“What’s your position exactly? VP of Shipping and Receiving?” She jerked on the handcuff. “Director of Human Slavery?”
Her jaw set in the defiant way that had always made him hard. He dug his fingers into her skin and tried to ignore the roll of her hips over his agonizing erection.
“Oh, right.” She tipped her chin up, wearing a corrosive smile. “Even now, those questions are off limits. But you knew I’d be here? You planned this?”
He rapped on the window, anxious to get her across the border and show her what he thought of her questions. He hadn’t expected her to confess the reason she was here, but whatever scheming she was still doing in that gorgeous head of hers was pointless. Her fate was sealed.
Nico broke away from his conversation with the pilot, and she instantly hunched her shoulders forward, head down, quivering like the mousy little girl she wasn’t. Nico opened Matias’ door, concealed by his ski mask and casual clothing, all safety precautions to protect his identity—not from Camila, but from anyone who might’ve been watching.
“Listo?” Matias tightened his grip on her stiffening body.
“Ready for what?” Her voice cracked.
“Something came up.” Nico glanced over his shoulder at the plane and returned to Matias. “We’re modifying the route.”
Wasn’t uncommon. Transfers and layovers changed with the intel. Sudden DEA activity, rival gangs mobilizing, anything could’ve compromised their scheduled stopover.
“Chispa’s done with his sweep.” Nico stepped back. “She’s next.”
Matias didn’t give her time to fight, hauling her out of the SUV and tossing her over his shoulder. She felt willowy in his arms, but not delicate, not like the tiny girl he used to hoist one-handed into orange trees.
Stifling the twinge of remembrance, he crossed the field, lifted her into the eight-seat Cessna’s rear door, and set her on her feet. Inside, he pushed her head down, both of them ducking as he guided her past three rows of chairs and shoved her into the front seat.
She didn’t glance at the stripped-down interior, the exposed cockpit, or the absence of anything that could be used as a weapon. Her glare was all for him.
“Where are we going?” She tucked her shackled arm against her waist. “This hunk of metal won’t make it to Colombia.”
No, but their connecting flight would.
Removing a key from his pocket, he knelt before her and trapped her shins with his thighs. Then he unlatched the cuff from his wrist and locked her to the chair’s frame.
The tread of soft shoes sounded on the stairs behind him, followed by the scratch of a familiar voice. “Dejamos en cinco minutos.”
Turning, Matias met the cloudy eyes of their most trusted doctor, Picar. The old man’s hunched spine and stocky frame allowed him to pass through the cabin without too much bending. But his decrepit appearance was deceiving. Picar earned his name by the way he wielded a scalpel. Chop.
Matias shifted out of the way as Picar slipped by and settled into the seat across the aisle from Camila. A black bag sat on his lap, his gnarled hands rooting through it.
“Whose shirt is this?” Matias gripped the neckline hanging off her shoulder, gathering the foul-smelling material in his fist. “If you give me a name, I won’t torture him before I kill him.”
She averted her eyes to the window.
Van Quiso and Tate Vades were around the same size, but he bet it belonged to Tate. He didn’t put it past that bastard to send her off bathed in his own stink.
He ripped the shirt from neck to thighs, baring round, perky tits and dusky nipples. His pulse kicked up, rushing a torrent of heat to his cock.
Her free arm shot up and hugged her breasts. “What are you—?”
“You wouldn’t believe the places I find bugs.” He battled her gaze, never looking away.
“Bugs?” Lines formed on her forehead.
“Listening devices, GPS chips, countermeasures… They hide in the tightest crevices.” Matias clasped her inner thighs and spread them apart, relishing the quiver across her skin.
“You think someone shoved a mic up inside me?” She injected a squeak in her voice and blinked rapidly.
She might’ve been angling for the scared little girl look, but there wasn’t a hint of worry in her eyes. That meant he wouldn’t find a bug between her legs. Probably not a hymen either, but he’d wait until they were alone to check that.
“Some chips are implanted in the skin.” He trailed his fingers over her panties, along her ribs, and paused at the undersides of her breasts. “Lower your arm.”
She heaved out a breath and gripped the armrest, her other hand twisting in its locked position against the chair.
Wedging his hips between her legs, he took his time reacquainting himself with the velvety texture of her golden skin. She’d bloomed into flawless proportion, the firm weight of her tits perfect handfuls and peaked with taut nipples begging to be clamped.
There were no incision marks, no bugs, but it was the twitch in her eye that confirmed he was searching the wrong place. A twitch she’d tried to hide as a kid whenever he’d flirted with the older girls who worked in the grove.
She wasn’t scared. She was pissed.
Curious how she hadn’t applied the martial arts training she’d learned over the years. He’d given her plenty of opportunities to lock him in a leg choke. Maybe she was waiting to attack him when they were alone, when he wouldn’t have back up. Or perhaps Nico was her only target.
Matias moved up her chest, hands roaming over the exquisite lines of her collarbones, along her neck, and paused at her pouty lips. “Open.”
Her jaw lowered, but he didn’t miss the half-second of hesitation or the flicker in her chocolate gaze. An anxious crack in her facade. After all this time, he could still read her.
He gripped her wrist and held it to the armrest. His other hand flattened her back against the seat.
“Picar.” He nodded at the doctor. “Dale pues.”
She whipped her head around and glared at the syringe in
