her as if she’d gone insane. “Of course. Because of him, my brother is dead.”

  “Your brother is dead because he behaved stupidly and he got lazy. Because he decided to chase pussy and petty nonsense, instead of embracing what he truly wanted—to take over the Tierra Caliente cartel. I respect that he would never have crossed Emilo, but now…” Laila shrugged, then took a deep breath and went for broke. “I have always thought you were too smart to let yourself fall into his trap. Was I wrong? Are you more interested in paltry vengeance when the goal you both sought, the power you both coveted, is right in front of you? You could oust Geraldo Montilla and be king, sit on his throne and rule an empire richer than most governments—if you focused.”

  Victor scoffed. “Montilla has surrounded himself with an army, and Emilo’s remaining men are too few. They are demoralized. Too many have left because the money no longer flows.”

  “Excuses. Fix it and do what you should to achieve the dream on your brother’s behalf. Reign in his memory. Or are you afraid?” she baited him.

  His face shouted, but his voice was a quiet hiss. “I am afraid of nothing.”

  “Good. Then do what is important.”

  “Why do you care if I take down Montilla and rule his empire?” Victor’s eyes narrowed as he had the audacity to grip her chin and force her gaze to his. “You hate me.”

  “I do.” If she lied about that, he would never listen. And she refused to invite or stomach his advances again. “But I can help you take down Geraldo Montilla.”

  He narrowed his dark eyes. “You lie, puta.”

  “It is true. Since I have slept under the enemy’s roof, I have learned things that will help you.” Not a lot, but she would make things up if she had to. Whatever it took to divert Victor’s attention from Trees and keep her family safe. “Things you cannot possibly know. Things that will turn the tables. But if you are too weak to pursue your dream…”

  “I am too weak for nothing,” he spat, gripping her chin harder. “I can rule. I will rule.” His eyes burned with resolve. “And you will help me.”

  “You will need me.”

  A smile crept across his face. “Yes. Start on your knees.”

  She rolled her eyes. “So quickly you revert, giving up your goals for petty pleasures. It seems you are not ready to become the next head of the cartel, after all.”

  “I am. You know that, or you would never have suggested I take over.”

  She’d suggested it because she could manipulate him into weakening Geraldo Montilla, perhaps even taking the kingpin down, which would ensure her family’s safety. But it would probably mean Victor’s death, too.

  The perfect end.

  “True,” she lied with a smile. “But if you want the empire and you want my help claiming the throne, there must be changes.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Such as?”

  “First, get your hands off me.” She jerked her chin out of his grasp. “I am your partner, not your whore. Not your punching bag. Do not ever touch me again. Are we clear? If you cannot manage that, I will tell you nothing.”

  “You think I care? Your pussy, while sweet, is hardly the only one. Since you left, I have been relieving myself with girls in a nearby village. They are happy to slake my lust.”

  Laila would bet anything that when Victor said girls, he meant that literally. He liked them young…

  Swallowing down her distaste, she flashed him a smile. If he expected her to care who he fucked, he was sorely mistaken. “So you agree? You will not touch me.”

  “Of course.” He waved a dismissive hand. “You are hardly irreplaceable.”

  Then why had he chased her across Orlando just last week, intent on recapturing her so she could warm his bed again? But Laila didn’t point that out. She just thanked the heavens that his vanity and ambition outweighed his desire for her.

  “Then we are in agreement. We are partners with one goal. You will not touch me. If you forget our agreement, I will pull the trigger.”

  “Don’t threaten me, chiquita.”

  When he made to grab her face again, she pressed the gun to his forehead. “Do not threaten me, Victor.”

  He scoffed. “You think I could not wrest that gun from you? Are you still that naive?”

  “You could,” she acknowledged. “But then you will never know what I know. You will never be king. And you will never give your brother the tribute he deserves.”

  Victor hesitated, then backed away with a grunt. “All right. Keep your guns. I don’t care. Now tell me everything.”

  “Not so fast. I have more demands. Not only will you not touch me, you will leave my sister and Jorge alone.”

  He shook his head. “The old man wants them. If I seize them first, I have a bargaining chip—”

  “You will not need them. There is another one, a better one,” she insisted, making things up as she went.

  But then she realized it wasn’t untrue. She could use the Edgingtons’ sister, Kimber, to her advantage—all while helping to win the woman’s freedom. If she finessed Victor just right, it would work.

  “You lie.”

  “I do not. But before I tell you more, you must agree that my family is off-limits.”

  “If you’re not lying to me, if you know of more effective leverage, then I agree. I have no use for Emilo’s shrew or his snot-nosed boy.”

  Laila tried to hold down her giddiness. She almost had Victor where she wanted him. So, so close… He just had to accept one more condition. “Excellent. You must also abandon this pointless revenge against the man who has been keeping me here. He is simply a paid operative doing his job.”