7. Isabela
ISABELA
I'm sitting on the edge of the bed picking at a loose thread on the blanket when the lock turns.
I expect Danya with a tray or one of the guards coming to drag me somewhere again.
Instead, Demin fills the doorway, and I sit up straighter.
I'm still not sure how to take this whole plan of busting my father out only to make him work more, but going back to Solano isn't an option. They'll kill me.
And getting my father out is really my only option. I need to be with him to make sure he's okay and being taken care of. Having him here, even if he's still being forced to work, is what has to happen. So I have to convince him to come here.
"We're close," he says. "A few more pieces and I'll have a plan to get your father out."
The ambivalence I feel is nauseating. Hearing how close we are to getting Papa away from Solano is encouraging, but the idea of his being a continued object is so dejecting. I feel tossed between wanting to celebrate and hating this man standing in front of me.
"When?" I ask.
"Soon…" He crosses the room and stops at the foot of the bed, looking down at me.
"I need to know how he'll react. Do you think he's going to fight us?
" Demin's massive frame is towering, almost scarily so.
But part of the draw I feel toward him is his willingness to go in and get Papa out.
It's the only reason I came, and I've found a man who is willing and powerful enough to do it. And he's damn good looking to boot.
The hope drains out of me as quickly as it came, because I already know the answer.
It's not the one he wants. "He'll fight you," I mumble, dropping my head.
No way in hell my father walks out peacefully.
If someone is powerful enough to break into the Solano Cartel compound, they're way scarier than Solano. He'll resist for sure.
"Then talk me through it. How do I make the old man cooperate?"
Scowling, I glower up at him. He's talking about my father like he doesn't care one bit.
"You don't." I stand up so I'm not staring up at him like a child.
"You're not listening. He thinks I'm gone—probably dead.
You know as well as I do that a man who's lost the only thing he has left doesn't have any reason to keep going.
He gives up. He'll do whatever Solano's men tell him and he'll die in that lab without ever fighting for himself, because there's nothing left for him to fight for. "
Demin studies me as his brow furrows and his eyes darken.
"Yeah, I figured… It means we'll have to take him by force.
Which means he may get hurt." The way he says it makes my body shudder.
A cold chill creeps across my skin, though it's warm in here.
An idea percolates in the back of my mind that if I were there, I could convince him to come with me, especially if he sees the backing I have.
Explaining everything to him about how I got here and why he's going to have to keep cooking—that'll have to come later. Once we have him out.
"Take me with you," I blurt out. I don't even have to think about it. I know how dangerous it'll be, but I lived in that danger for years. I can handle it. "He won't believe a single thing your men tell him. But he'll believe me." I feel my chin trembling. "If he sees me, he'll do anything…"
"No."
"You haven't even—"
"No." Demin's voice sounds harsh and his eyes burn with indignation. "You're not coming. You'll stay here, and my men will handle the rest." He's so goddamn stubborn and I hate it. He thinks he knows fucking everything and he knows nothing. I have to go or they'll hurt him.
"Your men will get him killed." I stalk closer, planting myself right in front of him so he has no choice but to look at me and pay attention.
"If he plants his feet and refuses, what do they do?
Beat him? Carry him out kicking? You said it yourself, you need him producing in weeks, not in a body bag or laid up in bed. I can make him comply."
Demin's anger only rises more, his glower turning into a hardened glare. He shifts and his posture grows more rigid, shoulders squaring, and then he sighs.
"Understand something," he says. "You are leverage. You're the thing I dangle in front of your father so he picks up a beaker instead of fighting me. And if you step one inch out of line on that compound, my men will have orders to put you down where you stand."
The fight inside me drains out in a breath as my chest hollows out.
"They'll do it in front of him," he goes on, never raising his voice, which somehow makes him sound more terrifying. "So he learns early exactly what happens if he refuses to cook for me. Alive or dead, you make him obey."
My heart slams against my ribs and my hands go ice cold. Fear niggles at the corners of my mind, but instead of cowering, I decide to stand up for myself. "It doesn't have to be so damn hostile between us," I snap, "if you'd just learn how to treat people."
Before I can even blink, Demin's hand comes up and slides into my hair at the back of my head, fisting it, tilting my face up to his.
The breath stops in my throat, and craning my neck, I realize he's not trying to hurt me.
He's restraining himself so he doesn't. Not once would Solano's men have done something so aggressive yet so gentle in the same breath.
And the stupidest thing happens. My whole body lights up at the contact, every nerve in me pulling toward him, sucked into his gravity.
My mind goes back to the office, to his hand wrapped around my throat—the way my pulse betrayed me…
the same way it's betraying me now. He's close enough that I can smell him, that warm musk under the cedar of his cologne. And my knees go weak.
"How would you like to be treated, then?" he growls. His mouth is inches from mine. I feel my eyes drifting, taking in the stubble on his jaw, the way that vein in his neck throbs. "Tell me."
If he claimed my mouth in a kiss, I wouldn't fight him. I'd hate myself for it later, but fuck, I would cave in like a row of dominoes under pressure.
I open my mouth but nothing comes out, because every honest answer would damn me. My skin is on fire everywhere, aching for him to close the last of the space, and I hate myself for it. This man just told me his men would shoot me down in front of my father.
But God help me, I want him.
I want his mouth on mine. I want that hand to pull harder until it stings, to feel the weight of him press me back against the wall and hold me there.
The damning fact is the desire is so sudden and complete that it scares me.
It rumbles through me, settling somewhere deep, until my own breath turns ragged.
His eyes drop to my lips. I feel his breath ghost across them, and I sway toward him without meaning to, my hands curling into the front of his shirt instead of shoving him away like they should.
His grip in my hair tightens just enough to send a shiver rolling down the length of my spine, and a whimper catches in my throat that I'll deny making until the day I die.
But he hears it. I watch fire flare behind his eyes, the heat of it pulling up through my whole body. He feels it too—this magnetic force drawing us together, so powerful, it could cause planets to collide.
For one suspended second, neither of us moves.
His mouth hovers over mine, close enough that I can feel the warmth coming off his skin as his eyes search my whole face, reading me.
My body strains toward that last sliver of space and my heart is beating so hard, I'm sure he can feel it.
I'm one breath away from doing something I can never take back.
His hand shifts against my scalp. My eyes start to close on their own.
Then he lets go.
He releases my hair and steps back so fast, it leaves me swaying, the cold rushing into all the places he was just standing a second ago. His face shutters closed, every trace of that heat snapped shut behind the coldness that comes back, and he straightens his shirt where my fists wrinkled it.
"Get some sleep," he grumbles, more coarsely than a second ago. "You'll need it."
"Demin—"
"We're done." He's already at the door, his back to me, and I can see the tension running through his shoulders. "Don't make me come back in here tonight."
The door opens, then shuts, and he's gone, locking me into my prison again.
I stand there in the middle of the room with my chest heaving and my scalp still tingling where his fingers were, and I press the back of my hand to my mouth. My lips never even touched his, but still they're throbbing for him.
I sink down onto the edge of the bed and try to slow my breathing, but it won't slow and my body won't cool.
What the holy hell just happened between us, and why?
Why do I want that man so fucking badly?