It occurred to her that his undercover operation might’ve gone terribly wrong. They went in to find Tula’s sister. Tula, who had fallen in love with Martin and Ricky during a mission in a Mexican prison.
What if Luke hadn’t made it out of the cartel headquarters? What if he’d been forced to kill Vera, Tula’s sister?
“You said your friend killed an innocent girl on a meat hook.” She shivered, her voice wavering. “Tommy? Is Luke okay? And Vera? Please, you have to tell me.”
“Why the fuck do you care?”
Her pulse skipped at the sound of his voice. “I’m invested. For ten years—”
“You’ve been collecting intel on my team. Tell me what you’re doing with that information.”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit.”
“You needed someone to hear you. So I listened. Through every word, no matter how uncomfortable or horrifying, I silently supported you, rooted for you and your friends. I’m still doing that. It’s the only reason I’m here.”
“You’re a liar.”
“I speak the truth. You’re just not ready to hear it.”
She took an inventory of the supplies in her pack. Some of her belongings were here. The first-aid kit. Sunscreen. Extra clothes. But he’d removed the rest, the things she needed most, such as water, food, weapons, maps, and the compass.
But he’d left the small lantern and its solar-powered charger. She grabbed it, turned it on, and wobbled to her feet.
Thirst was her loudest ache. It screamed from her stomach and clouded her head. Fatigue and fear followed closely behind, making every step to the truck feel like a mile.
The lantern’s dim light helped her navigate the uneven terrain. She didn’t have a plan beyond the imperative to be in that vehicle when it left.
Halfway there, a startling, ear-splitting bang ricocheted through her skull. Gravel sprayed beside her boots, and she screamed, staggering backward and falling on her butt.
For a moment, she thought he’d shot her. But the sudden pain in her chest was just her heart ramming against her ribs.
“Have you lost your mind?” she roared, swinging the lantern toward him. “If you don’t want me to approach, use your fucking words, not a—”
The light snagged on a long, scaly body beside her. Four feet in length, a diamondback rattlesnake lay unmoving, bleeding from the head.
“Oh, my God.” She scrambled to her feet, tripping over a deep crack to get away from it. “Fucking shit. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Her breathing rampaged as full-body tremors robbed her balance. That venomous thing had been right next to her! And he’d shot it with impossible accuracy.
He’d saved her life.
Maybe she should thank him.
Should she thank him for chaining her in the desert, too?
Fuck that.
“Where’s my shotgun?” She thrust the lantern out before her.
“Afraid of snakes?”
“Well, I’m not fucking friends with them.”
“Who are you friends with?”
“Just you, as crazy as that sounds.” She staggered the remaining few paces to the tailgate.
“You’re a stranger. That’s a long way from friend.”
“Give me my shotgun.”
“So you can shoot me?”
“So I can defend myself against things like that.” She pointed at the dead snake.
“No.” He hadn’t shifted from his sprawled position, the hat still dipping over his eyes. But a handgun now rested on his lap.
He didn’t move the gun or the water out of her reach. But she wasn’t stupid. If she went for either, he would stop her, and he wouldn’t be gentle about it.
Instead, she focused on the view.
The lantern’s glow picked out the contoured muscles of his legs and accentuated his trim waist, V-shaped torso, and broad shoulders. Sun-bronzed skin sheathed his biceps and forearms, emphasizing the flex of sinewy strength.
He wore snug jeans, a faded t-shirt, and the rugged hat and boots. The shirt rode up, and the denim rode low, drawing her gaze to the thin strip of brown hair that disappeared beneath his fly.
She swallowed hard and moved the light higher, capturing the arrogant cut of his jaw, the bold line of his nose, and the cruel taunt of chiseled lips.
As fate would have it, he was astoundingly, inconceivably gorgeous. Even with his face etched in godlike fury, he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. But she wasn’t besotted into thinking that was all he was.
This virile, handsome devil was a dangerous vigilante and killer. He was also a sexual deviant, a kinky freak with an insatiable appetite, who’d lured hundreds of unsuspecting women into his bed.
He’d written about his explorations, and she’d devoured the tantalizing words with flushed cheeks and quivering breaths. She’d also noticed a disturbing progression of depravity over the years, his cravings growing darker, bolder, more painful, veering into dubious territory.
She wasn’t a guileless victim. But she was curious enough to slowly reach out and lift the brim of his cowboy hat.
Their stares caught and held, transfixed as the atmosphere shuddered between them. Crackling energy. Red-hot voltage. She felt it everywhere, curling fingers of warmth into parts of her he would never physically touch. He would never try because what she saw in the depths of his gaze was enough to know that he despised her with every jagged shard of his soul.