She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Hector wasn’t just removing Garra’s manhood. He was demoting the man, binding him into service to her.
A personal security guard would give her more protection than the gun in her waistband or a lock on her door. But tethering Garra to her side was the last thing she wanted.
“It will be my honor.” Garra clasped his hands behind him and shifted to face her. “I’m at your service, Petula.”
His eyes connected with hers, and in that look, she glimpsed his contempt. It was there and gone in a blink, leaving behind an empty expression.
Hector’s command was law. Didn’t matter if they liked it. Neither of them could refuse, and they both knew it.
“We will begin English lessons at sunrise tomorrow.” Hector struck a match and lit another cigarette. “You may go.”
Garra followed her into the hall and along the thirty-foot walk to her cell. At the doorway, she turned toward him.
His face contorted, a furious scowl twisting at the center.
“Could’ve been worse.” She rested her hands on her hips. “I told him to castrate you.”
A seething breath slipped past his clamped teeth, and he tried to rein it in.
With a forefinger and thumb, he pinched the bridge between his eyes and dragged in a string of deep inhales. Each one grew slower, calmer, until his shoulders relaxed.
Then he lowered his hand and met her gaze.
A thousand words clashed between them, none of them voiced. In that defining moment of silence, he accepted his role as her guard, and she came to terms with her new reality.
She’d joined the most ruthless cartel in Mexico.
The very cartel her mother warned her against her entire life.
She’d passed the point of no return.Jaulaso Prison
Present DayThe fun-size package of sex in tight jeans stole glances at Martin from beneath her dark lashes. He didn’t have to look at the Latina beauty to feel the caress of her exotic eyes along his skin. But goddamn, did he look. He couldn’t stop.
She sat at a table on the far side of the common area, bent over an open book. Each time her gaze lifted, he openly stared back, savoring the view.
Monochromatic tattoos sleeved her arms in a blend of illustrations too detailed to make out at this distance. Perky tits formed an enticing valley in the V-neck of her shirt. Full lips begged to be kissed, no matter how hard she pressed them together.
Large brown eyes perused him up and down, taking his measure, weighing his worth. With each pass, her expression softened as if, in her attempt to analyze him, she’d inadvertently let her guard slip.
After a moment, she looked away. Whatever she decided about him made her pull in a breath. Her chest rose with the inhale, squeezing her perfect rack in the confines of her shirt.
Fuck, his dick.
For the past seven years, the thought of having sex again had tortured him into a celibate existence. But after two days in Area Three, watching this alluring woman react to him, he couldn’t control the swelling torment between his legs.
He wasn’t prepared.
Not for her.
He and Ricky had trained nonstop for months, focusing on combat, weaponry, and cartel politics. In addition to their daily workouts, they spent a good part of the year perfecting their Spanish.
Going into this assignment, they knew the score.
Coke, marijuana, meth… Name the drug. It was here. Prison guards didn’t enter this nasty, dark corner of hell, where inmates carried high-powered submachine guns.
Drug dealers with Uzis.
And they were all at war with one another. If a vato so much as looked at someone wrong, he was dead.
He and Ricky had three months to complete the mission while living among the worst of the most violent, crazy, and disturbed men on the planet.
According to their intel, there weren’t supposed to be female prisoners in Area Three. And certainly not one as hot as Petula Gomez.
“Stop staring, dipshit,” Ricky whispered behind the loose curl of his hand.
“Only reason you’re not is because your back is to her.”
Being bilingual proved exceedingly useful. Since no one in here seemed to know English, he and Ricky used it in their private conversations.
“How did we not know she existed?” Ricky tossed two cards onto the table between them, maintaining the ruse of playing poker.
Matias Restrepo had been their primary resource for information. As the capo of the biggest cartel in Colombia, he kept tabs on all his rivals. When he married Camila earlier this year, her vigilante group of freedom fighters had gained a powerful ally.
Without Matias, they would’ve never located Hector La Rocha.
Their target.
Matias and Camila had arranged the arrest that planted Martin and Ricky in Jaulaso. Before they were detained, Matias had given them a few instructions.
Pay a prison guard to move you to a nicer area.
Request Area Three.
Try not to get shot or raped in the process.