“Talk to you tomorrow.”

  “Don’t hang up.” Trees had to give Zy some bad news.

  “Something else going on?”

  “Yeah…”

  “Talk to me.”

  “Are you sitting?”

  “No, and I don’t have time now. What the fuck is happening?”

  “When Laila escaped the house in Orlando, she couldn’t get her phone. But she managed to knock out one of her assailants and—”

  “How the hell did she do that? Because if you’re attracted to her, I know she’s a tiny thing.”

  “Fuck, I hate that I have a type,” he grumbled. “Yeah, she is. And she knocked the son of a bitch out by surprising him with a loaded diaper pail to the face.”

  Zy chortled, as if he’d tried not to laugh but failed. “She sounds resourceful. Bet that guy thought it was a shitty fight.”

  “Yeah. Laila is…something,” he whispered.

  “Where is she now?”

  “Sleeping in the back. Finally. That’s why I wanted to call you. At our last stop, we pulled into a gas station.” He explained how Laila got her assailant’s mobile. “I browsed the phone while we were filling up. This guy was Tierra Caliente, and you won’t like how they’re communicating.”

  Zy groaned. “Don’t say it.”

  “I don’t want to, but I have to, man. They’re using Abuzz.” Unluckily for Zy, his father—who was an absolute dick—owned and helmed the trendy social media app.

  “Fuck.”

  “You have to call your dad.” And break the news that criminals were using the platform designed for chat and interaction to coordinate illegal behavior…if Phillip Garrett didn’t already know. And what were the odds of that?

  But Zy would have to climb that mountain alone. Trees needed to focus on Laila.

  The two caught up for a few more minutes, then Zy sighed. “Stay safe, check in, and keep your dick in your pants.”

  “The first two? No sweat. The last one? No promises,” Trees joked lamely to lighten the mood.

  They rang off, and Trees settled in with the road, determined to put as many miles between Victor Ramos and Laila as possible. He also kept his eyes on the other cars that came up behind him, leading west, because while the guy was an asshole, he wasn’t stupid. By now, he had likely ditched the Mercedes and picked up something new, probably nondescript. And Trees didn’t like the fact there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about changing the RV’s appearance.

  Cruising the two-lane roads, he slowed through every pissant town, not wanting to attract attention. But at one in the morning, the road started swimming, and he was seeing double.

  He found a little one-gas-station town and pulled behind a church to catnap. Did Laila realize this RV didn’t have another bed that would fit him? Not that he’d let her sleep on the bunk over the front seats alone, given her habit of running…

  With a sigh, he cut the engine, then headed to the back to check on her. Moonlight blended with a beam of light from the bathroom, lighting up her pale olive profile. She wore a skimpy pink tank top—no hint of a bra. It did little to contain her breasts. A strip of bare skin below her waist gave way to a pair of innocent white lace panties, which peeked above the sheet she’d thrust off in the Florida humidity. Her dark hair curled behind her, spread across the pillow. She was so still and silent, and Trees couldn’t decide if she was deeply asleep—or faking it.

  He wasn’t taking a chance. And since he’d left his police-issue cuffs on Victor, he had to roll with the punches.

  Rummaging through his duffel, he pulled out a pair of padded cuffs and headed back to the bedroom. Laila hadn’t moved.

  He wedged his way through the narrow walkway around the queen-size bed and knelt beside her. She was even more beautiful up close.

  His gaze caressed her. His cock hardened. It would be stupid to linger.

  After wrapping one cuff around the built-in nightstand drawer, he secured the other around her wrist, then he fixed the padlocks in the fastenings of each one.

  He would answer her inevitable questions later, but for now at least, she wasn’t going anywhere.

  With an exhausted sigh, he let himself into the postage-stamp bathroom, hit the head, then did his best to wedge his big body into the shower. After bumping his knees and elbows on the enclosure at every turn, he gave up and toweled off.

  As tired as he was, he almost dreaded lying beside Laila. Would he actually sleep or just lie there, hard for her?

  His desire was damn inconvenient. Usually, he had no problem resisting. He was the guy everyone trusted with their sisters, girlfriends, and wives. Sure, he played at clubs and private parties now and then. He even dated some. But he rarely indulged in sex. Usually, he had to know someone for a while. Instinct had to tell him it was right. That they’d be good together.

  Right now, his intuition must be all kinds of fucked up because it kept urging him to strip Laila down and bury himself as deep inside her as he could.

  Not happening. He needed to get supine, close his eyes, and pray sleep came.

  He tugged on a pair of clean basketball shorts, made sure the vehicle was locked up, set his SIG on the little nightstand, then got horizontal, putting his back to Laila. The damned light from the bathroom shined in his eyes.

  But that wasn’t what kept Trees awake. Now that he was beside her, he smelled her—a hint of the clean bar soap he’d stocked in the shower combined with some female musk that teased the fuck out of his senses. With every inhalation, he breathed her in. With a stretch of his long legs, he brushed her small feet and soft thighs. He could hear her, now whining softly in her sleep as if she was having a nightmare. Her chest rose and fell quicker with every breath she sawed in and out.

  Her moans became cries. She thrashed, fighting an invisible enemy in her sleep.

  She needed comfort.

  Fuck.

  “Shh.” He rolled over to face her, then wrapped his arm around her small middle and dragged her body against his. “I’ll keep you safe, little one. Rest.”

  Slowly, she stilled. Her brow smoothed. Her body relaxed.

  His didn’t. He’d splayed his palm across her abdomen. Under his thumb, he could feel the swell of her breast. Her lush ass wriggled against his steely cock. Finally, she sighed, falling back into a deep sleep.

  He lay awake for interminable hours, enduring the next-level torture before finally drifting off. His last thought? How the hell would he resist Laila for days—or weeks—before they reached Lafayette and could go their separate ways?

  With morning light invading her lids, Laila opened her eyes and stifled a gasp. She didn’t know where she was or what time it was. All she knew was that, for the first time in months, she was lying with a man’s bare chest plastered to her back, his beefy arm constricting her middle, trapping her against his hair-roughened body.

  She was in hell again.

  Her first instinct was to fight. To kick. To scream. But she had learned the hard way that would either be futile or counterproductive. Instead, she lay frozen.

  Inhale. Exhale. Don’t panic. Devise a way to escape.

  She glanced around the small bedroom. A window sat less than two feet from her face, taunting her with a view of a parking lot. Beyond that, the sun eked above winter-ravaged trees dotting an empty field. If she could close the distance between her and that wide-open space, she would be free. But she didn’t dare make a move toward the door. Her tormentor was blocking her path.

  As terrifying as it was that she couldn’t remember being violated last night, she’d prefer to keep it that way.

  Laila risked a glance over her shoulder, but she didn’t find either Hector or Victor. Instead, Trees loomed behind her, taking up most of the bed and snoring softly. Memories fell into place. He had saved her from Victor and gotten her out of Orlando. He had let her shower alone. A glance down proved she was still clothed. A wriggle against his body told her he wore shorts. Maybe the man had merely slept beside her? Looked but not touched?

  Then why is he in your bed if he didn’t force his way into your body?

  Maybe because he didn’t trust her. Maybe because this was the only bed.

  Or maybe because he wants to wake up with a proper screw.

  Laila didn’t know. But after last night, she had to at least consider the possibility she was unfairly painting Trees with Victor’s brush. Even so, she had vowed never to be this close to any man again unless it was her choice.

  Since Trees was asleep, now was the time to leave his bed. But last night had proved she shouldn’t flee again until she had a plan. Without wheels, weapons, and money, she wouldn’t get far. She had to think, concoct a solid plan to reach her family while keeping herself safe along the way. As soon as she did, she would be gone.

  She refused to trust her fate to anyone else—especially a man she barely knew, who worked for an organization she didn’t trust.

  Slowly, she kicked the covers aside and stood—only to be stopped short by a cuff around her wrist tethering her to the nightstand. But it was nothing standard police-issue. With his line of work, Laila expected Trees to have those. Instead, the restriction around her wrist was made of soft, buttery leather that had been buckled in place and secured with a dangling silver padlock. Its match was attached to the nearby drawer handle.

  Laila stared in horror, her heart hammering. She knew all too well what restraints like these were intended for. And Trees had used them to shackle her.

  Panic rose. A scream stuck in her throat.

  Suddenly, he flattened his big palm across her back. “Take a deep breath, Laila. There’s no reason to be alarmed.”

  The hell there wasn’t. “What do you want?”

  “To go back to sleep.”

  “I am awake.” And not willing to lie beside him again, especially if he was anything like Hector—partial to morning sex, the more against her will the better.

  With a sigh, Trees rolled away and sat up. Somehow, the skin he’d been touching moments ago felt cold. Then he lifted his phone from the nightstand, glanced at the time, and stood. “All right. We should probably get on the road anyway.”

  That was it? He wasn’t going to demand she spread herself open for him? Or use his superior size and strength to pull her back to the bed to relieve the tenting of his shorts?

  “You need the bathroom?” he asked instead.

  Yes. But she needed his cuffs gone more. “Please.”

  Nodding, he padded toward her. Too late she realized that, in order to release her, he had to come unnervingly close.

  Laila swallowed as he rounded the bed, approaching her on enormous bare feet. His legs were harshly muscled trunks. His erection was large and obvious. His abdomen was muscled and corrugated like a man in peak physical shape. His chest, broad and hard and sprinkled with dark hair, was purely masculine. His shoulders—one covered in tribal ink—seemed impossibly wide, even for a man as enormous as him. The desire in his eyes as he took her in from head to toe was unmistakable.

  Experience had taught her that showing weakness never resulted in mercy, so she stood her ground, refusing to flinch as he closed in, cutting off her only avenue of escape. Unless she wanted to scramble across the bed, of course. And what were the odds she could make it to the other side before he pinned her down and took advantage of her?

  Her heart beat so wildly she could barely breathe, but she met his gaze straight on, painfully aware that she wore only a tank top he could probably see through and filmy white lace underwear. She did her best to ignore that and held up her wrist as much as the restraints allowed. “Get it off.”

  Trees took her arm in his grip, his touch surprisingly gentle, as he settled the key in the padlock. “It’s not hurting you.”

  “A man only uses these to restrain someone for his sexual…urges,” she spit at him like an accusation.

  He paused as if mulling his response, then nodded. “But for me, that’s never against a woman’s will, Laila. Ever.”

  Mentally, she snorted. What other reason would a man have to manacle a woman he intended to have sex with? “Your urges are none of my concern. But if you are being paid to protect me, you should never restrain me.”

  After a minute flick of his wrist, he turned the key and extricated the padlock before unbuckling the cuff. Still, he didn’t release her. “Since my other cuffs secured Victor to a toilet—the best place for him until he goes to hell—these are the only restraints I have. They aren’t meant to alarm you, but I can’t protect you if you keep running from me.”

  Since she couldn’t conceive of a reason he would have brought them at all except to secure her to his bed, she disagreed but kept her thoughts to herself.

  “And if you hadn’t run, I wouldn’t have used them on you at all.”

  So this was her fault? Of course. He was a man. He was never at fault for anything. “Let me pass. I want to get dressed.”

  For a long moment, Trees didn’t move. Finally, he pressed his big back against the window and reached for the cuff still affixed to the nightstand. If she squeezed past him, every inch of her body would rub against his. And then what would happen? The possibilities terrified her, but he’d left her no choice.

  Laila debated her approach. Turning her back to him would conceal her breasts, but her ass would brush the most rigid, male part of him, possibly exciting him more. Worse, she would be presenting him her vulnerable back, where she wouldn’t see his attack coming.

  Better to face him head on.

  But Trees took up three-quarters of the space between the window and the bed. When she tried to step past him, his hard penis brushed against her belly. She gasped, instinctively trying to retreat.

  She nearly fell back to the mattress.

  Trees wound his arm around her middle, keeping her upright. The move pressed her body tight against his.

  Heat poured off of him, chasing away the January chill while making gooseflesh erupt across her skin. But he was too big, too close. Too frightening.

  “Let me go.” Laila wriggled and writhed, but she only succeeded in making his erection stiffen and grow against her middle. It was all she could do not to scream.

  “I’m trying. Stop moving. Fuck—” He grabbed her hips in a rough grip and used his brute strength to still her.

  “Do not touch me!”

  He worked his palms from her hips to her waist. “Take a deep breath, little one. Don’t panic. I won’t hurt you.”

  With every word, his voice went deeper. Softer—not more gentle but more velvety. She’d heard him use that tone before, and like last time, she felt strangely compelled to comply.

  Her gaze flew to his. Their eyes met. His burned. He wanted her, and he wasn’t trying to hide it. But everything else about his face was calm, almost reassuring.

  Laila didn’t understand.

  Slowly, she went still.

  “Yes,” he praised, his voice lower and silkier than ever, as he locked his hands around her waist. “That’s a good girl.”

  His words should have seemed patronizing, like someone crooning to a child, yet they soothed her. Some still-panicked part of her brain screamed that he was lulling her into cooperating before he forced her to the mattress and used her for his pleasure. But the thought had barely taken root when he lifted her around the corner of the bed, a foot away, then released her.

  Laila gaped. That was it?

  He met her gaze unblinkingly—a silent yes.

  Maybe he wasn’t awful. Maybe he wouldn’t attack her.

  Maybe…but she waited for her heart rate to return to normal. It didn’t.

  Why? She didn’t want him to touch her again…but now that he wasn’t, she was oddly aware of him.

  Trees was the first to break their stare, turning his attention to the cuff around the drawer handle. He had giant hands, but they were both gentle and adept as he fitted the key in the padlock and unbuckled the cuff. When he turned, she was still watching him.

  “Something you want to say, Laila?”

  If you terrify me, why am I so curious?

  She stifled the foolish thought. She was simply confused, not thinking straight. Of course she didn’t want him coaxing her with that voice. Didn’t want his hands on her. Didn’t want him anywhere near her.

  Yet some subversive part of her wondered why he felt different.

  “Nothing,” she muttered, then disappeared into the bathroom.

  As she locked the flimsy door, she realized her hands were shaking. Her palms were sweating. Her heart was still racing.

  After using the toilet, she washed her hands and looked at her reflection in the mirror above the basin. Her eyes looked wide, almost startled. Her cheeks were flushed. Her breaths still trembled in her chest. Why did Trees rattle her so much when he hadn’t harmed her in any way?

  After she emerged from the bathroom, she went straight for Jorge’s diaper bag and retrieved the shorts she’d left there after her shower last night. Trees stood at the front of the vehicle, with his back to her, and rummaged through a plastic sack in his hands.

  Below his thick neck, every part of him bulged and swelled when he moved—arms, shoulders, and back. Muscles even bracketed his strong spine as his shape narrowed from top to bottom in a V.

  The longer she stared, the more her breath turned choppy. She swallowed a flutter in her belly she didn’t understand.

  As if he sensed her stare, he turned, his gaze sweeping her at once, making her feel almost naked. “Need something?”

  His voice…she heard a note in it that she didn’t know how to interpret. It invited her closer.

  Laila couldn’t explain how he was drawing her in or why she was tempted to accept. Because she wanted to study him? To figure him out? But that made no sense. She would never be interested in any man.

  “What are you looking for?” she finally asked.

  He pulled out some metal part on cardboard backing, wrapped in plastic, along with a small tool set. He tore into both, grabbing what he needed, then set the plastic bag on the table. “This stuff.”