Chapter Twenty-Nine #2
Not in front of these monsters.
Wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.
Vincente lounged across from her, flanked by the sullen young soldier she’d once labeled Pink Cap. Juan had called him Emilio.
Vincente’s cold brown eyes burned into her.
“You’ve caused me a lot of trouble, querida .” His voice was low, dangerous. “This will not go unpunished.”
He ran a hand over her head, catching her ponytail in his fingers. With a painful yank, he ripped the elastic band free.
Her hair spilled across her shoulders.
“That’s better.”
He stretched th e band until it snapped, then dropped it to the metal floor.
“Your nurse friend almost died because of you. If you’d come to me willingly, none of this would’ve happened.”
The dig struck home. Exactly as he’d intended.
She refused to look at him.
Guilt, fear, panic, and hate all brewed in a toxic stew that would show on her face. She couldn’t risk antagonizing Vincente any more than she already had.
Not if she wanted to stay alive and find a way to escape.
Find her way back to Caleb.
To think she’d once believed she was in love with this monster.
Caleb had shown her what love truly meant.
He’d accepted her, even when she lied. Admired her skills as a doctor. Called her brave. Protected her. Cherished her.
Vincente’s version of love was twisted. Ugly.
He didn’t want a partner—he wanted a prize. Someone to control. An obedient wife and mother to his children. Her career was a hobby to him, something to keep her occupied until marriage, not a calling.
A shiver skittered across the base of her skull, hunching her shoulders. She reached up, rubbing the back of her neck—then froze.
The tracker.
Tucked beneath her hair, nearly forgotten. But now, its presence pressed against her skin.
If it stayed hidden, Caleb—or someone from Dìleas—could find her.
If Vincente’s men searched her, she’d have to think fast. Fake a panic attack. A seizure. Anything to keep their hands off her neck.
For now, her best chance was to play along. “Are we returning to Miami?”
Vincente’s la ugh crawled over her skin like a spider, raising the hair on her arms.
“We’re going to my family’s estate in Mexico.” Hard fingers gripped her chin, forcing her to meet her ex-lover’s soulless eyes. “It’ll be a long time before I trust you enough to bring you back to Miami. You’ll have to prove your loyalty to me first.”
His hand slid down her throat, across the curve of her breast, pausing there.
“And to my men.”
Revulsion rolled through her. She shrank from his touch.
“I’m not your whore, Vincente. If you have so little respect for me, why go through all this to get me back?”
“Ah, but you are,” he sneered. “You let that soldier touch you, didn’t you?”
She turned away, only to meet Juan’s leering gaze.
Slap.
Her head snapped back from the force of Vincente’s hand.
“Didn’t you!”
She curled into the seat, away from Vincente’s flushed face and trembling hands.
Mercy wouldn’t come from him. Not now.
She shut her eyes. Prayed.
To God. To every angel. To anyone listening.
Please. Let me escape before they reach Mexico.
After Antonio, she’d realized what Vincente’s hospitality empire truly was—a front for cartel operations. A way to play the respectable citizen and climb the social ladder in Miami while importing poison that killed thousands.
She’d done he r research. Vincente’s father— El Víbora —ran the cartel from a fortified compound in rural Sinaloa. Not even the Mexican government dared raid it.
“You should have shot Varella in the head,” Vincente snapped.
Gia’s eyes flew open.
“Head shots on the run are difficult, cousin,” Juan said, unbothered. “I was more concerned with securing your prize.”
Prize. The word made her stomach turn.
“He killed Leo and Javier,” Juan added. “Gianna will say she came willingly. Varella’s got dead bodies to explain.”
Blood. Bone. The spray on the SUV window. The way Caleb had moved—precise, deadly.
He’d killed for her.
Her stomach lurched. Bile rose. She clamped a hand over her mouth.
Juan’s explanation appeared to do little to soothe Vincente’s temper.
“We should have brought more men.” He turned on Mustache Man. “Matteo, the Aztec Kings say they aren’t working with Los Coyotes, but I don’t believe them.”
The cartel soldier threw up his hands. “ Jefe , they insist they are working only with Espina Negra. And they cannot risk conflict with the Navajo if they want to distribute your product there.”
“We’ll keep an eye on them,” Juan cut in. “For now, you can tell your father that everything is under control. We’ll be landing soon in Albuquerque.”
“Dios,” Vincente snarled. “Albuquerque? We left the plane nearby. We need to be out of American airspace as soon as possible.”
“I understand, primo , but that soldier and his friends will alert the authorities in Gallup. Our plane has already left for Albuquerque, where this helicop ter flew in from to avoid any spies watching the Gallup airport. Range is limited without refueling. Our pilot will have the jet ready for departure to Mexico without delay.”
Albuquerque.
Inside Gia, a tiny flame of hope ignited to carve a circle of light out of the darkness.
She had one last chance. Once they landed, she had to act—fast.
Because once they got her on that plane, it was over.
Vincente thought he’d won.
He was wrong.
Caleb was alive. He had to be.
She’d get free.
Or die trying.