Into Temptation Page 15

  “I know I can.”

  Irrational pain swelled behind her breastbone and seeped into her voice. “If she gives it to you, what happens next?”

  “You’re jealous.” He lunged forward and touched a finger to her mouth, silencing her objection. “I’m giving you the truth, even when it hurts.” His hand trailed along her jaw, flaming her skin. “I’m jealous, too. I feel this constant, unreasonable impulse to piss a circle around you, to throat punch anyone who looks at you, including Tomas…” He laughed and dragged a hand down his face. “That’s definitely a first for me.”

  She liked the sound of that. Too much. Sucking in a tight breath, she turned her head away. “Answer my question.”

  “I’ve answered enough for now. Trust goes both ways. I give a little. You give a little. Eventually, we meet in the middle.” He glanced at the closed door and leaned in, bracing his elbows on bent knees. “I know that confiding in me means risking not just your life but your mother’s life, as well. I’ll help you the best that I can, but you have to help me.”

  He extended a hand to her, and she stared at it with a lump in her throat.

  From what she’d surmised, his role as a slave buyer was a cover-up for something far more insidious. She knew crucial things about the organization and the compound that could help him, whether he was gathering intel or planning a hit.

  But if he killed Marco and started a war, what would happen to her and the only person she cared about?

  What would happen if he left and she never saw him again?

  She could die either way. But if she helped him… If she could bring herself to trust him, he might be her only way out.

  Reaching out a hand, she clasped his strong fingers. Their gazes held as he pulled her toward his chest. She slid over his hard physique, setting a palm on his flat hipbone, corrugated abs, sculpted pecs, until she found a gripping spot in the warm juncture between his neck and shoulder.

  With her lower body floating in the cradle of his thighs, she rested on his chest and pressed her cheek against the whiskered hardness of his.

  “Three years ago,” she whispered, “I made the worst decision of my life.”

  She reached back through time, aching so brutally with loss she couldn’t breathe. With her mouth against John’s cheek and his heat beneath her body, she welcomed his stillness, the intensity in which he waited and listened. His attentiveness bolstered her.

  “There are things I don’t recall, like how I arrived here or the first few days I spent in the basement.” Her whisper went as taut as the coils knotting in her belly. “But I remember the day Miguel La Rocha walked into the taqueria where I worked and offered me the world.”

  He tensed beneath her. “Did you know who he was?”

  “No idea. He gave me a fake name and a warm, irresistible smile. He’s the most charming of the brothers. The best looking. He wears expensive suits and has this captivating, alluring demeanor about him, you know? Yeah, of course, you know. You’re very much like him in that way.”

  “I’ve never met him, but I assure you, I’m nothing like him.”

  “Well, he knows how to charm the pants off a woman.” With a sigh, she set her chin on his shoulder and closed her eyes. “By the time he asked me to dinner, I was ready to run off with him.”

  His jaw hardened against her face. When she sensed the judgment forming on his lips, she cut him off.

  “Imagine living in a country ridden with cartel wars and poverty. Jobs are hard to come by. There’s never enough food or medicine. Education is a pipe dream. As a woman, my value is insignificant at best. I was beaten by boyfriends. Abused by employers. My father fled before I was even born. I only had to look at my mother and her mother before her to understand that the life I was born into was the only one I would get. No matter how hard I worked. No matter how many beatings I endured. My existence would continue another forty years with no improvement. And that would be it.”

  “Then one day,” he said, running a gentle hand along her back, “a dashing, wealthy man with a silver tongue walked into your life.”

  “Yeah. He singled me out from all the other girls, made me feel special, and treated me to the most expensive dinner I’ve ever had. He dated me for weeks. The lying, cold-blooded son of a bitch made me believe he was falling in love with me. Little did I know, his father had sent him after me. I didn’t even suspect that he had cartel affiliations. That’s why Miguel is so good at his job. Ever elusive and sophisticated, he lures girls in and wins their trust.”

