CHAPTER 6 MATEO
MATEO
Mateo gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles ached.
Every mile they covered drove the knife of guilt deeper.
He’d been trained to compartmentalize, to do what needed to be done without hesitation, but this was different.
Every broken breath she took reminded him of the price of this assignment.
I can’t do it. She’s going to die, and it’s going to be my fault. Rampant thoughts crashed through his mind like a train off its tracks.
The jeep lurched violently over a root, snapping him out of his head. Reaching under his seat, he pulled out the small black emergency comm he had stashed away months ago. A single-use lifeline he was never supposed to need unless his cover was blown beyond recovery.
Which, at this point, it is.
He flicked the switch, the faint hum of static filling the cabin. “Come on, come on,” he muttered, toggling through encrypted channels with one hand until he reached the emergency frequency linked to the task force back in the States.
As the tires slid through thick mud, he adjusted the signal parameters, tapping out the coordinates and updating the message.
But before he could append the distress code or identify himself, the jeep jolted hard over a giant hole.
His thumb slipped, and the comm beeped sharply as he tried to stop the car from lurching to one side.
“Shit!” The message transmitted was incomplete. Who knows what scrambled mess of code fragments had been sent. “No, no, no, fuck!” He slammed the steering wheel, the echo of his curse swallowed by the jungle.
For a second, he sat there with the comm blinking uselessly in his palm. It was designed to serve as a burner, used to send an encrypted code to alert the task force what kind of emergency he was in along with his coordinates—fire and forget.
It’s only useful as a fucking paperweight now.
He made a snap decision. He opened the window and hurled it into the dense brush, letting it vanish into the trailing darkness behind him.
He glanced back to check on Gabriella, noting her stiff back and face turned away from him. Even in her misery she was gorgeous. He looked forward once more, ignoring the insistent magnetic pull of her behind him, scolding himself for his fuck up.
Someone at the task force would get my message.
They had to. He just hoped they could figure out who’d sent it and where it had come from before it was too late.
The jungle gave a moment of reprieve as the narrow trail opened to a clearing, revealing the poaching camp.
Canvas tents and makeshift shacks were scattered around a fire pit, dimly lit by oil lamps.
The stench of diesel, rot, and fear hung in the air.
Men shouted orders, their movements brisk, and beneath their training, a quiet lull of desperation.
The operation was being torn down fast. They were getting ready to move either across the border into Nicaragua or down to Panama.
He reflected on that. The signal he accidentally sent out included the coordinates for Panama, where he would push for them to move. He prayed that no one would challenge his decision.
Mateo slowed the jeep and rolled in, headlights cutting through the smoke.
A handful of men turned, rifles slung across their chests, suspicion flashing in their eyes.
One of them, a thick-necked and big-bellied man with skin baked by the sun and eyes gone cold long ago, strode up to the driver’s side and looked up at Mateo.
Mateo had to school his face from looking like he had sucked on a lemon when he realized who it was.
José, his second in command, asked, “?Trajiste la gringa?” Did you bring the foreigner?
The question twisted Mateo’s stomach. He forced his grip to relax before it betrayed him. “Sí, está conmigo,” he said evenly. Yes, she’s with me.
José smirked, the leer on his face cruel. He tilted his head to peer into the backseat, licking his lips. “Diay … no puedo esperar probarla.” I can’t wait to taste her.
The relationship he held with José was balanced on a precariously taut line, one where he ruled the camp but José constantly challenged his authority.
Which made sense, as he had the longest tenure to this operation.
But in times like this, Mateo wished his fantasy of putting a bullet between his eyes came true.
With Gabriella trembling behind him, the thought of José, of anybody, touching Gabriella set Mateo’s blood afire, like a match to gasoline. He revved the engine hard, the growl of the motor making several men flinch as he towered over the portly man.
“Ella es mía,” he snarled, voice low and dangerous. “No permitiré que la manches.”
She’s mine. I won’t let you sully her.
José took a wary step back, his smirk faltering, though his tone turned mocking. “Está bien, pero los hombres se enfadan. Hace semanas que no podemos ir al pueblo a por provisiones.”
Fine, but the men will get angry. It’s been weeks since we could go to town for comforts.
Towards the end of any operation Mateo ran, he kept his men low to the ground and disciplined to not fuck up.
Often cutting out booze and women to keep their heads straight.
So bringing Gabriella to a den of wolves had not been his ideal choice, but it had been the safest. Why?
Because he was the fucking alpha of them all despite how often José tried to start shit.
And he would protect her, with his last dying breath.
Mateo killed the engine and jumped out, boots sinking into the mud. “No es mi problema,” he shot back sharply. “Sabían en lo que se metían cuando se apuntaron a esto.”
Not my problem. They knew what they were getting into when they signed up for this.
So eat shit, he thought.
He didn’t wait for a reply. Striding to the back, he yanked open the hatch. Gabriella flinched, her bound hands trembling, muffled sounds of protest catching behind the gag. Her eyes—terrified and defiant—locked on his. For a second, something in his chest twisted painfully.
Trying to save her from death only resulted in him bringing her closer to the heart of danger. I’m going to be the reason she dies, like all the others.
Urgent voices in the distance reminded him of their time constraints. He untied her legs, ignoring the way her floral scent seemed to wrap around him. The ropes had left marks on her skin, deep grooves of red that only added to the remorse he seemed to be drowning in.
I need to focus. I am the only one who can keep her safe.
He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her from the jeep.
“Come on,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to her.
Their boots squished and sucked underneath mud.
His men stared at them as he dragged her towards his tent at the far edge of camp, a battered green structure half-concealed by palms.
Once inside, he ducked quickly and began moving with precise efficiency. He directed her towards the bed, told her to stay, despite the obvious way she stumbled towards it. She let out a small whimper.
Yeah, throw your weight around and you’re no different than her ex.
The tent had already felt small given his size, but now with her in it?
Fuck, he was suffocating. Despite the scent of rain and earth around him, he could smell her …
pulling on the edges of the darkness within him that begged to draw her closer to him.
Everything about her was a compulsion and it was driving him insane.
He wanted to bury his face between her legs, inhale her scent that tantalized him, and lick every crevice of her sweat-stained skin.
Focus! I need to clean up and get her moving.
The room was barely thirty square feet, with the makeshift bed Gabriella sat on taking up nearly half of the room. Papers and notes were cluttered on a crate against the opposite wall, reminding him of what he needed to do.
Gathering the papers for his next move, it took little to no effort to shove a crate aside, revealing a hidden hole beneath the makeshift floorboards where his burner phones, weapon cache, and encrypted maps were stashed. Everything he had worked on was hidden in this one spot.
He glanced back at Gabriella, who he knew was still probably trying to wrap her head around everything. He risked her telling someone, even José, of what he had kept hidden.
With speed, he turned back to her and squatted to eye level with her, which was easy given his large frame.
“Gabriella, this is where the part of trust comes in.” He pressed a finger to his lips mimicking the quiet motion.
“I am trusting you won’t tell anyone what you’ve seen. Okay? It would get us both killed.”
The proximity of their bodies meant he saw the exact shade of her eyes—a bright green with gold specks that seemed to see straight through him.
He knew he didn’t deserve her trust, but he had accepted his moral compass had shattered long ago if it meant protecting those he cared for.
And she was the last one left on his list.
The camp was moving soon, and he needed these items hidden before anyone decided to inspect his space. He pressed again, “Nod if you understand. They will kill us both.”
Flushed and wary, her brows knit together, but after a moment she gave a terse nod.
“Atta girl,” he said and gave her a quick peck on her forehead which made her stumble farther into the bed with an indignant sound. He stood, raising his arms in surrender. “Sorry, you were too cute. I’ll behave.”
He turned back once more. The ground was wet, which was ample enough to ruin the maps he shoved deeper into the mud, covering them with a layer of dirt before he loaded the burner and extra weapons on him.
He cursed, tucked the boards back into place, and covered it with jungle foliage, the hidden compartment sealed once more.
Even if they removed everything and took the wood, the only thing anyone would notice was dirt.
With no time to investigate anymore, he felt confident the ruined maps would not pose a threat.
Then he glanced towards the flap of the tent and exhaled through his teeth, wondering if he should do more when her movement caught his eye. He looked at her.
Her eyes darted everywhere. First to the weapons now hidden on him, to the radio, and finally to the faint moonlight filtering through the torn canvas. She tried to speak around the gag, voice muffled. “Mateo.”
His eyes noted her red rimmed ones. “There’s more than you know going on,” he confessed, waiting a moment for her to acknowledge what he said.
Still squatting, he reached over to snag an ankle, her heated skin warming his own as he pulled her towards him.
She let out a small muffled squeak that he enjoyed a little too much.
He scooted closer until his chest was brushing her knees.
Every muscle in her body tensed, like a tapeti awaiting a predator, she was accepting of her fate with a defiance in her eyes that pleased him.
Gods, he wanted to tell her the truth … that he was still one of the good guys, that she wasn’t his prisoner, that this would all be over soon. But lies were his only armor now, meant to keep them both safe.
He gently touched her knee, lowering his voice. “Trust me Gabriella,” he said, the words barely a whisper above the chaos outside. “Whatever happens, do exactly what I say. I’ll get you out. I swear it with my life.”
Her green eyes glistened with a chaotic storm of emotions and something heartbreakingly human.
She didn’t nod, but she didn’t pull away from his touch either.
She was waiting to see what he would do next.
An unspoken olive branch. They both knew how intimate she was with being betrayed by someone, and yet she didn’t shove his touch away or resist when he asked her to wait.
She was trusting him, in a way, and it was so fucking empowering to him he had to fight every urge in him not to pull her into his arms and comfort her. To sink into her warmth and kiss her until neither of them could remember the sea of death and torment awaiting them.
Outside, someone shouted orders as the metallic clatter of rifles being checked and crates being loaded rattled the tent, breaking the spell between them.
A random shot of gunfire caused both of them to jerk. Gabriella leaned forward, pressed her face to his shoulder, the heat of her body sending jolts of pleasure throughout him that he tried to ignore. That became increasingly harder when she whimpered softly, bringing out every protective instinct.
She might be the death of me, he mused, hand hovering near his own weapon in preparation for any more gunfire. When the chaos of the camp breakdown continued and no further shots sounded, he released his grip. He patted her back soothingly. “It’s over Gabriella. Let’s get ready to move.”
Though his words were meant to comfort, it did little to still the staccato rhythm of his own heart. Things were getting complicated, and in the jungle, complicated usually meant someone didn’t make it out alive.