Chapter Three
Enrique shifted in the seat, his back aching from hours of driving.
The rumble of his SUV coursed through his body as he wrestled with the wheel, keeping the vehicle steady over a merciless patch of potholes.
He gritted his teeth, cursing the uneven, pockmarked excuse for a highway.
How he longed to let the SUV rip across smooth blacktop, but he’d bet every peso in his bank account that a score of Villegas enforcers or on-the-take police thugs were monitoring the well-maintained toll roads.
As much as he’d told Lourdes it wasn’t smart business if her father tried to kill him, anything was possible. He’d insulted the Villegas jefe by kidnapping his daughter. That disrespect demanded retribution.
The Lozano-Villegas alliance had always been shaky.
Lourdes’s marriage to Jacobo sealed the deal seven years earlier until Jacobo’s untimely death loosened the stitches.
On paper, Gerardo Villegas’s plan to sacrifice Lourdes in a political marriage was sound.
Keep the cartels united, shuffle assets, consolidate power—Diego Zayas was the perfect instrument to do so.
Except Lourdes didn’t have a damn say in the matter.
All this could’ve been avoided had that fucking ass Villegas accepted Enrique’s proposal.
Absconding with the Villegas princess was grounds for war.
Had he kept his foolhardy ideas locked in the back of his mind, he would’ve flown to Durango the following week with Rubén, the man’s inner circle, and Rubén’s family for the wedding.
Instead, he’d concocted a lie, claiming he needed space to detox.
Mentally prepare. Let go of what might’ve been.
While in truth, he’d set his plan into motion like some half-baked Romeo with a death wish.
“Does anyone know you’ve done this?” Glancing away, Lourdes picked at her cuticles. “Rubén or any of your other friends?”
“Of course not. Domingo might figure it out. I learned from him how to hack the security surveillance in your building. No one saw me break in or carry you out.”
She dragged in a chest-shuddering breath. “Domingo is the computer hacker, the one with the curly, pretty hair?”
Irritation shot through him. He eased off the gas pedal around a curve, then sped up on a long, straight stretch and side-eyed her. “You’ve noticed his hair?”
“Back at the fundraiser Rubén hosted a few months ago.” Blush darkened her cheeks. “All your friends are handsome. Even a dead woman would see that.”
“Domingo is going to be a dead man if you compliment his hair again.”
A smile curled her lips before she slumped her shoulders.
“You should’ve asked me to dance that night, or I should’ve asked you.
Papá hadn’t made the deal with Diego yet, so maybe he would’ve seen a spark between us and acted on it.
Then again, if Papá knows I want something, he usually does his best to make sure I never get it. ”
“I was working,” Enrique bit out, having long regretted not taking Rubén’s advice to pursue her then.
The fundraiser for heart disease research and awareness had drawn in an insane amount of money and kept the Lozano Cartel in the public’s good graces—a task Enrique had taken upon himself to oversee since Rubén had been busy staking his claim on Drina.
“You looked amazing in that silver dress. I wanted nothing more than to rip it off you.” As another smile curved up her cheeks, he mentally patted himself on the back.
Before that evening, he hadn’t seen Lourdes since she refused his advances right after Jacobo’s death.
For being a cartel princess, her parents—at least her father—sure treated her like dog shit.
He would never understand it. The Villegas jefe had everything he could ever want, except a son to carry on his legacy.
As if that gave him the right to insult Lourdes and bargain her life away whenever he pleased.
The idiot should be grateful he had a beautiful, smart, kind woman for a daughter.
A green road sign loomed ahead.
Twenty kilometers to some backwater he didn’t care to visit.
Farms and homesteads dotted the valley, a far cry from the glittering high-rises and whitewashed Colonial structures in his home city.
A beat-up truck loaded down with straw clunked down a side road, kicking up dirt clouds, and pulled onto the old highway in front of him.
Grumbling under his breath, he scowled as bits of straw flew off and smacked the SUV’s windshield.
“What does that flashing light mean?” Lourdes pointed at the dash.
Mierda. Shit. He pulled onto the shoulder, plumes of dirt ballooning, and killed the engine.
“We need gas. Stay inside.” He stepped out into the late-morning heat and slammed the door shut behind him.