  “Why were you targeted by his father?”

  Her gaze darted through the bathroom as a crawling sensation prickled her scalp. Could she trust his word that there were no devices in here? What if the cartel was listening right now? She hadn’t over-shared yet, but answering his question would end as gruesomely as the girl on the meat hook.

  Sensing her tension, he glided his fingers through her hair. “Give me what you can for now.”

  She breathed in slowly, relishing the clean, masculine scent of his neck. “Miguel offered to help me escape to the United States, promising I would become a free, legal citizen and make more than enough money to pay off my debts. That was the pivotal, most important thing he could’ve offered me. I have years of debt, accrued through desperate means.” Her chest squeezed. “I owe a lot of money to some shady collectors for reasons I’m not ready to talk about.”

  “Don’t be embarrassed.”

  “I’m not.” Sudden anger spiked through her, and she leaned back, causing water to lap around their chests. “I have regrets, but not about that. My debts were necessary. I did what I had to do and will never ever feel ashamed about it.”

  “Good girl.” His touch on her cheek wasn’t pitying or shaming. It was supportive. “The water’s cooling.”

  He opened the drain and stood, taking her with him. Out of the tub, he led her to the settee, where he dried them both off and snagged two robes. Once they were wrapped in terrycloth, he lowered onto the seat beside her.

  She hadn’t finished her story, but he didn’t press. He simply sat beside her, quiet and patient.

  How much could she tell him? Not all of it. But if she gave him some insight into how the cartel trafficked girls, it might help him stop the operation. If that was his aim. She hoped.

  It was more hope than she’d had in years, and that scared the shit out of her.

  “Miguel offered me an installment plan.” She hugged her waist, hating how naive she’d been. “All I had to do was sign a contract that promised to pay back the money I borrowed by working for his connections at a restaurant or factory. The going rate was thirty-thousand dollars. It sounded too good to be true. But hey, everyone gets rich in America, right? So I signed, ignoring the clause that said my family would be responsible for my debt if I couldn’t pay.”

  “You didn’t know what would happen.”

  “I should’ve known. There were so many warning signs. I ignored them all and paid for phony identification documents, adding to the debt I was already trying not to freak out about. Then I let him put me into a car with a strange man, who drove me to a strange city in California.”

  “What did you tell your family?”

  “I didn’t. I left Mexico thinking I would call once I was settled.” Her chest constricted against the stabbing guilt. “I was taken to a place that was neither a restaurant nor a factory. There, in a filthy backroom packed with dozens of girls just like me, I was handed off to Miguel’s connection, who told me I would be a prostitute. I would be charged room and board while I paid off the thirty-thousand dollars I owed them. Just like that, I went from being in debt to being in more trouble than I could’ve ever imagined.”

  He gripped her hand on her lap and bowed his head. At the edge of her vision, she watched his jaw grind and flex.

  “I protested.” She sat taller, recalling the painful memories. “God, I fought. I don’t even know how many times I tried to cut and run. I even enlisted the other gi
rls to rally with me. But every effort I made ended in agony. He beat me, starved me, kept me awake for days on end until I was too disoriented and weak to lift my head. That’s when I caught a glimpse of my future.”

  “You knew you’d been trafficked.”

  “I was starting to suspect that. I mean, I understood all along that what they were doing wasn’t legal, but part of me still believed I was in control of my situation. I remember lying in that backroom—eyes swollen shut, ribs cracked, my stomach twisted with hunger—and that’s when I finally came to terms with how grim my predicament was. I’d unknowingly sold myself to La Rocha Cartel and became an illegal immigrant, without a cent to my name. I didn’t know where I was, had no access to a phone, and no options because no one allowed me to go anywhere alone.”

  He scooped her into his arms and held her tight across his lap. It was a big lap, warm and protective, reinforced by rock-hard thighs and a sense of security that shouldn’t have made sense.

