Manipulate (Deliver 6)

“My jeans…” Her waistband constricted her stomach, making her restless and itchy. “I can’t sleep in this.”

“No, wait.” Ricky caught her hand on the zipper. “They need to stay on.” He cleared his voice. “For protection. Just keep them on.”

“Protection is good.” She sank into the bed and drifted into a spinning, nauseating half-sleep.

“Tula.” Martin’s rumbling drawl popped her eyes open. “Why did Hector make you a member of the cartel? How did that happen?”

“I saved his life.” She closed her eyes against a hammering headache. “Then I taught him English. If you want to join La Rocha, I’ll make it happen. Just tell me you want in.”

A hand stroked through her hair, brushing strands away from her face. “How long are you in for?”

“I have three years left in prison. Forever with La Rocha Cartel.”

“Are you involved in their human sex trafficking operation?”

“It’s drugs,” she mumbled. “And guns. That’s what they smuggle. I stay out of that stuff.”

“Hector abducts women and children, Tula.” Ricky’s voice penetrated her fuzzy mind. “He sells them as slaves. You know that, right?”

“No, he doesn’t.” She tried to laugh, but holy hell, she felt severely tired and sick to her stomach. “He’s a nice old man and respects women. He respects me. Tula Gomez. A high school Spanish teacher from Phoenix. I was just a teacher, you know? I didn’t do anything wrong. I tried to help my sister, and she…” Tears burned her scratchy eyes. “I lost her. I lost Vera.”

A sob swelled in her throat, but she didn’t have the strength or focus to give into it.

“Hey.” A strong pair of arms pulled her into a blanket of heat. “You’re not alone. Not anymore.”

As it turned out, she had the energy to cry after all.

Bracketed between two hard bodies, she wept until the pain faded into darkness.“We disproved one rumor.” Martin lay face down on his cot, his limbs heavy from sleep. “She can’t drink the biggest man under the table.”

“It’s also safe to say…” Ricky rose from his bed and stretched, wearing only a pair of boxers. “She doesn’t know Hector’s secrets.”

“Maybe not, but she knows him.”

“It’s weird how she looks up to him like she’s forgotten he’s a cartel boss and all-around horrible human being.” Grabbing his toothbrush, Ricky lumbered to the sink. “Do you think she’s brainwashed?”

“I don’t know.”

The sight of all that flawless, nude skin made him lose his train of thought. He turned his face into his folded arms beneath his head and tried to concentrate on something other than his best friend’s half-naked body.

They’d stayed in Tula’s cell until dawn, watching her sleep and keeping her safe in her inebriated state. Before Area Three began to stir, they’d hurried back to their own cell, relieved that none of the supplies she’d given them had been stolen.

Slumber had come quickly and sucked away most of their day.

They should go check on her, make sure she was okay. It was his first thought when he woke, a stabbing instinct in his gut.

Was she still asleep? Did she have pain medication to soothe a hangover? Was she drinking water? Was anyone bothering her?

Imagining her venturing out in her weakened state among two-hundred male inmates made him feel goddamn feral. He needed to be at her side, protecting her the same way he and Ricky watched out for each other.

But she wasn’t his responsibility. No one had forced the alcohol down her throat. Even so, they’d deliberately coaxed her into drinking too much.

When she’d told them she brought tequila, the idea had popped into his head. He saw the same plan formulate in Ricky’s eyes right before he started pouring shots.

Getting her drunk had been easy. Loosening her tongue had been even easier. But watching her cry herself to sleep? That had been fucking brutal.

Her longing for her sister had bled through his skin. Her hiccuping cries lingered in his bones. Her tears fused her pain with his and messed with his head.

He hated that she was hurting, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Ricky spat toothpaste into the sink. “We need to see how she’s doing.”

“Yep.” Instantly on his feet, Martin brushed his teeth and splashed cold water on his face.

They dressed and stepped into the hall. The short walk to the stairwell and down to Tula’s cell led them past throngs of glaring inmates.

He didn’t look at the floor or aggressively return the menacing scowls. He kept his eyes focused straight ahead, determined to reach Tula’s cell without being attacked.

When they arrived at her door, his relief was short-lived. Ricky’s knock was met with the violent sounds of retching on the other side.

They stormed into her room. Martin scanned the empty space as Ricky raced to her kneeling position.

Bent over the toilet, she dry-heaved uncontrollably. Tremors shook her shoulders, and her cheeks glistened with tears.