The tension and lust fighting for supremacy in the vehicle could cut through stone.
Inhaling deeply of the fresh country air, he flapped the lapels of his lightweight leather jacket for a breeze and stretched his arms above his head until his back popped.
Relief spiraled through him. The serenity of shrubs, spindly trees, and tall grasses that stretched toward the western mountains dulled the razor-edge of anxiety thrumming in his blood.
Keys in hand, he rounded the vehicle and unlocked the trunk for a spare gas can and funnel.
Lourdes followed him out. “Ow. Stupid pebbles. Why are you carrying around all these gas cans?” She shifted her feet and frowned at the three large containers in the trunk. “Are you allergic to filling stations?”
“The surveillance cameras there will record us.” He popped open the latch and unscrewed the cap. “Get back inside. You aren’t wearing shoes.”
“That’s because you kidnapped me.”
Sighing, he poured in the astringent, foul-smelling gasoline. “Shoes are in your luggage.”
“You went through my stuff? Of course, you did. Why would I think you have any sense of personal boundaries after all this?” She spread her arms toward the patches of trees and wheat fields in the near distance.
“I’m surprised you brought my stuff. Don’t most kidnapping thugs like their women barefoot, barely dressed, and completely dependent on them? ”
Carajo. An image of Lourdes in a silk nightie, handcuffed, and kneeling at his feet flashed through his mind.
Heat flushed his face. “If you want a spanking that bad, I’ll give it to you.
Otherwise, get your fucking shoes on.” He growled the words, damn grateful he had the gas can in his hands—or they’d be roaming over her body before she could blink.
Growling her own bout of frustration, she swung open the rear door and climbed into the backseat.
A headache throbbed in his temples. Once he filled the tank and locked up the trunk, he leaned against the side panel and pulled his disassembled smartphone from his inner jacket pocket.
He pieced it back together—battery, SIM, cover—then powered it on.
The screen lit up with a buzz. Dozens of missed call and text notifications.
All from Rubén. He checked the latter, each text angrier than the last. The final three churned his stomach.
—Lourdes is still missing. The bodyguard said someone jumped him from behind. Stabbed him with a syringe. What have you done?—
—Are you out of your goddamned mind? If she’s with you, you’ll pay for this.—
—Where the fuck are you? Answer the phone!—
Enrique winced. Stealing Lourdes was one thing; taking care of business, another. Ignoring the voicemail notifications, he called his friend. Two rings, and the line connected.
“Tell me you didn’t do it.”
Rubén’s harsh, deep voice grated in his ears. “Do what?” Enrique replied, stalling.
“You damn well know what. Where are you? Where’s Lourdes?”
“She’s safe.” Enrique let out a slow breath. “I would never hurt her.”
“No, you would just disappear with her the week before she was supposed to marry another man,” the Lozano jefe spat.
“Edita and her bodyguard found Lourdes’s guard locked in a closet.
The woman is frantic about her missing daughter.
Gerardo and Diego are in an uproar. Abduction, kidnapping, war—that’s all I’m hearing from them.
My phone won’t stop ringing. They don’t know who grabbed her, but they each have men combing the state. ”
State, not country. Thank the saints for small blessings.
He straightened, rolling his shoulders. “You know how Zayas is. He only cares about furthering his career. Allying himself with the Villegases is a tactical move. He wants the might of two cartels behind him. He doesn’t give a fuck about Lourdes. ”
“Take her back. Now,” Rubén bit out, a chill slicing through his words. “She’s obligated to obey her father.”
“Hell, no.” The sharp feminine curse hissed over the line.
Enrique smirked as Drina, Rubén’s new wife, scolded the irate jefe from somewhere in the background.
No surprise there. Drina and her daughter, Sera—who was Rubén’s biological child that he’d only recently found out about—had softened him over the past several months.
Rubén, however, had a responsibility to the cartel and its allies.
In their world, obligation trumped everything. At least it was supposed to.
He glanced around at the acres of farmland abutting the foothills and spreading down the river valley. The tranquility embraced him, a far contrast to the war raging inside him.
“You can’t hide forever,” Rubén continued, much calmer but no less firm. “You have a life back home, responsibilities. Are you really going to throw it all away?”
For Lourdes, he was tempted. Enrique tightened his grip on the phone and paced from one end of the SUV to the other.