  After Miguel, she’d sworn she would never be fooled by a man again. But her relationship with Miguel had never been this. He’d bought her expensive food, wooed her with pretty words, and fucked her without fireworks. Not even a spark.

  He’d never held her, never embraced her without throwing her against the closest surface and rutting atop her.

  Angling her head, she sought John’s vibrant gaze. Sweet Lord, he was so close, regarding her as if nothing else existed in the world. She nuzzled so deeply against his chest she felt the rhythm of his heart in her soul, dancing with hers. Endlessly, he held her, his mouth nearly upon her lips, chasing her breaths with unspoken questions.

  “I was out of options,” she whispered. “What was I supposed to do?”

  “You survive by doing what you’re told.” Green eyes glared down at her.

  “Fuck that.” She glared right back. “I will always fight. And I did, earning more punishments. More beatings. More days without food. But you know what? Every infraction ensured that he couldn’t whore me out. Since I refused to be a prostitute, I was completely useless to him. So Miguel was called in. He drugged me, and a week later, I woke in the basement of Casa de La Rocha, only to become his personal whore. Then he gave me to his brothers.”

  He tucked her head beneath his jaw and caressed her hair. His fingers swam with strong, powerful strokes, every touch made to comfort a woman as if he’d been born and bred to it.

  For long minutes, he just cradled her, arms locked around her back, controlling her breaths with the confident, steady rhythm of his chest. She shouldn’t want him like this or find pleasure in his affection or feel so full of him.

  Sleek with muscle beneath the terrycloth, his thighs shored up hers, supporting her like the arm tight around her back. An arm roped with cords of strength. The scent of raw masculinity, soft copper hair, flawlessly fair complexion, speckles of random freckles… How could she not admire his physical attributes?

  The carved cut of his features lent him a rugged look, whether he wore a suit, gym shorts, or nothing at all. A unique mix of polish and roguishness, he was insanely gorgeous by any measure.

  Oh, how she wanted to spend some time with his sinful mouth. Without an audience. With no agendas. She wanted to kiss him for no other reason than to savor his taste and delight in the tingles he delivered.

  Dammit, get a grip.

  She wiped a hand across her lips, but it didn’t erase the hot, virile feel of him, the potency of his skin, the answering electricity in her blood. Every drip of remembered pleasure drew her deeper into his trap.

  It was no use. He was too tempting, and she was too interested. So she let herself indulge, just for a moment.

  Running a palm up his chest over the robe, she slid her fingers between the lapels to brush the sparse hair on his pecs. His breaths grew shallow, but he let her explore, bending down to kiss her head. Then he leaned back and watched.

  Her hand roved lower, to his abdomen, to his waist, as lean and strong as a pillar, chiseled with sexy ridges and indentations. She spread open the robe to roam along the thin trail of hair, defined hipbones, and the proud, semi-hard length of his response to her touch.

  “What’s your real name?” he murmured.

  She closed her eyes and pulled her hand away. “I can’t.”

  “Hector La Rocha knew it. That’s why he sent Miguel to take you.” His American accent turned growly. “Why is the secrecy of your name so important?”

  “What’s your real name?” She moved to crawl off his lap.

  He caught her waist and wrenched her back, wrapping her legs around his hips to straddle him.

  “I’ll give you mine…” He gripped her jaw and brushed his lips against hers. “When you give me yours.”

  “I want to tell you.” Her heart hammered as she cupped his powerful jaw, his beautiful, sculpted face. “I’m scared. I’m…” She cast her gaze around the room, knowing if she gave him this information, it wouldn’t happen here. “Hector was murdered in prison and—”

  A strange, unguarded look swept across his features, there and gone too quickly to analyze. “What does his murder have to do with you?”

  “His sons are looking for his killer. They believe the assassin belongs to a cartel in Colombia. Rest…ari…something.”

  “Restrepo,” he whispered, his face paling. “The Restrepo Cartel.”

  “Oh, my God.” She scrambled off his lap. “You’re one of them? You work for a rival cartel?”

