Chapter 13
The warm air that clung to her skin was now icy. Jemma shivered uncontrollably, looking into the obsidian eyes of Nomar Ortiz.
The past rushed back like a tidal wave—coy smiles and subtle flirting as she reeled Nomar in, tricking him into believing her cover as an au pair for his young son. The boy’s mother had been stabbed, beheaded, and posed like a scarecrow in the yard of the mansion as a message for the Ortizes to stay true to their agreements with the cartels of Mexico. He was devastated and lonely, struggling to care for his baby boy while maintaining a tenuous grip on enforcing loyalty within his father’s drug cartel.
He’d needed Jemma to relieve the stress of caring for the baby he loved dearly. She’d been his lifeline. Jemma had ingratiated herself within the criminal organization by slipping into the bowels of the family. Nomar was blinded by his feelings for her and unable to fathom that there was any risk in keeping her by his side at all times. He was a jealous man and would kill anyone who threatened to take her from him. That was how she’d found herself in luxurious rooms with high-ranking members of cartels, an eyewitness to the crimes the Ortiz Cartel committed with their partners.
With that access and strategic hacking into the financial records maintained by Aurelia, Jemma had been successful in amassing evidence against Nomar’s father, the drug lord Manny Ortiz. It was estimated that Ortiz was responsible for fifteen percent of the cocaine trafficked and sold throughout the Caribbean. In less than two and a half years, she’d brought the man to his knees.
As Manny and dozens of his cartel members were hunted down, arrested, and sentenced to prison, there was only one blight on Jemma’s stellar record.
The death of Aurelia Vasquez by the one member of the Ortiz Cartel who’d vanished without a trace. Jemma believed the operation to infiltrate the Sombro Cartel would bring her closer to finding Nomar.
But he’d found her instead.
“Keep walking,” Nomar growled in her ear.
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Jemma said, voice shaking, focused on the menacing man pressed against her. Everything else—dancers, music, and lights—faded into a blurry periphery. Her pulse raced. Every nerve screamed at her to run. But that could be a bigger mistake. Any sudden movement might provoke him to do something dangerous.
Nomar leaned closer, pressing his face against her neck. His breath was hot against her ear. “You will unless you want to be responsible for a blood bath in this club. It would be such a pity for these people to die because you won’t take a walk with me.”
Jemma tensed as he revealed the gun with a silencer hidden within his sports coat.
She had no doubt Nomar would turn his wrath on innocent and unsuspecting clubgoers. His reputation as the Ortiz enforcer was built on his willingness to kill at will with no remorse or regrets. He’d done it numerous times in the past. She knew he could easily do it again.
How had he snuck up on her? She was a trained fucking agent. Yet she was stupid enough to let her guard down. Think she could have one night out to erase the memories of …
Rocco.
She scanned the club again, hoping to see him, but he was gone.
Her plan to ditch him had worked.
Fuck.
“I see you’re following family traditions of not caring about destroying innocent lives.” Anger simmered within her, but she needed to stay calm. Think through her options.
“Their fate is in your hands.”
“Fine.” Jemma acquiesced, realizing she had no choice.
“Good choice, Preciosa.” Nomar’s hand tightened around her waist, pulling her close to his hard body. His other hand gripped her arm. His fingers, cold and unyielding, dug into the soft flesh, and she winced.
He navigated them with precision through the maze of dancing bodies, no one suspecting that they were anything more than two people who’d snuck off to be alone. Beyond the dance floor and the bar, the crowds thinned, and the area was bathed in darkness. He led her to a metal door, which he kicked open with his boot and pushed her inside.
She was thrust into a dim, secluded corridor. Stumbling in her stilettos, Jemma regained her footing and looked around. A narrow brick passageway led to an open space where empty boxes, trash, and discarded supplies were piled in tall heaps. The area was dimly lit and stank of stale booze, vomit, and rancid garbage.
The door closed with a loud bang behind Nomar, and Jemma jumped. Silence enveloped her like a shroud. The room was soundproofed. No one would be able to hear if she screamed. Not that anyone out there could help her.
Nomar’s gaze bore into her, dark eyes full of rage. “You’re a hard woman to catch, Preciosa. But I knew if I was patient, I’d be reunited with you.”
Jemma folded her arms over her chest and stared back at him. She couldn’t afford to underestimate him. It had been fifteen years, but he was as lethal now as he had been as a young man, leading the enforcement division of his father’s cartel.
Nomar was larger than she remembered, muscles straining against his clothes. Size could be a strength or a weakness. She’d taken down men twice her size before. Trained countless others on how to do the same. But she’d never been faced with a man with as much incentive to destroy her as Nomar Ortiz.
“The minute the DEA raided our compound, killing too many members of my family and shackling my father like a rabid dog, I knew we’d eliminated the wrong threat. Aurelia’s only mistake was trusting you. Her death is on your hands, Preciosa.”
