She didn’t want to be afraid of Victor, but he never made idle threats. Once her plan backfired and he realized she’d been using him for her own ends with every intention of feeding him to Montilla, he would do exactly what he warned.

  Suddenly, Trees emerged from between the two houses, gun drawn, barreling toward them with ground-eating strides. “Get your fucking hands off her. Now!”

  Trees watched Laila and Victor Ramos exchange words. He couldn’t hear what they said, but it sure seemed like a fight. And he didn’t like how the angry son of a bitch was looking at her.

  But when he tried to jump out from between the two houses and intervene, Matt jerked him back, one hand wrapped around his arm, the other fisted in the back of his shirt. He was breathing hard. “Don’t do it.”

  “Let me the fuck go,” Trees growled.

  “So you can commit suicide? No. I’m supposed to make sure you get back in one piece.”

  He tugged against Matt’s hold again. “We’re supposed to bring Laila back, too.”

  “You heard her. She doesn’t want to come back with you. Let her go.”

  “She’s lying. She’s trying to protect her family.” Then he realized Laila had thrown herself into Victor’s path moments ago, and that had nothing to do with saving Valeria. “And me. She means to shield me. She’s got some scheme…”

  “Fucking listen to yourself, man,” Matt growled in his ear. “I know you want to believe she’s good and noble, but it’s possible that after years with a cartel, she’s warped, she’s getting what she wants, and she played you.”

  The words went in Trees’s ears…and right back out. “You don’t know her.”

  “Maybe it’s time to consider that you don’t really, either. You spent a few days with her. And you…what? Spent a few nights with her, too, I guess. None of that makes you an expert.”

  “You trying to figure out this situation on the fly doesn’t make you an expert, either. Why don’t you do us both a favor? Shut the fuck up and let me handle this.”

  “No. You’re in too deep. You’re not thinking straight.”

  “You don’t know me.”

  “I know what being compromised looks like. I’m staring at it.”

  Suddenly, Victor grabbed her neck in one hand, her jaw with the other and yanked her against him, looking furious as hell. Then he snarled something in her face that made her tremble.

  Trees was done. Matt and his caution could go fuck themselves.

  He elbowed the other operator, then twisted from his grip and shoved him back. “You don’t make my decisions. If you’re afraid, stay the fuck out of this.”

  Then he emerged onto the street, gun drawn. “Get your fucking hands off her. Now!”

  Victor sent him a nasty smile, like he had something horrible planned he would thoroughly enjoy. Suddenly, he whirled Laila around, flattening her back against his chest to use her as a human shield. Then he raised his gun to her temple. “Or what, Scott? Whatever you’re planning, I’ll shoot her, and her death will be on your hands.”

  Trees risked a glance at her. Her body went tense. For a moment, she looked terrified. Then she breathed, and the expression disappeared.

  Like she wasn’t afraid of him anymore? Or as if she enjoyed the way the danger made her heart race? Did Laila actually get some sexual thrill from the adrenaline rush?

  He couldn’t address that now. He had to defuse this standoff first, make sure the motherfucker didn’t hurt her.

  “I don’t care about Laila, except that I’ve been hired to bring her back. Hand her over and I’ll let you live,” Trees told Victor.

  The thug scoffed, then gave him a condescending laugh—right before he jerked the gun from Laila’s temple and aimed it directly at him. “Fuck off and die.”

  Then he pulled the trigger.

  Chapter Four

  Trees recoiled as if he’d suffered a mortal body blow. Laila screamed, watching helplessly as blood sprayed from his right side. Then warm wetness splashed across her cheek. A splatter of red stained her pristine white blouse. He stumbled back. Horror filled her as he tripped on his huge feet and toppled back, falling, falling…like a giant redwood felled by an ax.

  As he hit the ground, his head smacked the asphalt with a sickening thud. His eyes slid shut. His body went limp. His gun fell from his lax grip.

  He didn’t move.