  “No, I work for myself. Tell me what you know.” He rose and grabbed her robe. “This is fucking important.”

  Adrenaline poured through her veins, and she spun, stripping free from the terrycloth in his grip and racing toward the door, naked.

  “This is the first time I’ve heard any mention of Hector’s death since I’ve been here.” He prowled after her, all long legs and stony determination. “You’re going to tell me everything.”

  “I swear I don’t know anything about Hector.”

  He caught her at the door, slamming his hand against it and preventing it from opening. “How does his death involve you?”

  “They’re using me as bait.”

  “For Hector’s killer?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I. Don’t. Know.” She yanked on the door handle, frantic to get on the other side, where there were cameras, where he wouldn’t interrogate her and force her to talk. “Let me out.”

  “Do you know who killed Hector La Rocha?”

  “No one knows. It could’ve been an inside job by one of the inmates. Probably an attack by the González cartel or one of the enemy gangs in the prison. I grew up in that city, and everyone wanted him dead.”

  He zoomed in on that last part like a laser beam. “You grew up in Ciudad Hueca?”

  Her stomach dropped. She’d said too much. “It’s a big city. Lots of people have lived there.”

  “More specifically, you and Vera Gomez.” He bent at the waist, putting his face in hers. “What is your relationship with her?”

  Heavy iron seemed to clog her ears, her blood running rabidly through her system, chilling her insides with fear. A cold sweat formed on her skin. Her lungs struggled for air as a vicious quiver overtook her body. She shook so violently she rattled the door at her back.

  “I can’t…” She gulped for breath, unable to maintain a whisper. “Please, you don’t know what you’re asking.”

  The steely intimidation in his expression faded, replaced with a storm of turmoil and something else.

  “It’s okay.” He hooked his arm around her and pulled her against him, pressing his lips to her head. “Shh. Easy. Breathe with me.”

  She couldn’t stop trembling, wrestling with the need to tell him everything. It was right there, all of it, twisting up her tongue. But she fought it. She had to. It wasn’t just her life she was risking.

  Maybe tomorrow. With a clear head and full night’s sleep, maybe she could find a way to tell him who she was.


  He read the decision in her eyes and released a slow breath. “Go to bed. I’ll be in later.”

  The instant he opened the door, she fled to his room like a coward.

  An hour later, she rolled to her side in a bed of Klondike wrappers and groaned. She shouldn’t have eaten that last ice cream bar. Or the six bars before it. But for a while, the delicious chocolate had kept her mind off the man making plans in the other room.

  When he’d followed her out of the bathroom, he’d made a beeline to Tomas. After some very cozy whispering, they turned their attentions to their phones, their fingers furiously tapping out messages to whomever they were working with.

  The Restrepo Cartel?

  John didn’t look like a Colombian cartel gangster, and he’d denied the accusation that he worked for them. But he knew the cartel. The mere mention of them had put him on immediate guard. In a blink, he’d gone from patient and affectionate to demanding and all business.

  For a few minutes, she’d spied on him and Tomas from the bedroom, unable to hear their hushed conversation. When her snooping got the best of her, she stormed in and tried to join the discussion. The fuckers clammed up, moved to the bathroom, and locked the damn door.

  They didn’t trust her, and why should they? If she knew their plan, she could run straight to Marco with it.

  What she’d witnessed the night she met them made sense now. The bromance hug they’d shared in the bathroom, the camera removed from the ceiling, the feeling that they weren’t who they claimed to be… Whatever reason they were here, they were in it together, and it was all related to Hector’s killer.

  If they’d come to finish off Hector’s sons, she sure as hell wouldn’t stand in their way. At the same time, she didn’t want to become an unintended casualty of war. Maybe John wouldn’t throw her on a grenade to save his mission. But if forced to choose between his goal and hers, he wouldn’t pick her. He didn’t even know her.

  She couldn’t trust him. Not with her life or that of the one person she’d spent three years protecting.