The truth of his sharp rebuke stung. Jemma blinked, willing the tears not to come. Crying wouldn’t bring Aurelia back. Taking down more drug cartels was the only way to ensure her death wasn’t in vain. Nothing Nomar could say was worse than the guilt she carried every day. But she couldn’t let Nomar use Aurelia to distract her from the threat she was facing now—him.
“So, what do you plan to do about it? Get revenge against me?” Jemma raised her arms and twirled around. As she spun, her gaze registered two brooms with thick wooden handles, a plastic jug with a bleach label, and a retractable box cutter resting on the edge of a stack of boxes. Facing him, she took a small step backward and then another. “I don’t have any weapons. I have no way of defending myself. Stop talking and fucking do it.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Nomar said, voice dripping with malice.
“You were always slow to act, weren’t you?” Jemma taunted, a plan formulating in her mind. “How long had you suspected me? Days? Months? Years? But you had to be one hundred percent sure. Couldn’t make the wrong move because you had other plans for me. Didn’t you?”
“You bitch.” His words were a tortured whisper.
“Your hesitation gave me all the time I needed to gather evidence against your father. I’d say you were the best partner I could’ve had to destroy the Ortiz Cartel.”
Nomar lunged forward, shoving Jemma with the full force of his brute strength. She crashed onto the concrete floor, pain exploding in her hip, arm, and shoulder. Scrambling, she rolled to her left, arm extending toward the broom. Her fingers brushed against the bristles, close enough to send it toppling toward her. Grabbing the bottom of the handle, she swung toward Nomar.
“Fucking bitch!” Nomar howled as the handle connected with the side of his head with a loud crack.
Steadying herself, Jemma jerked the handle and plunged it toward his face, hoping to gouge his eye, but he was too quick. Deftly avoiding another blow, his meaty hand gripped the handle and wrestled it from her grasp. Panting, heart banging against her chest, she scrambled backward across the grimy concrete.
Nomar was upon her in two strides, reaching down to jerk her from the floor. She slammed into his body with force, colliding against his hard muscles. He tried to hide it, but his hatred of her didn’t eliminate the attraction he’d always felt for her. Playing on that could be her only way out.
The yellow minidress had lost the battle, rolling into a tight band around her waist and revealing her lace strapless bra and matching thong. Nomar gripped her exposed ass, holding her tight against him.
“I know you want me dead, but I’m not going to make it easy for you.” Jemma writhed and twisted in his grasp, trying to force her way out of his vice grip.
Nomar lifted her from the ground and rammed her against the wall. His body grinding against hers, pinning and trapping her, as his hands gripped the sides of her face, forcing her to look into his soulless dark eyes.
“Preciosa, I don’t want to kill you,” Nomar said. His lips twisted into a sardonic grin, revealing his sinister intentions. “No, death is too kind for you.”
One hand dropped from her face and reached into his pocket. She followed his movements, watching his hand reemerge with a syringe dangling between his fingers. The contents of the vile sent panic hurtling through her.
“No! Don’t do this!” Jemma screamed. She beat her fists against his arms, chest, and shoulders. He stumbled back, trying to avoid the blows. She had a sliver of a chance as she regained her balance and stood against the wall. Her opening to get away closed as quickly as Nomar’s left hand jabbed hard into her abdomen. Pain exploded through her body as she doubled over. The next blow was more devastating. His fist connected with her skull, causing dark stars to blur her vision. She lost control of her movements, crumbling to the floor. Her mind went blank as she fought to breathe, gasping and panting.
Nomar squatted in front of her. “I’m going to take your entire life away, Preciosa. Make you desperately crave the one thing you’ve worked your whole life to stop,” Nomar taunted, holding the syringe toward her. “You’ll be a strung-out drug addict and my personal whore. You will beg me for hits. You’ll do anything to get your next fix.” Nomar’s smile grew wider. “Everything you cared about will fade away. You’ll only care about when I’ll deliver another one of … these. To satisfy the intense cravings that will control your body and your thoughts.” He pressed the plunger on the syringe, pushing a single drop of the narcotic to the tip of the needle. The liquid trembled, then oozed down the side and dripped over his fingers.
“Get the fuck up!” Nomar thundered.
A sob caught in Jemma’s throat, but she didn’t move. She couldn’t move. The pain was too intense.
Nomar yanked her arm, almost pulling it out of the socket. Excruciating pain hammered within her, making it impossible to focus or think. Nomar wrapped her in his tight embrace.
She could barely push the words from her lips. “Please … don’t.”
“Begging is useless. But this will help with your pain. It will take it all away.” Nomar moved the syringe closer to her neck. The needle seemed impossibly long, filled with a substance that would destroy her. Maybe cocaine. Or worse, fentanyl.
Jemma’s pulse roared in her ears, her vision narrowing as the syringe loomed larger, gleaming as Nomar brought it to rest against her skin. The sharp sting pierced her neck, promising instant oblivion. A tear slid down her cheek as she leaned back, resigned to her fate.
She’d thought she was ready for this.
She should’ve known better.
The door to the storage room opened, and a dark silhouette loomed in the narrow hallway.
Familiar eyes rested on hers.
Rocco had come to help her.
But he was too late.