“Head back to Durango. I’ll meet you there. If Lourdes follows through with the wedding, the repercussions won’t be as severe for either of you.”
“Over my dead body.”
“That could be arranged. Fuck it. I’m calling Domingo. Have him track your phone.”
“He could try.” More like succeed. Domingo Vega could work his mojo from anywhere.
Rubén barked out a dark laugh. “If you wanted Lourdes so damn bad, you should’ve arranged it with her father. Married her, do everything right.”
“Cristo,” Enrique cursed and rubbed his clenched jaw, the bristles abrading his fingers. “Don’t you think I tried, Rubén? I was too fucking late. Villegas already signed a contract with Zayas. If her father wants her home bad enough, he’ll break off the engagement.”
“Hell will freeze over before that happens. You’re putting me in a tight spot, mi amigo.”
“Lo siento,” he apologized, meaning it. Heavy silence stretched between them.
Throughout their twenty-some-year friendship, he never disobeyed Rubén—not over something so important.
He ceased his mad pacing and scrubbed his hand down his drawn face.
“Tell Lieutenant Muniz I won’t be back for a few weeks.
He’ll tell the others and keep everything running.
” Muniz and the other lead lieutenants under Enrique’s direct command could only do so much.
The paperwork would pile up, and he’d risk betrayal and abuse of power from his underlings if he didn’t resume his duties soon.
“I’ll handle it.” A string of curses spewed from Rubén’s lips.
“Gerardo and Diego are working together to find Lourdes. I’ll coordinate my own search, but I might have to fly to Durango to keep the peace.
As much as Sera was looking forward to the wedding and sightseeing, she and Drina are staying put.
It’s not safe for my girls to be anywhere near the chaos you’ve caused. ”
“That’s smart.” Though only a fool would target Drina, the Lozano Cartel queen.
“You had better hope my men find you before anyone else does,” Rubén tacked on. “I’ve been calling you for hours. As soon as I heard someone had grabbed the woman, I knew you would be desperate to find her. Then you never answered your phone, and I knew. I fucking knew you were responsible.”
“Will you name me as the culprit?”
The jefe snorted. “I’ll hold off as long as possible.”
Breathing easier, Enrique slumped against the trunk. “Are the police involved?”
“Of course not. Gerardo, Diego, and I are handling this in-house.”
Enrique cringed at his friend’s continued use of the men’s given names. As jefe, Rubén tried to maintain friendly relations with his allies and the high-ranking capos in his employ. That Enrique threatened those relations sat as well with him as hacking off his own arm.
“Understood. Take care of yourself.” Enrique smashed a button, removed the battery and SIM card, and stuffed the pieces back into his pocket.
Domingo could still track the call and get a rough idea of where he was based on cell tower pings, but at least his comrade wouldn’t get a live trace.
Shame clenched his chest, squeezing his throat.
“That sounded bad.”
Lourdes’s hesitant voice whipped Enrique around.
Aw, hell. He missed her changing clothes in the backseat.
Now dressed in a slinky blouse and denim jeans that sheathed her petite frame and slender curves, she clutched the toilet paper roll and chewed on her plump bottom lip before letting it pop free with a sexy wet shine.
He swallowed hard, craving her touch. Her taste.
Her succulent lip between his teeth. A pair of stilettos or fancy huaraches belonged on her feet, not those ugly grass-stained tennis shoes.
But at least she was practical. If she wandered around the countryside dressed to kill, she’d likely sprain her ankle in a gopher hole.
He hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his pants. “Rubén will hold off the wolves for as long as he can. Do you need some private time?” He nodded toward the paper.
“Unfortunately.” She grimaced at the patch of bushes lining the roadside, then rested her hand on his chest and blinked up at him. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”
He cupped her warm face and claimed her lips with his.
Her breathy gasp filled his mouth and traveled into his lungs.
Need quickened his pulse. More. He needed more.
The sweet scent of desire and the smoothness of her skin tantalized him.
Teased him. Set his blood aflame. She was his for the taking.
And he would damn well take her in every way imaginable.
Shuddering, he drew back before he lost control and ravaged her right there against the SUV.
Crimson seared her cheeks.
“Trust me, princess. It’s a game I intend to win.”