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Here’s the prologue and first two chapters of Corrupting His Wife, an exclusive sneak peek for voters like you. You’ll get the see the rescue/abduction for yourself.
Prologue
“Lourdes, wait!” Enrique Briceño pushed past a group of self-absorbed, loitering pedestrians on the crowded sidewalk in Hermosillo, Sonora. His ears rang from their shouted complaints, yet he couldn’t make out their words. He didn’t care to try.
Blinding afternoon sunlight reflected off the glass wall of Lourdes’s prison—the upscale apartment building where she lived. Used to live. Now, the woman he treasured waited at the curb while her new bodyguard stored her luggage in the trunk of a taxi.
“Lourdes Villegas!” Enrique called out as she reached for the door handle.
She jerked around. An errant curl slapped her face as her dark ponytail whipped across her shoulders. Her red-rimmed eyes flared wide.
The muscled bodyguard stepped in front of her.
Enrique skidded to a stop. Though he was taller, the other man was broader. Bigger. Didn’t matter. Nothing and no one would keep him from Lourdes. Not again, not right now.
“Wait in the taxi, Yago. I’ll only be a moment.” Lourdes eased out of the man’s shadow and wrapped her arms around herself as though she didn’t know what to do with them.
Once the meathead leveled Enrique with a glare hot enough to kill, he climbed into the back of the vehicle but left the door open.
“What are you doing here, Enrique?” Lourdes closed the space between them.
“I hoped to catch you before you left. I should’ve come sooner, but everything has been chaos with the funeral and the police investigation. I’m surprised you’re leaving for Durango so soon,” he rushed out in a long breath. His heart hammered so loud his ears buzzed. He rubbed his hand down his tired face, his sleepless nights training recruits catching up with him.
She shrugged, glancing away. “There’s no use in drawing out the inevitable. Still, it’s not my idea to return home.”
He winced. Her husband had died last week, and against her wishes, her cartel jefe father-in-law was shipping her home to her parents, casting her out of the Lozano family.
The words he’d rehearsed a dozen times on the drive over now tangled in his throat. Oppressive summer heat slicked sweat across his nape and seared his skin as though to melt him down to blood and bones. Or were his frayed nerves sparking with fevered energy?
Lourdes stared at him expectantly without a speck of makeup on. Instead of the name-brand dresses and heels she always wore to please Jacobo, she’d matched a loose white blouse with a pair of charcoal-gray leggings and huarache sandals. The sweet, natural look worked for her. Jacobo Lozano’s untimely death had set her free, giving Enrique the opportunity he craved.
The chance to win her heart.
“Enrique?” Hesitancy deepened her voice. “My flight leaves soon. I have to go.”
“Stay. You’ve built a life for yourself here.”
A frown puckered her lips. “The apartment is in Jacobo’s name. I have nothing. No money. No home. In his will, he left everything to his father.”
“Move in with me. I’ll take care of you.”
Her eyebrows arched to her hairline.
He swallowed hard, piecing together his words. “I know I’m coming across half-cocked or out of left field as they say on American sitcoms, but Lourdes, you can do whatever you want now. You’re free. Free to paint and study art without censor. Free to have fun. To dress as you like. To be whoever you want. I swear, I will never stand in the way of your happiness.” He grasped her soft, delicate hand and shuddered. He longed to hold her, kiss her, promise her forever. “It’s too soon, I know. You’ve been through hell, but I’m here for you.”
She glanced around as though to make sure her guard and none of the passersby could overhear. She edged closer and dropped her voice an octave. “Have you been drinking?”
He pursed his lips. He’d downed two shots of tequila before he found the courage to drive over and bare his soul. “That’s not important. What I’m saying is. I needed to see you. Had to tell you this.”
“Why?”
“Because I love you.” The words ripped from his tight, raw throat. “I have since the day I met you.”
She gasped, her lips forming a perfect O.
“I watched you walk down that aisle four years ago to marry a monster, and I couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it. I should’ve told you before now how I felt. Not that it would’ve changed anything. You were still a married woman.”
Her throat bobbed. She tugged her hand back and hugged herself again. “Enrique, I can’t. I need time. Distance. A plan to get my life in order.”
He slammed his eyelids down, the words he’d dreaded to hear slicing his heart in two. “I’m not here to pressure you,” he continued, forcing his gaze to hers. “You deserve more than what Jacobo gave you. More than what you’ve been through. If you ever decide you want that with me, I’ll be waiting.”
Lourdes blinked back a sheen of tears. “I don’t know what you expect me to say.”
Sighing, he ran his hand through his messy hair before he clasped her warm, smooth cheek. A shiver raced through him. “Nothing. I expect nothing.” As much as it killed him, he had to shelve his dreams to give her the time she needed to heal. For her, he would do anything. Bear any obstacle. Wait only God knew how many years for her to give him her heart, if she ever did. “I understand, princess. I want you to be happy. Whatever that looks like for you.”
She held his gaze, something unspoken passing between them.
Something real. Hopeful. Passionate.
He dipped his head and kissed her. The sweetness of her lips cascaded through him like an aphrodisiac. Instinct demanded he toss her onto his shoulder and run away to the ends of the earth, but that kind of recklessness would end with disaster. His death or hers, probably both. Someday, he would have the strength, the power, and the means to make her his. Someday, he would call Lourdes Villegas his wife.
When that day came, heaven help anyone foolish enough who tried to take her from him.
She belonged to him, even if he now had to let her go.
Chapter One
Three Years Later
The apartment door slammed open with a bone-rattling crash.
Lourdes spun around in her living room, sloshing the steaming peppermint tea in her cup across her wrist. The sting barely registered. A tall, masked man dressed from head to toe in black like a monster from her nightmares barged inside, dragging her unconscious bodyguard across the threshold. He dropped Yago onto her floral rug like a sack of grain and kicked the door shut behind him.
No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening.
She backed away. The apartment was five floors up. No fire escape, no back exit, no help. Just her, and the intruder. Every move she’d practiced from various online self-defense videos vanished under the weight of fear.
“T-take whatever you want, and go,” she stuttered and bumped into the armrest of the sofa. Cardboard boxes and her luggage set cluttered the open-plan living and dining area like boulders in her path. The walls closed in, threatening to cut off the air that sliced like fine-toothed blades down her throat. Her heart pounded against her ribs and resounded like war drums. She raised the half-full cup as a weapon and sidestepped toward the kitchen. He met her every step, and she froze. She’d never reach the cutlery block before he grabbed her. She nodded toward the toiletry case on the hardwood floor. “My jewelry’s in there. Pawn it. Wear it. I don’t care. Just don’t hurt me.”
Thank God she hadn’t been able to sleep and got up for some tea. The last thing she needed was to be snoozing while a trespasser prowled about her apartment.
“Easy.” He raised his gloved hands, palms out.
His low voice, somehow familiar, clenched her belly with primal need. The black-handled knife holstered on his belt taunted her from the open lapels of his leather jacket. As did the shiny silver handgun in his shoulder holster.
“I’m not here for your jewelry, Lourdes.” He ripped off his ski mask and stuffed it into the back pocket of his jeans.
Her heart skipped, then twisted. Time stilled. The room tilted sideways, or was that her mind tumbling off the deep end? The masked intruder and Enrique Briceño—one and the same. Her Enrique. Strong jawline and cleft chin. Stormy dark eyes. Short, jet-black hair that curled a little around his ears. Butterflies took flight in her middle.
“Enrique, what are you doing here?” she whispered, her voice thready like gossamer wings. He had no business in Durango, the core of her father’s criminal empire. “What did you do to Yago?” She swallowed hard past her constricting throat and set her cup on the end table with a hard clink. She dragged her gaze to her bodyguard—one of four enforcers her father ordered to babysit her—and sighed in relief at the subtle rise and fall of his chest.
Gracias a Dios. Thank God. Yago was alive. For now.
She barked a short, bitter laugh and ran her shaking hand through her hair. “Papá is going to kill him for this. How do you even know where I live? Attacking my bodyguard and breaking into my apartment smacks of insanity. Do you have a death wish? It’s not even daybreak!” She thrust her arm toward the glass balcony doors, where the vertical blinds clacked softly in the breeze from the overhead vent.
“I’ll explain everything later. We have to go.” He grabbed one of her suitcases. “Get dressed. I’ll take your luggage.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.” She grimaced at her blue-striped pajama bottoms and matching long-sleeved top, then planted her hands on her hips. “I’m getting married next week. You shouldn’t be here.”
“Married, right, to Diego Zayas.” He scoffed and dropped the suitcase before he crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you want to marry him?”
The question sucked the air from her lungs. She opened her mouth, then closed it. Of course, she didn’t want to marry Diego. Her father had arranged the match without consulting her. No matter how many times she’d begged Papá to reconsider, he refused. His word was iron. Unbreakable. Soul-rending.
“I would rather eat nails than marry Diego, but I do not have a choice. At least he’s not as awful as Jacobo.” A lie, if she’d ever uttered one. She rubbed her queasy stomach, fighting the twist of old trauma. No matter how many years had passed, the memory of her first marriage still clung to her like oil. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to hold in the anger and pain that burned inside her. “If I had a choice, I would not marry anyone. I would stay right here in my home. Alone. No guards, no deals, no father pulling the strings.”
“You do have a choice. Run away with me. Be my wife. We can go somewhere safe. Once we’re married, your father will have to accept it.”
“Papá is more likely to make me twice a widow than accept you going behind his back. I’ll convince Yago not to say anything to anyone. Should be easy. Papá would string him up if he found out you got past him.” She grimaced and shook her head. Maldita sea. Damn it. That wouldn’t work. There were cameras all over the building. Maybe Yago could wipe the surveillance footage. Maybe she could blame this on a robbery. Yago hadn’t seen who jumped him since Enrique wore a mask.
Enrique’s hands twitched at his sides as though he struggled not to touch her. “For seven years, I’ve wanted you. Dreamed of you. Waited patiently. A few months back, I tried to do this the honorable way and asked your father if I could marry you. He refused because he’d already made a promise to that womanizing pig, Zayas. I cannot watch you marry him. I won’t.”
Her mouth fell open. Tears pricked her eyes. “I-I didn’t know,” she stuttered. “Papá never said anything about you proposing.” Not that she was surprised. Her father despised her. Deemed her worth as what he could get out of her. If she ran away with Enrique, their crime of passion could spiral their respective cartels into war. Enrique had risked everything. For her.
“It’s impossible. If we do this, they’ll kill you. My father, or Diego, or someone else will come for us. They won’t stop. You must see that.”
Enrique stepped closer. “Are you coming willingly or not?”
His gravel-thick voice raked down her spine like broken asphalt. Goosebumps slithered across her arms. His presence consumed her little apartment. His masculine scent of citrus soap and leather infused the air and tingled her nostrils. Mysteries she longed to discover burned in his eyes. She’d dreamed of this moment—Enrique bursting into her life to steal her away to freedom. Paradise. But it wasn’t right. She couldn’t give in to temptation. Couldn’t let selfishness rule. She barely knew Enrique. All the time they’d spent together had been at parties or stressful dinners with her in-laws. They were rarely alone. Only ever kissed once, when he showed up outside her apartment building a week after Jacobo’s death.
Life was so unfair. She wanted to run. Scream. Kiss him. Never let him go.
He sighed heavily. “All right. One kiss. Then I’ll leave.”
Lourdes blinked hard, his sudden turnabout stiffening her spine, and she tugged on the hem of her shirt. Her nipples chafed against the fabric. Dios mío. No bra. Heat surged into her cheeks. She dropped her gaze to his full, dangerous, perfect mouth.
Maybe one kiss wouldn’t hurt.
No, of course it would. It would break her in half. To have what she desperately wanted in her hands and on her lips, then to give it up. Lord help her. She didn’t care.
Enrique tilted his head. “Well?”
She licked her dry lips. “A kiss. We’ll pretend this never happened.”
He clasped her cheek, brushed his thumb along her jaw, and nuzzled her hairline before he claimed her lips with a soft, barely there kiss. Moaning, she melted against him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Tingles shot through her. His arms snaked around her waist and pinned her to his warm, tantalizing chest. He kissed her harder, deeper, seizing everything she had to give. Making up for seven years of nothing. Of lost time they could never get back. Mint and coffee flavored his kiss in the most erotic combination. She fisted his silky hair, then trailed her fingers down to grasp his smooth jacket. Her eyelids fluttered closed. Her dreams paled to the real thing. Kissing him. Tasting him. Breathing him in. Touching his hot skin.
It wasn’t enough. She needed more. Needed everything. All of him.
She broke away, panting, trembling, and peered up into his hooded eyes. His harsh, minty breath puffed across her face. She groaned at the scent.
“One kiss,” she whispered. “That was the deal.”
“Forgive me, Lourdes,” he murmured, his voice raw. He pressed a kiss on her temple, then leaned back. Creases branched from his narrowed eyes.
“For what?”
A sharp, sudden sting bit her neck.
She gasped, jerking away. “W-what did you—”
He capped the syringe and slid it into his pocket.
“What did you give me? Why?” She clawed at her neck as if she could drag the poison out. Her body rebelled. Head swayed. Knees buckled. The ceiling light flickered as the room blurred. “Enrique!” she cried, stumbling sideways.
He caught her as she collapsed.
Exhaustion and fear weighed down her limbs. Her vision clouded at the edges. She tried to speak, but no words came. Inky darkness spread from the corners of her mind, enshrouding her in a mist. His hard, implacable face hovered above her, winking in and out of focus.
Then the world fell away, the maw of oblivion swallowing her whole.
****
“Sleep, princess. Everything will be fine.” Enrique knelt, eased her onto the floor, and kissed her forehead. The soft, feminine aroma of lilacs permeated her skin while the scent of peppermint clung to the gentle puffs of air leaving her mouth. He brushed the fall of her thick, dark hair from her face, the curls sliding across the barrier of his damn gloves like ribbons.
Self-disgust swamped him. If only he didn’t have to take things so far. If only she had listened to reason. Deep down, he’d known all along she would refuse to run away with him. Using the syringe, stealing the choice from her—he couldn’t have escaped that eventuality no matter how hard he tried.
He checked her neck and grimaced at the small red puncture where the needle had struck. The V-neckline of her shirt dipped to the side, revealing the smooth flesh of her shoulder blade and the swell of her breast. Her nipples pressed against the cotton, begging for his touch. His hand trembled in the face of temptation. No, he’d better forget it. Only a pervert fondled an unconscious woman.
He stood and turned toward the bodyguard. Broad, muscled, probably ex-military, and now sprawled on the floor like a broken toy, Yago had never seen or even heard Enrique creeping toward him from the stairwell down the hall. A quick prick to the neck, and the confrontation was over. Easy. Clean. The sedative would wear off in a few hours, giving Enrique enough time to make his escape from Villegas territory before the enforcer raised the alarm.
Enrique stripped Yago of his weapons and phone, stomped on the latter, and duct-taped the man’s wrists together. Then the ankles. After he ripped off a long section of fabric from the guard’s shirt, he stuffed it into Yago’s mouth and slapped on a stretch of tape. He dragged Yago across the floor and stuffed him inside the hall closet.
A few lone hangers hung on the rod.
For the past two days, Enrique had stayed at a bug-infested hotel across town when he wasn’t stalking Lourdes and studying her four guards. On rotating twelve-hour shifts, at least one guard shadowed her wherever she went and bunked in the apartment across the hall to monitor the building’s surveillance feeds when she was at home. She’d already packed up her clothes, knickknacks, and art supplies for transport to the Nogales plaza where her fuckhead fiancé controlled the outbound shipping sector in his corner of the Lozano kingdom.
Had Enrique waited much longer, he would’ve had to contend with the guards at her father’s estate since she was moving back home to stay until the wedding. How he would’ve gotten in and out with Lourdes in tow, he had no idea.
Fuck that. It didn’t take a genius to know he would’ve ended up with a concussion, a black eye or two, a couple of broken bones, and an extended stay at a torture house until his boss arranged his release.
Enrique slammed the closet door shut and braced his forehead against the cool wooden panel. The fear in Lourdes’s eyes when he’d burst in had nearly gutted him. As if he would ever hurt her. Breathing hard, he stared back at the woman he’d never gotten over.
She slept soundly, lost in another world.
Seven years earlier, he had to watch her marry a man who didn’t deserve her. No fucking way was he going to suffer that again. She’d barely survived Jacobo. If she married Diego Zayas, she would be trapped for a second time. Maybe for good.
He strode to the heavy suitcase he’d grabbed earlier and popped the latch. Clothes and shoes. Good enough. He snatched her large, leather fringe purse off the love seat and rifled through it. Wallet. Makeup. Cell phone. A thin manila envelope. He yanked out the packet and emptied the contents onto the coffee table. Her driver’s license, birth certificate, and blood test results lay before him—everything she needed to get married, eitherto Zayas or Enrique himself.
What luck. He’d expected her father to keep her documents hostage, but there they were right in her damn bag. After stuffing everything back into her purse, except her phone, he powered off the device and hid it in a moving box. Then he stashed her purse in her suitcase and slung the thick luggage strap onto his shoulder. After years of training and carting dead bodies and weapons, the bag weighed almost nothing. He slid his mask back on, gently picked up Lourdes, and cracked open the door to check out into the hallway. Empty. Blowing out a harsh breath, he locked up and left the apartment.
He eyed the shiny camera in the corner. All the cameras in the building and lot were dead, thanks to Domingo’s crash course in remote feed jamming. He hadn’t confided in his hacker friend about why he needed the information, and the other man knew better than to ask.
The corrugated metal stairway groaned under his boots as he took the steps two at a time. His heart raced faster, his patience wearing thin. He’d been in this position before—carrying injured comrades to safety, sneaking in and out of buildings with no one the wiser—but now, everything was different. Lourdes was one mission he couldn’t fail, not if he wanted to save his soul from unending darkness.
He clutched her supple body tighter against his chest and pushed open the creaky exit door for the back parking lot. The early-morning resonance of twittering birds and revving engines wrapped around him like a thin cloak. The dim yellow glow of the lampposts in the lot battled back the darkness. Exhaust fumes from passing vehicles on the street burned his nostrils. The crescent October moon hung low in the grayish-purple sky and peeked out from behind the odd mix of modern high-rises and the shorter, majestic colonial structures in the near distance.
His silver SUV loomed like a predator in the shadows beneath a burned-out lamppost. He buckled Lourdes into the passenger seat as her head lolled to the side.
“Lo siento,” he apologized and smoothed a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Even if you hate me for this, know I will make it up to you.”
He threw her suitcase into the back, climbed into the driver’s seat, and cranked the engine. The low, steady rumble vibrated the interior, easing his tension. He merged into the light flow of traffic as the historic center stirred to life with coffee drinkers getting their morning fix, exhaust-choked vehicles weaving between the crush of commuters, and neon lights flashing in art gallery windows.
Every fiber in his being screamed that he’d made a mistake. That he sparked a war he could never undo. Blood would stain his hands. But he’d chosen this. Whatever the price.
Let the world burn. Lourdes would not suffer again.
Chapter Two
Lourdes jolted awake as she slammed against a car door. Pain shot through her right arm and sliced across her chest as the seat belt dug into her shoulder. “What the hell?” She flung out her hands to catch herself on the dashboard. Dizziness swamped her. Nausea swam in her belly. She blinked fast to clear the haze over her eyes.
Beyond the windows, dirt plumes billowed from the spinning tires. The vehicle rumbled and shook like an angry beast across the uneven ground.
“Pothole. Sorry.” Enrique eased back onto the road.
She jumped, startled, at the man beside her. “Enrique?” Her head ached as though someone had poured sludge into her skull. Fractured memories filled her mind.
Enrique bursting in.
Kissing her.
Drugging her.
Darkness.
He’s kidnapped me. She swallowed past the lump in her dry, scratchy throat. The dusty old highway stretched to eternity across gorgeous craggy hills and river valleys with a smattering of potholes gutting the path. The digital clock on the dash flicked to 9:22. She craned her neck toward the windshield to check the position of the sun—which was to the right of the vehicle—so her captor was driving north.
“Are we going to Hermosillo? What did you give me? Are you crazy?” she rattled off the questions, venom dripping from her voice.
“You’re safe.”
“That’s not an answer. You drugged me, Enrique!”
“I had to.” He kept his gaze on the road and his hands choking the steering wheel. His knuckles paled under the strain, the rich bronze fading to a muted ashen hue.
“Oh, you had to. Right,” she mocked while rubbing her sore neck. A slight bump marred her skin. She groaned and clasped her middle as he veered around another pothole. “I feel sick. What was in that syringe?”
“Midazolam. It’s a sedative. Check the bag behind my seat. There’s water.”
She turned and sighed in relief. Her suitcase was in the back. Then she grabbed the brown-paper bag and rummaged past the plastic-wrapped sandwiches, baggies of chips, and a roll of toilet paper for the bottles. Where did he think they were going—on a picnic? And the paper? Dios mío. He probably expected her to squat behind a bush somewhere to do her business. She clutched a crackly bottle, ripped off the cap, and gulped the tepid water so fast her throat closed and eyes burned. Coughing, she forced the liquid down and wiped the sleeve of her shirt across her mouth. After a much smaller mouthful, she screwed the cap back on and dropped the bottle in the cup holder.
“You’ve been asleep for about five hours. We passed the Durango/Chihuahua state line right before you woke up.” He snatched the bag from her lap and stashed it back where she found it. “The grogginess and nausea will pass soon. Just relax.”
“Did you give the same to Yago?”
He gritted his teeth. The muscle in his jaw ticked. “Why are you concerned about the damn guard? Was he something more to you?”
She laughed, the sharp sound slicing up her throat. “If you’re asking if we were lovers, we weren’t—not that it’s any of your business. I just don’t want anyone dying or getting hurt on my account. Now, because of you, Yago’s death will be on my hands.”
Enrique rolled his shoulders as if shaking off his jealousy. “If the man were any good at his job, he would’ve stopped me. At least noticed me. I found him inspecting a camera and grumbling about the feed going down. What if I were one of your father’s enemies? You could be dead. Raped. Beaten. Sold into slavery. Held for ransom. That so-called guard deserves whatever the jefe decides.”
She flinched, her protest dying before it reached her tongue. God only knew how long Enrique had been spying on her. Yago and the others had failed at their only task with flying colors, yet they weren’t the only ones at fault. She’d followed along with dozens of self-defense videos in her living room, drilling each move until her muscles ached. Anything to make sure she’d never again fall prey to a man’s fists. Enrique hadn’t hit her, but he sure as hell violated her.
So much for training. When it mattered, she’d frozen.
Lourdes fisted her cotton bottoms and ran her socked feet along the floor mat. Kidnapped in pajamas. Just her luck. She shook her head, pangs shooting through her skull. Ow. Bad idea. No sudden movements. Breathing through her queasiness, she leaned back and closed her eyes. Exhaustion tunneled under her skin like a river of slime.
Once her twisting stomach settled, she rubbed the last twinge of pain from her temples and massaged her stiff neck. The bright sunlight sharpened her captor’s handsome profile, darkened his morning scruff, and gleamed off his jacket. Such a shame. He had starred in her wildest fantasies. Now, he would surely join the lineup of villains who plagued her nightmares.
“You’re just like everyone else.” Her heart ached over the bitter truth. “Making decisions for me. Treating me like I’m too stupid to make up my own mind. To know my own mind.” She rubbed her cheeks, discreetly wiping away tears. “I’m not helpless. I do not need saving.”
“Be angry all you want. I won’t take you back. Not yet, anyway.”
She bit back a scathing insult. “That’s your apology?”
“I’m not apologizing for protecting you. And you do need saving. I asked you to marry me. I wanted you to leave with me of your own free will. You brought this on yourself.”
“No one says no to my father. I couldn’t defy him to run away with you.”
“I’m not beholden to Gerardo Villegas. Once you’re my wife, you won’t be either.”
She splayed her hands on her lap, struggling to find the right words. “Do you have any idea what this feels like? To wake up in a moving car, in the middle of nowhere, after being drugged? I could’ve been dead for all I knew. Who are you, Enrique? I thought you were kind and decent, different from every other man in my life. But you’re the same. You just hide your sinister nature better.”
He snorted. “You don’t become the second-in-command of one of the most powerful cartels in the country through kindness and decency. My dark side—my sinister nature—is something you will never want to see.”
Her breath hitched. “I’m seeing it now.”
A short, harsh laugh escaped his lips. He leveled her with his icy, dead-set stare. “Lourdes, you have no idea what I’m capable of.” He faced the road.
He was right. Throughout her marriage to Jacobo, she’d daydreamed about Enrique and what their life could’ve been like together had she married him instead. She’d romanticized him, made him into the hero, the white knight who would rise from the shadows to vanquish evil. How foolish she’d been? He was a drug trafficker. A criminal.
She was his latest victim.
Victim. That was all she’d ever been. The unwanted daughter used as a pawn in her father’s games. The useless wife who failed to provide her husband with a son. How long would it take for Enrique to tire of her before he shipped her back to her father, regretting the day he’d taken her for himself?
He reached over to touch her arm, but she flinched away.
Sighing, he settled his hand on his leg. “The only thing I’m sorry for is how things went down. I never wanted to scare you.”
Lourdes folded her arms over her chest. “Where are you taking me?”
“A safe house. Off-grid. No one knows I have it.”
“Of course. I’m your prisoner now. Your hostage. Will you chain me to the bed, keep me on a leash?” she snapped.
A crooked smile curled his lips. “Only if you ask nicely.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. A shiver of desire raced through her and tightened her nipples. She shifted on the buttery-soft leather seat for a more comfortable position. Damn him. After everything he’d done to her, how could she still want him?
Enrique cranked the air conditioner. “You don’t have to forgive me. You can scream at me all you want, but think about your options—marry Diego Zayas, or take your chances with me. If you can tell me with complete honesty that you believe Zayas will treasure you, love you, and give you anything your heart desires, then I will turn around right now.”
She couldn’t say that. The few times she’d been alone with Diego, he forced kisses on her and grabbed her arms so hard that she bruised. At least then, her training had kicked in, and she pushed him back.
“Jacobo died over three years ago,” Enrique continued as if expecting her silence. “I’m surprised your asshole father didn’t arrange another match for you before now.”
Slouching in the seat, she stared back out the passenger window as the gold-and-green fields spanned the vast landscape. “He wanted to, but my grandfather—my mother’s dad—stepped in. