Unshackle (Deliver 7)

She began to tremble, crying out in muzzled, wordless misery, then again when he pulled away.

Tremors of anger rocked him, ignited by the salty taste of her tears on his tongue and the primal, instinctual impulse to never let her out of his sight.

But above all, he needed her safe.

Behind him, Tomas cleared his throat. Then a black hood was pressed into his hand.

“Don’t give Tommy any trouble.” He slipped the material over her head and held it against her brow. “I’ll see you soon.”

She whimpered, a desperate edge of anguish that locked up his lungs. He might never see her again. He trusted Tomas to keep her safe, but Luke would be on his own. He might not make it out of here alive, and she knew it.

It was why she had to be shackled. His little fighter would’ve never willingly left him.

I love her.

The realization rose from deep inside him and fired through his bloodstream. He would tell her when they reunited. He would see her again if only to give her the three words he’d never given anyone else.

He held her gaze a moment longer, kissed her lips around the gag, and lowered the hood.

She didn’t cry. Didn’t kick or growl. Instead, she composed herself, sitting calmly in utter blackness as he backed away.

So much strength in this woman. He was completely and irrevocably besotted.

Passing Tomas on the way out of the limo, he gave his friend a squeeze on the arm. Then he turned and ambled toward the entryway, unable to breathe.

There, he watched the cartel escort climb in. He didn’t move as the limo pulled away. He didn’t take a breath until they vanished around the bend. He couldn’t help it. His precious, beautiful future was in that car, and she was on her way to safety.

The most important part of the operation had been accomplished. She would be reunited with her sister by tomorrow morning.

Now he had to finish this.

As he made his way back to his room, his mind circled around the plan he and Tomas had devised after the meeting with Marco. He couldn’t sit around and wait for backup. His team could take weeks to locate him and mobilize an attack.

They might never find him.

He needed to learn the exact coordinates of the compound and get the fuck out of here. Then he would return with his team.

Now that he knew who Silvia was, he wouldn’t waste his time seducing information from her.

He needed her key card.

Tomas had given him the layout of the property, including the location of the monitoring room. Despite Vera’s seething reluctance, she helped by telling him how to find the breach in the wall. Then she told him about the armory.

Beyond the largest pool, nestled deep in the garden, stood a small concrete building. She claimed it housed enough weaponry and ammunition to take down the entire cartel. It was also monitored by multiple cameras and could only be accessed with the top cartel members’ key cards. Silvia was among that membership.

Loading up with guns and crawling through the hole in the wall was a life-or-death option only. If he broke into the armory, they would know. He could only resort to that if his identity was discovered.

Hell, it might come down to exactly that because his plan was shoddy as hell.

He intended to steal a cartel member’s street clothes and cover his hair with a hat and bandanna. Disguised as a thug, he would use Silvia’s key card to enter the monitoring room and steal a peek at the monitors that showed the surrounding area. With any luck, no one would question him before he turned heel and left.

He had about a five-percent chance of success, and that was optimistic.

First, he had to spend some time with Silvia.

A few hours later, he ordered an old fashioned with rye whiskey and found a quiet corner on a vacant veranda. Sprawled in a comfortable chair, he waited.

She didn’t make him wait long.

Pausing in the doorway, Silvia wore a red body-clinging dress and matching lipstick. Black hair, black eyes, she looked like Satan’s mistress. He hid his repulsion and pretended not to notice her.

She approached his chair, placing one strappy heel before the other. Heel to toe, heel to toe, she really put a lot into that walk. Always trying too hard. This time, it was a waste of effort.

“Good evening, handsome.” She lowered into the seat beside him.

He sipped his drink, brushed imaginary lint off his suit jacket. Then he gave her his attention. “Good evening.”

At the edge of his periphery, her key card hung from the front of her dress by a claw clasp. The same clasp that attached his plastic card to his pants pocket.

The cards looked identical. A swap should be effortless.

She leaned in, giving him an eyeful of plumped-up cleavage. Heavy mascara lined her lashes, hooding a gaze that darkened with hesitant hunger. She wasn’t certain of his interest. Hell, he’d teased her enough over the past couple of days to leave her hot and bothered and unsure about everything.