  “Trees!” she screeched, wildly elbowing Victor.

  As soon as Laila got free, she skidded to her knees and crawled the remaining distance between them. Her heart raced. She trembled, tears stinging her eyes as she felt her way up his body. On his right, she encountered something warm and wet. When she lifted her hand, blood coated her fingers. Panic surged. “Trees!”

  He didn’t answer. He didn’t even twitch.

  That terrified Laila even more. His chest moved with each breath, and his pulse was seemingly steady, too. She was grateful for that. But he exhibited no other signs of life.

  Her head screamed at her to save him, even as she prayed this wasn’t happening. But it was, and she needed to act.

  Her racing thoughts jumbled, making every thought seem agonizingly slow. Instinctively, she applied direct pressure to his wound, pressing her previously white skirt to his side, just as she caught sight of a movement up the street. Matt hovered in the shadows between the two houses where Trees had kissed her minutes ago. Dios mío, she wished she could go back and make him stay there safely. But it was too late, and now she didn’t know the extent of his injuries. What if he wasn’t merely bleeding? What if the blow to his head had caused trauma or the bullet had triggered internal damage? Or what if Victor took him prisoner to torture him before finishing him off?

  She couldn’t let that happen.

  Help him, she mouthed at Matt.

  But the stranger in the hat turned blurry. Laila hadn’t even realized she was crying. It wasn’t helpful. It wouldn’t solve anything. She needed to stop and do something more productive. But when she blinked away the wetness pouring from her eyes, Matt was gone, melted into the shadows, apparently prepared to let Trees die ignominiously in the middle of a ramshackle Mexican road.

  She alone would save him.

  Pressing her skirt tighter against Trees’s side, Laila tried to stem the bleeding, but red kept oozing from the wound and spreading up the white cotton. It was everywhere, abundant and horrifying. Panic set in. Trees needed medical attention now. But he wouldn’t get it here. This little village had no hospital.

  Still, Laila refused to give up. She continued pressing her skirt to the wound and started silently pleading with the God she was sure had forsaken her long ago to spare his life. “Please! Trees, no. Do not…” Die. She couldn’t bring herself to say the word. “Stay with me.”

  Suddenly, Victor’s cruel fingers gripped her hair, tugging her by her scalp. “Get up. Right now! The only man you get on your hands and knees for is me when I fuck you.”

  Laila opened her mouth to object, but he yanked so viciously she staggered to her feet.

  “You lied to me about your feelings for him,” he snapped. “So he will stay here and rot in the street. And you can remember him, bleeding out and far from home while he took his last breath. Now we’re leaving…unless your claim that Montilla’s men are nearby was a lie, too?”

  Everything inside her resisted abandoning Trees. She ached to stay and get him help, until he could open his eyes and protect the world again. But if she did, Victor would only put another bullet in him.

  As much as it killed her, she could keep him safer by getting Victor far away. Hopefully, Matt or some good Samaritan would render Trees aid once she and Victor were gone.

  “I-it was not a lie.” She stopped fighting those brutal fingers. “I swear.”

  “Now that shots have been fired, it’s no longer safe here.” He yanked even tighter on her hair. “And tonight I will remind you why I was the first man to shove his cock in your tight, dirty pussy and why I will also be the last.”

  Laila wasn’t shocked that Victor had been the one to forcibly take her virginity in that dark, dank bed all those years ago, just as she didn’t doubt he would make the next rape even more harsh and painful.

  She’d been a fool to believe she could play him. She’d strutted in with her guns, her bravado, and her scheme, doing her best to convince him that she knew how to game the cartel. He’d bested her instead, pretending to be her partner, saying he no longer cared about owning her body. He’d merely placated her for the bargaining chip she’d sworn she had. Once she’d opened her mouth and proven herself an amateur, he’d seized control of the situation—and her. He would use both to his satisfaction.

  She had made her bed; now she had to lie in it. But Trees…

  He lay sprawled in the street, a puddle of blood forming around his body. She saw no sign of Matt. A few townsfolk stood around with wary eyes, staring at his unmoving form but not daring to help.

  Suddenly, Gustavo Pastrana strode from the office and toward the cluster of observers with a cocky swagger. They parted to make a path for him. He passed each by, approaching Trees with purpose.

  Then he held up a blowtorch, and his grin turned evil.

  Laila tried to scream, hoping someone kind would help the man she loved, but Victor slapped his sweaty palm over her mouth and dragged her inside the warehouse just as the mechanic lit the flame on his device.

  She tried to dig in her heels, but it didn’t matter. Victor shoved her across the hot, musty interior, toward the truck. He only released his vicious hold on her long enough to hoist her up through the driver’s-side door and shove her into the cab. Laila scrambled across the bench seat, reaching for the passenger door so she could flee and help Trees.

  Victor merely seized her hair again, his fist at her nape, and yanked her into her seat. “You’re not going anywhere. Buckle up. Don’t try anything else or there will be a price.”

  There always was. But maybe she could use his greed for her to Trees’s advantage.

  “I will give you every part of me without a single protest for as long as you wish if you let me find him medical attention and get him to safety,” she offered earnestly, reaching for the buttons of her blouse.

  Victor cut her a nasty glance. “Gustavo is tending to him now, so it’s too late. Besides, you will give me all of you for as long as I wish, regardless. Now shut up.”

  Grief sent her tears pooling and plunging down her face. Bartering her body for her bed and her food would be next, no doubt. She hadn’t taken her guns into town, and he would soon seize her phone so she would be helpless again. But she no longer cared what happened to her. Trees’s death was her fault. If she hadn’t recklessly believed she could outsmart Victor, she might still be with him. Now the man she loved had paid with his life.

  Victor turned the engine over, then stuck his hand out the window, gesturing to a boy working in the warehouse. The kid opened the door, and Victor gunned the truck, taking a right out of the giant, dilapidated building. Laila tried to peer through the back window for a glimpse of Trees—hoping against all odds that someone had saved him—but she only saw a cadre of well-armed men racing down the street, pointing in their direction, then hopping into a beat-up sedan, gunning their engines in pursuit, and pointing what looked like machine guns out their windows.

  Shock swallowed her gasp. Were they Montilla’s sicarios?

  “Victor!” she warned him. “Behind us.”

  He floored it, glancing in the rearview mirror. “Montilla is on my tail. At least you weren’t lying about that, puta. Where is your phone?”

  She patted her skirt pocket. Empty. “It must have fallen out of my pocket during the commotion.”

  With a curse, he fumbled in his pocket and thrust his phone at her. “Call Estevan. Tell him we need a new truck and men to cover us right now. Tell him to meet us at…” He scowled, obviously thinking. “Fuck, I don’t know. Tell him to start driving north. We’ll head south and meet along the way.”

  That would never work. The assassins would catch up to them too quickly. But she didn’t correct Victor, simply took the phone from him dutifully while shoving back her worry and sorrow. “Passcode?”

  Victor scowled.

  “I cannot dial anyone without it.”

  He spit out a six-digit number, focused on rumbling the top-heavy vehicle down twisting dirt roads without toppling over. Behind them, the little blue sedan closed in.

  After the fourth ring, voicemail picked up. She relayed Victor’s message, then hung up. “Should I try someone else?”

  “My brother would have had my back.” He turned another sharp corner at insane speeds, and the truck teetered on two wheels. Sweat rolled down his brow.

  If Montilla’s men didn’t kill her, Victor’s driving probably would. With Trees gone, she almost didn’t care.

  There were no such things as miracles. But if there were and Trees had survived, she had to stay alive so she could keep him safe from Victor.

  The world was a better place with Trees. He had friends and loved ones who would miss and mourn him. He had refused to see her as expendable, even though everyone else did. Other than Valeria, he was the only other person who would truly care if she was gone.

  “Fuck!” Victor growled, correcting his steering as he came out of the turn.

  Thankfully, the truck set down on all four wheels again.

  “Should I try another number?”

  “Call Miguel. He shouldn’t be far away, and he owes me for fucking up last time. If he fucks me now, I’ll cut out his tongue.” He turned and shot her a dark stare. “Which I will do to you if you lie to me again. Do you understand?”

  She nodded, trying to make herself as small as possible against the passenger door.

  Laila hated falling into these old patterns. When EM Security Management had extracted her from her brother-in-law’s compound last September, she’d sworn she would never be Victor’s slave again. But here she was, back in his clutches, about to suffer…what? Days, weeks, months, years with him?

  No. She would fight. She would get out. She would avenge Trees. She would never give up.

  Scrolling through Victor’s contacts, she dialed Miguel as Victor swerved at the last minute down a dirt road, fishtailing to kick up dust. But the truck was white and way too massive to hide. The sedan easily followed, now almost directly on their tail.

  They opened fire.

  Laila shrieked involuntarily, then forced herself to do something more active. “Give me your gun.”

  “What?” he shot back as if her demand was absurd.

  “I will shoot back at them.”

  Victor hesitated, then snarled just before ripping the weapon from his holster and slapping it in her palm. “Aim carefully. This is all the ammo I have. The rest is back at the villa.”

  Along with the only other clothes she owned and Trees’s semiautomatics.

  She handed Victor his phone, disengaged the safety, took a deep breath, then leaned out the window, staring into the faces of Geraldo Montilla’s men. Once she pulled the trigger, she would become their enemy, too. They would hunt her as relentlessly. They would not stop until she was dead.

  She was tempted to turn the gun on Victor, end his vile existence, along with her torment, then run back to Trees and forget her rapist ever existed. But she would be sacrificing her family for her happiness, because Geraldo Montilla would still be out there, wanting to kill her sister and kidnap her nephew.

  As much as she hated it, Laila needed Victor to be her shield against the narcotics king. He might still be her pawn, too, weakening Montilla while engaging in a futile attempt to take him down. Of course, Montilla would kill him. Victor was merely a gnat to such a powerful drug lord. But if she could learn Kimber’s location, EM Security could save the poor woman and finish off Montilla. Only then would she and her loved ones have any hope of a future.

  Beside her, she heard Victor bark at Miguel. She turned to find more sweat dripping down his brow as he navigated the winding road with both hands, his phone wedged between his shoulder and his ear.

  Laila swallowed, clandestinely engaged the safety again, then pretended to struggle with the weapon.

  Victor ended the call and scowled her way. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “I cannot fire the gun. I do not know why.” She huffed for effect.

  “Because you’re a stupid whore. Give me that.” He yanked the weapon from her grip and flipped the safety off. “Hold the wheel.”

  Was he crazy? They were driving over a hundred miles an hour, bouncing painfully down something that seemed more like a twisting dirt path than an actual road, and he wanted her to steer with one hand?

  Still, what choice did she have?

  “All right.” She gripped the wheel, hoping this wasn’t where and how her life ended.

  Victor leaned out the window and started firing. A glance in the rearview mirror told her he hit nothing. He let out an ugly curse.

  Up ahead, she saw a river that looked at least a few feet deep. “Victor, I have an idea.”

  “What the fuck do you want?” he shouted as he took his next potshot at the hitmen.

  “What if we drove through that river? The truck is much taller than the sedan. Perhaps we will make it?”

  He slammed back into the driver’s seat, tossed the gun between them, and jerked the wheel from her grasp as he scanned ahead. “And they will get stuck. It might work. Perhaps you’ll eat tonight after all. Hold on to something.”

  Laila did, clinging to the door with one hand, the dash with another, her teeth jarring as they rumbled down the road, straight toward the river. A bullet pinged off the door inches from her. She bit her lip to hold in a scream.