“I’ll try.”

  “Good call.” Matt gave him a hand.

  With a groan and another wave of dizziness, Trees lurched to his feet. He took a deep breath to fight the nausea and headed to the little bathroom, clutching the wall along the way. Fuck, he still felt clammy and weak, but it wasn’t as bad. He’d take the small victory.

  It took more time and energy to strip than it should. He had to sit to remove everything but his pants. But he finally got naked and stepped under the spray, hissing when the warm water beat down on his stitches. All he could find was a bar of antiseptic soap, but he used it all over, sagging against the wall when his head swam. It sucked to admit that Matt had been right, but if he’d gone out to save Laila like this, he probably would have been more of a hindrance than a help.

  Praying like hell that she survived the night and that she forgave him for the delay, he vowed to rescue her come morning. And if Victor had harmed her in any way—hell, if he’d so much as made her cry—he was going to kill the son of a bitch. And not merely with a simple bullet or two. Yeah, he might be the tech guy of the team, but he and Zy had gone through some really shitty black ops training. They’d endured stuff that had killed lesser men in the same program. They’d learned things that would make the average psyche—and stomach—curdle. Despite everything he’d seen and the war zones he’d fought in, he’d never once considered unleashing any of that knowledge on an enemy combatant.

  Trees would one hundred percent make an exception for Victor.

  When he was finally clean, he sighed in exhaustion and stepped out of the stall, groping for a towel with his eyes closed. Halfheartedly, he dried off. After the room, along with his stomach, stopped spinning, he wrapped the towel around himself. A glance at the nearby basin proved Matt had settled his clean clothes and his toothbrush nearby.

  So, Walker’s bestie actually wasn’t a flaming asshole like his pal.

  Okay, he was probably being harsh to his teammate. One-Mile had been a lot more pleasant since his engagement to Brea Bell. Normally he’d think it was because the guy was getting regular pussy, which took the snarl out of most beasts. But he’d met the sniper’s fiancée. He’d rarely met a sweeter girl, so he kind of hoped that Brea simply balanced Walker. And their wedding was just around the corner. Good for them. And hey, if someone as bad-tempered as One-Mile could find a woman to love him, Trees figured there was hope for him, too.

  Which brought him right back to Laila. He’d threatened to marry her once. She hadn’t believed him, but he’d been dead fucking serious. He would marry her tomorrow—if she’d say yes. And when he found her again, he would ask. Not in challenge. Not in sarcasm. For real, with roses and a ring and a promise to honor and protect her for the rest of his life.

  As soon as he found her, saved her, and brought her home.

  When he opened the bathroom door, a plume of steam billowed out. He felt a hundred fucking years old by the time he made it back to the cot. It didn’t help that he was nearly a foot too tall for the damn thing.

  Matt stood. There was something on his face Trees didn’t like.

  “What is it?”

  “You okay?”

  When Matt answered a question with a question, it was obvious the guy was stalling. “Fine. What’s going on?”

  Worry gripped his gut. Did he have an update about Laila? Had she reached out to her sister again with bad news? Or had Victor Ramos killed her after all?

  “Why don’t you sit down? You look paler than hell—”

  “What the fuck is going on?” If his scowl didn’t make it clear he’d lost all patience, his tone should.

  Cursing under his breath, Matt paced to the other side of the room, looking reluctant to speak.

  “Out with it,” he demanded.

  “Fine. You set your phone down with your emails still open, and right after you left, Laila sent you something. I opened it, thinking it might be urgent and that I’d tell you—”

  “You snooped?”

  “Whatever her message was,” Matt went on as if Trees hadn’t interrupted.

  Admittedly, the cowboy’s idea hadn’t been bad, but obviously he’d found something horrible. “And?”

  “Buddy, I don’t think you want to see this.”

  Trees glared at Matt. “The hell I don’t.”

  Matt looked down at the phone, lying on the corner of the desk. As Trees lunged for it, Matt stepped between him and the device. “I’m serious. This is just going to fuck with your head more.”

  Trees didn’t care. And he was done arguing.

  This was another moment where it paid to have really long arms and legs. Trees shoved the cowboy to one side and lunged just close enough to swipe the phone.

  Matt stopped fighting after that and merely sighed. “Fine. Be a stupid bastard. I was just trying to save you from having your heart ripped out.”

  What the hell was he talking about?

  Trees launched his emails and found the one from Laila at the top. The subject line read: Maybe this will convince you…

  What did that mean?

  Inside, the body of the email said:

  * * *

  I tried to tell you that I am happy with Victor, and you did not believe me. Get it through your head, yanqui.

  * * *

  Their conversation in La Pesca rang through his head.

  “You want to be with him?”

  “Of course. I always have.”

  At the memory, cold slithered under his skin.

  But there was more, a video. The still frame alone shocked him. A naked Laila smiled up at the camera she was obviously holding. Her eyes were half-lidded and her head tossed back. Victor Ramos was on top of her with one fist gripping her hair and his face buried in her neck.

  Suddenly, the last thing he wanted to do was play the video.

  “Don’t do it,” Matt warned.

  But didn’t he have to? He had to make sure it was real. It was possible Victor had staged this as a way of making him back off. But that’s what someone who felt powerless would do, and Trees’s gut told him that wasn’t Ramos. That asshole had shot the front window out, broken into his house, and walked right inside—something a man with a vendetta did. Was he hurting Laila for revenge? Maybe…but that didn’t make sense, either. Laila was holding the camera, and she didn’t look at all distressed.

  He was probably a stupid bastard, but he ignored Matt and pressed play.

  Immediately, he heard Laila panting. The camera was unsteady. He heard sheets rustling, followed by a feminine moan, then Laila looked up and steadied the phone on them.

  “Chiquita,” he growled. “I want that pussy.”

  “It is here for you. Like I am,” she breathed, rolling her head to one side to offer Victor her neck.

  “Hmm…yes.” The man she claimed had violated her over and over for six years bounced on top of her. “Good little puta.”

  “For you? Always.”

  Trees had been feeling queasy all night. Now he felt downright sick. “What the fuck?”

  “Stop watching now. It doesn’t get better,” Matt said.

  Trees couldn’t. “No.”

  But seconds later, he wished he’d listened. Victor gave a vicious tug on her hair and sank his teeth into her naked shoulder hard enough to leave marks.

  Laila cried out. “Yes!”

  “Mine.”

  Laila gave another heavy-lidded glance toward the camera. “Yours.”

  The video ended.

  Trees sank to the cot and stared at his phone, unblinking. The silence was deafening. His head provided another exchange from La Pesca he wished he could forget.

  “You kicked and scratched and tried to get away.”

  “It is a game we enjoy. It is our foreplay. I like sex rough.”

  “I’m sorry,” Matt finally said.

  Slowly, Trees set the phone down. His stomach turned as he tried to make sense of what he’d just seen. But it was obvious, wasn’t it? She’d used her body to lure him. He’d fallen for her…and she’d played him.

  Pain chopped through his chest like an ax, cleaving him in two.

  “Son of a bitch.”

  “If it’s any consolation, when we saw her a few hours ago, I would have sworn she cared about you, probably more than a little. But after seeing that video…”

  “There’s no way she ever cared about me.”

  Trees had been bullshitting himself. She was too damaged. Too far gone. Too used to giving her body to cutthroats and criminals to have a heart anymore, much less one capable of love and devotion. He’d just been the sucker who wanted to save her.

  Matt clapped him on the shoulder in sympathy. “It seems that way.”

  “God, I’m a stupid son of a bitch.” And how would he ever close his eyes tonight without that video replaying in his head over and over, mocking him for his stupidity?

  Then again, why should he be surprised? The people who had given birth to him hadn’t found him particularly meaningful or memorable. He’d written home a few times during basic, but they’d never written back. He’d invited them to his graduation. They hadn’t responded. He’d sent a Christmas card or two in the years after that. Nothing. Maybe he’d been kidding himself that anyone could really love him.

  “No, you just trusted the wrong person. We’ve all done that.” Matt sighed. “What do you want to do? Keep searching this village or…”

  “Let’s get a good night’s sleep. We were given a mission to find Laila and bring her back. Come morning, we’ll do that. I don’t give a shit what she wants.”

  “Then what?”

  Laila thought she could play him? Oh, she hadn’t seen his dark side.

  He smiled coldly. “She’ll deal with me.”

  Chapter Five

  With tears burning her eyes, Laila jerked away from Victor’s mouth on her neck and groped for the empty bottle of tequila. Thanking God the glass was thick, she bonked him on the head.

  She didn’t hit him hard enough. Instead of passing out, he stiffened, lifted his head, and glared, eyes narrow with rage.

  Fear flared through Laila as she dropped the phone on the nightstand and prepared to fight for her life. Yes, she knew Victor’s tricks. It helped that she was more nimble and clever. But when he was this drunk, he usually passed out. Why hadn’t he this time?

  Panic gripped her. She’d already made the agonizing choice to hurt Trees—and stab herself in the heart—to save him. She still had to make her sister and her nephew safe. Whatever that took—even if she had to scheme, lie, cheat, steal, or kill—she would do it so that neither Victor nor Montilla threatened her loved ones again.

  First, she had to get Victor off of her.

  He had other ideas. After he wrapped his fingers around her neck with a growl, he squeezed until he cut off her air. “You want to play rough, bitch?”

  She choked, unable to answer—not that he would care if she spoke. He’d often threatened her, but in the past few years, she’d stopped believing he would actually kill her. The way he strangled her now had her changing her mind. Terror soaked her veins. She clawed at his hands and kicked for freedom. Victor didn’t budge.

  Black spots danced in her vision. Her lungs burned. But she couldn’t lie still and hope he found mercy. He had none.

  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.