Twilight blushed the sky and cast a radiant glow across Matias’ stern expression. Sitting at the wrought iron table cluttered with bottles of beer and aguardiente, he strategized and argued with the men in the inner circle.
His timbre was calm and even, but the Texan drawl he tried so hard to hide slipped through, barely there, pulling on some of his consonants. Was he worried? Scared?
He hadn’t let her out of his sight in over a week. Whenever he left his suite, he took her with him, to his meetings, to walk the perimeter of the property, to dinner on the veranda. Given the current topic of conversation, she doubted he would be leaving her side any time soon.
Other than the potential danger that threatened his life—as well as hers—she didn’t want to care if the cartel perished or survived. She needed to focus on the horrors Matias kept imprisoned in the west wing. She’d counted at least fourteen slaves since she’d arrived, and who knew how many others weren’t being paraded through the halls like dogs on leashes.
A slaughtered cartel meant less slave traders in the world. She tried to feel enthusiastic about that, but instead, it sank a heavy feeling in her stomach. Did she actually like these guys?
Other than her first day here, the inner circle hadn’t treated her like a slave, never even raised a brow when she voiced her opinions or asked questions in the privacy of Matias’ suite. Of course, Matias had told her multiple times that his four closest men knew who she was and why she was here.
But she couldn’t ignore their depravity. The evidence was etched into the horrified faces of the slaves they kept.
Except every time she looked at Matias, she didn’t see a man who wanted to profit from women’s suffering. She saw a man who adored her so deeply he would sacrifice everything for her.
It didn’t make sense that he loved her while doing the one thing that hurt her the most. But rather than fight him, she watched him, tried to understand his motivations and trust that there was something he wasn’t telling her, something important.
If I hit you too hard or overstep your limits without explanation, you need to trust that I’m doing it for you.
Was there another message beneath his words? Something below the threshold of her understanding? Because dammit, his involvement in human trafficking did overstep her limits, and how the fuck could he possibly be doing that for her?
She wanted to trust him, which was huge and terrifying and really goddamn hard on her heart. It shattered every night at dinner, every time she saw a sewn mouth, a shackled hand, or a fearful set of eyes. She was reaching her limits on trust.
“What about the north wall?” Matias leaned back in the chair, his hand resting on his thigh. “Have we added more cameras?”
Chispa jumped in with a technical report, and Matias asked more security questions, his thumb moving restlessly, sliding over the pads of the fingers on the same hand, back and forth, again and again.
There was so much power in those fingers. They could be cruel, fucking brutal in his passion, but they could also be tender, gentle on her skin in his affection. Whether he was whipping her, caressing her, or fingering her into mindless bliss, those fingers inspired strength and dominance, left her craving more, wanting more of him, needing him to be the man she trusted him to be.
He flicked his eyes to her, to his lap, and back to her face. Her heart raced, her entire body pulling toward him as her feet slid to the floor. She stood, straightened her shorts, and crossed the balcony.
Nico, Chispa, and Picar continued the conversation, but all eyes were on her as she lowered onto Matias’ lap. Frizz’s watchful gaze was the hardest to meet, but she forced herself to hold his stare and not let him intimidate her. Of all the men in the inner circle, his eyes were softest, a strangely-innocent shade of blue. She couldn’t help but morbidly wonder about the mystery he kept trapped behind those threaded lips.
A shiver raced through her, and she tried not to wriggle on the hard bulge pressing against the zipper of Matias’ jeans.
For the next hour, she sat sideways on his lap, resting against his chest with her head on his shoulder. She indulged in the vibration of his voice as he rumbled on about security, debating the idea of leaving the property and going into hiding.
If they fled the compound, she wouldn’t use it as an opportunity to escape. Maybe she was determined to the point of self-destruction, but she needed to see Matias’ slave trade through to the end.
But it wasn’t just that. The mere thought of being separated from him twisted her insides into panicky knots. That fear alone trumped the accumulation of every fear she’d ever felt. He was the only person who had ever made her lungs stretch, heart sing, and mind dance. No way in hell was she giving him up.
He slid his knuckles up and down her inner thighs as he talked to his men. One might’ve assumed it was mindless fidgeting, but the swollen proof of his awareness jerked persistently against her hip.
She sighed. If there was one thing she’d learned in her three weeks here, it was that she loved his cock. She loved the thick girth, the veins that ran along the underside, and the little freckle just beneath the crown. Her pussy clenched as she replayed the way he’d woken her this morning—his dick in her mouth, his musky scent in her nose, and his salty come in her throat.
She’d never considered herself a slut, but after he’d framed the
