9. Isabela
ISABELA
The jet levels off and the seatbelt light goes off, but I stay put in my seat. Demin's men are in the back resting, prepping for the raid, but there's no way I could sleep. He made me rest all day long and even then, I was too anxious. All I did was toss and turn.
The idea of going back to that compound is making me a nervous wreck. I've seen the guns those men carry around on a normal day. I can't imagine that place being lit up with even heavier weaponry.
Demin, however, appears to be as calm as can be. He sits next to me with his head back and his eyes shut, though I know he's not sleeping. He's probably running the game plan through his head on repeat so he knows it by heart. That's what I'd be doing if I were in charge.
But he looks fatigued. There are fine lines around his eyes I'm just now noticing.
They're not wrinkles, though he has a few of those too at his age.
But these are different. They're worry lines and lack of sleep.
As much as I have riding on this rescue, I know he has a lot too, which is why it boggles my mind that he hasn't just gotten rid of the biggest stressor, which is me.
"Why haven't you just killed me?"
He looks up slowly, not startled, more like he's been expecting me to break the silence at some point. "Is that what you'd prefer?" His eyes blink slowly as he focuses on my face. I can see that he might have been ready to drift off.
"I'm serious." I lean forward and tug at this stupid vest. It's scratchy and uncomfortable.
"You want my father. You don't need me to get him.
You could've put a bullet in me the night you opened that crate, shipped my body back to Solano with a note, walked into that compound with a gun against Papa's head. So why am I still breathing?"
The familiar draw of chemistry tugs at my chest. There's this constant current of electricity between us now, one I don't even mind.
It's like a game we're playing—who can get the closest to snapping without really breaking down?
I'll be honest. I'd have lost last time. My God, did I want him to kiss me.
Who would have ever thought I'd ship myself to a foreigner and then find myself with a man so goddamn alluring?
Yet here I am, wondering how to make the intensity in this magnetism escalate.
I love that feeling of my pulse racing when I think I'm getting to him—be it annoyance, anger, or attraction. His response does something to me.
"Leverage," he says. "I told you that already."
"A photograph of my body would be leverage. You don't need me alive to threaten him with me." I hold his gaze, refusing to be the one who looks away. "So either there's a reason, or…"
There's a flicker of a response in his gaze but he looks away, checking the time on his phone before he speaks, this time not looking at me.
"You ask a lot of questions for someone in the position you're in.
" I'd swear on my mother's grave, he feels the pull.
With three hours to ourselves here, I'd love to get to know just how much of an effect I have on him.
"It's a long flight," I say, turning toward the window. Lights below flicker, obscured now and then by clouds, and when I turn back, his mouth is twitching. He's getting off on this too, which only encourages me to push harder. But he speaks before I can get the chance to.
"You don't have to come inside," he says.
It's not what I expected, and it knocks me off balance. "What?" Of course I'm coming inside. I don't want these idiots knocking my father around. I'm here to convince him that it's safe.
"When we get there. You can stay in the vehicle with a man on you, and we bring your father out to you.
" The way he's talking has shifted now, losing the edge it had.
He's gone into a monotone, like this is nothing more than planning logistics.
I wonder if he's trying to play me now, get me worked up.
"What's about to happen on that compound isn't a thing you walk away from clean.
Men are going to die, and every time you close your eyes, you'll see it. "
My chest feels like someone is squeezing me, almost crushing me. But when I look him in the eye again, I don't see the look on his face that says he's goading me.
"You're trying to protect me?" I ask, feeling confused. Sure, a man in his position would want to protect an object or his leverage, but that look on his face, one of concern, says it's not that.
"I'm protecting an asset." He schools the compassion in his eyes and turns away. "Trauma makes people unreliable. I need you steady when your father sees you, not falling apart."
It’s a good answer, but he can't look me in the eye as he says it. It means he's being disingenuous. He's hiding something.
I make myself stare out the window at nothing, only clouds blocking my view.
Why would he want to protect me like that?
Other than the strange attraction we're dancing around, he doesn't know me.
He has no knowledge of my life or my dreams. He has no claim to stake to my heart or body. But I swear I saw him look concerned.
"I'm coming inside," I say. "Papa needs to see me, not be handed to me like a package."
I hear Demin sigh and shift in his seat, then he says, "Stubborn," almost to himself.
"You'd know," I throw back, annoyed that he won't just come out and say what it is he's thinking.
But when I look back at him, he's staring at his phone.
There is an open text message thread which he scowls at, and I peek over to try to read it.
He's faster than me, locking the screen as his jaw tightens.
"What is it?" I ask, suddenly feeling concerned. I know how risky this is already. If there's a problem, I don't want him to back off and not go. I have to get my father out of there.
"Heightened security around the compound," he grumbles. "It means someone has leaked that there's a threat."
My mind whips through about a dozen reasons why that'd happen.
In all the time they've been forcing Papa to work for them, they only heightened security a few times.
But I know what that means. Solano would double the guards, increase patrols, and likely, they'd move my father to a more interior room, farther from our room on the wall.
"Are you going to turn back?" I ask, and I'm almost whining. He can't turn back. My father needs our help. I need Demin to get him out of there and away from Solano. They’ll kill him without remorse.
Demin turns to eye me and shakes his head. "No. We'll continue with our mission. But it will be more dangerous. Maybe you should stay with the plane. We can use chloroform to—"
"No," I snip hastily. "I said I'm going in. You're not drugging my father. Okay? I can handle it."
I have no clue whether I can handle it. I don’t know what it looks like to see a human being die, and I don’t want to find out, but my gut tells me tonight will be my first experience with that.
"Suit yourself. Just know that there will be a target on your forehead, honey. And I may not be able to stop them from killing you."
Demin's words chill me and I turn back to the window when he pulls his phone out and starts typing.
I survived being shipped from Spain to Germany in a crate for three days. I can survive twenty minutes in a fiery gun battle. Right? For my father…
So why are my insides shaking like Jell-O and my knees wanting to give out even while I'm seated?