Chapter 13
When Gaby traveled, which was rare, she always flew coach.
She’d peeked into first class before the curtain was snapped closed, but that was it.
The luxury jet Dev had borrowed from a friend put anything she could have imagined to shame.
It was more like a flying palace with cream leather seats, real polished wood, and a bar stocked with top-shelf liquor.
Even the air smelled expensive—cool, crisp, and perfectly air-conditioned.
She smoothed her palms over the silk of the crimson dress she now wore.
They’d boarded in Miami already dressed for the party.
There would be no time to stop once they landed.
The fabric felt too cool and revealing, the diamond drop earrings and matching choker too expensive, her spike heels far higher than she was used to.
Every detail made her feel like the imposter she was, and absurdly overdressed for an airplane, no matter how luxurious.
Her gaze drifted to Rhys, seated across from her.
He wore a charcoal suit cut from tropical wool, his white shirt open at the throat, cuff links glinting subtly in the cabin light.
He read with an air of effortless nonchalance, as if hopping on a private jet to Costa Rica for a party among the wealthy and morally bankrupt was just another Tuesday.
She envied his unnervingly precise composure, the kind that made his Lucien Blackwood persona disturbingly real.
Behind her, Leland and Mateo spoke in low tones, unreadable walls of muscle in sleek black suits. They didn’t just look like men no one dared question. They were those men.
Gaby glanced out the window for the hundredth time.
They should be landing soon, but all she saw were white clouds.
No mountains. No rainforest. No coastline.
She wanted to be there and let the charade begin as much as she dreaded it.
She shifted in her seat, hands clutching the armrests to still the anxious tremor.
Naturally, Rhys noticed.
“Nervous?” he asked, low enough under the constant hum of the aircraft that it was just for her.
She forced a lightness she didn’t feel. “We’re about to walk into a nest of the world’s most self-indulgent predators. I think I have a right to be.”
His mouth twitched. Not quite a smile but close. “You walked into the club alone the first night I met you. Compared to that, this should feel like a warm-up. Because you have me, and two shadows who’d walk through fire to keep you safe.”
She nodded, not entirely reassured. Maybe it was the advantage of hindsight, but this seemed ten times more terrifying than infiltrating Devil’s Pointe.
His gaze moved over her slowly. It didn’t soften, exactly, but the glint in his eyes made her chest tighten.
“If I didn’t know better, I wouldn’t recognize you,” he murmured. “The transformation is remarkable.”
Her hand rose to her honey-blonde hair, sleek now after a $400 dye job and Brazilian blowout.
“That’s what the stylist and I were going for.
Emily worried I might be recognized from Coral Gables.
Without the curls, there’s less of a risk of that.
Besides, the property of Lucien Blackwood needs polish. ”
“And you delivered,” he said with a hint of a smile. “It was a good call by Emily. Your springy spirals were definitely unique.” Turning serious, he leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. “Would it help to review once more?”
Less confident in her abilities than he was, she nodded.
He extended his arm across the narrow space between them. When she placed her hand in his, his fingers wrapped firmly around hers. They’d practiced this often, simple touching, and it grounded her.
“What’s your role tonight?” he asked.
Gaby drew a breath. “Supportive, helping prove to álvarez you are who he suspects you are.”
“How do you do that?” he pressed.
She recited what he’d drilled into her for weeks. “I stay close and follow your lead. Eyes down unless instructed otherwise, but I listen and pay attention to details.”
“Now for the rules.” He didn’t break eye contact. His thumb brushed the inside of her wrist, sweeping over her pulse, slowly appraising.
“I respond instantly to your commands, no questions, no hesitation.”
“Good. What else?”
She swallowed. “I don’t flinch when you touch me. Not in public. Not in private. Not ever—because someone will almost certainly be watching.”
His eyes dipped to her throat, lingered an instant before lifting again. “Perfect. Next?”
Her cheeks heated. “I exist to please you.”
Behind her, Leland coughed, smothering his amusement. Mateo didn’t bother hiding his snort.
Rhys didn’t glance their way. Didn’t lose focus. Didn’t waver.
“Exactly. Just like we practiced,” he said then repeated, “You’ve got this, Gaby.”
Before she could respond, the intercom crackled.
“Mr. Blackwood, we’re beginning our descent to Quepos–La Managua Airport. We’ll be on the ground in fifteen minutes.”
Her pulse jumped, she swallowed hard, and glanced out the window. For as far as the eye could see, there was still nothing but clouds.
Rhys tightened his hold on her hand. “Look at me, Gaby.”
He waited until she did, then reminded her, “You’re not alone in this. You have two of Devlin’s best men acting as your bodyguards. And you’ll be within arm’s reach of me at all times.”
A new, possessive cadence had slipped into his voice, so unlike the restrained professional he’d been these past few weeks, ever since their almost-kiss at the club. Had she imagined it? Or had he already become the man who owned her, at least for the mission?
She was still trying to make sense of it when the jet touched down with a jolt.
Taxiing was brief on the short tropical runway. When the door opened, humid tropical air seeped into the cabin. Gaby rose on unsteady legs.
At the top of the steps, she paused. Not far away, a uniformed limousine driver held a placard: MR. BLACKWOOD
Rhys’s hand hovered near her back, close enough to guide, not quite touching. “Deep breath. Act One is simple: ears open, follow my lead.”
She exhaled shakily. “Would it be bad form for me to puke on my owner?”
A low chuckle rolled off him. “It would make an impression, but let’s try to avoid it.”
Then, as if the curtain went up, he stepped slightly ahead of her, leading rather than escorting.
Gaby followed, behind him, in deference, her pulse a frantic drumbeat in her ears.
The mission had begun. And so had the danger.
***
Rain misted the air when the limo rolled to a stop.
Gaby peered out the window at the five-star boutique hotel rising out of the jungle.
Sleek glass balconies crowned the upper floors, while a wide covered terrace wrapped the level below.
Guests drifted along it, dressed in couture and glittering diamonds.
It wasn’t the den of slavers she feared. It was worse because monsters often didn’t look like monsters at all.
“Ready?” Rhys asked after the driver slid out and shut his door.
“No,” she replied. “But I’m going in anyway.”
Rhys squeezed her arm. “Breathe, Gaby, and remember our practice.” Then he stepped out when the driver opened the door.
She was still gathering her skirt when a hand extended inward to assist her. She hesitated before taking it, seeing Leland holding an umbrella. Mateo flanked the other side of the door, droplets beading on his black jacket.
Gaby slid out and joined Rhys, lowering her voice. “How did they get here?”
“They followed in another vehicle,” he replied as they climbed the rain-slick steps side by side. “We don’t rely on álvarez’s good graces to leave. If things go sideways, we walk out on our terms.”
She took a moment to absorb that. “There are intricacies to this I didn’t consider.”
“You have your part,” he said simply. “They have theirs.”
“And you oversee it all.”
He only shrugged, revealing the kind of easy confidence that made it clear he saw leadership as a simple fact, not a burden.
Before she could respond, álvarez appeared at the top of the steps, framed by the glow of the terrace behind him, a smile sharp enough to cut glass.
“Welcome, Mr. Blackwood,” he said smoothly, extending a hand, all charm and refined menace. “I’m delighted you accepted my invitation.”
Rhys gripped his hand, pumping once before releasing it, which was longer than she could have tolerated. “I like to keep tabs on my fellow collectors. How could I say no?”
álvarez tensed then seemed to recognize his humor. He chuckled, though it rang cold. “And your adversaries, si?
“I understand the quest for ownership,” Rhys replied, matching his cadence.
“As any true collector would.” His gaze slid to Gaby, lingering far too long. Heat prickled beneath her skin, not from the climate but from the sensation of being appraised and catalogued. “Who is this exquisite creature?”
“This is Camille. She’s mine.”
álvarez’s expression sobered. “She behaves outside of a controlled setting?”
“She behaves exactly as I require.” Rhys’s fingers brushed her lower back. Lightly, with barely a breath of contact. “She’s very well trained.”
Although she’d prepared for it, hearing them speak about her—not to her—like she was livestock was appalling.
A small shudder rippled through her before she could stop it.
She leaned instinctively toward Rhys, eyes lowered, chin tucked.
She knew he’d understand the reaction, but prayed álvarez would misread it as submission, not instinctive self-preservation against the vile predator in front of her.
His slow appraisal dipped to her throat, her breasts, her hips. “She is young, but not too much so,” álvarez mused. “Unlike me, your taste runs toward a bit more… seasoning, shall we say?”
Gaby fought the urge to react as an image of Natalie came to mind: terrified, alone, possibly trapped in a place ruled by this man’s whims.
álvarez swept an arm toward the terrace. “Come in. Enjoy yourself.”
Not yourselves. Just Rhys. Here, only his pleasure mattered.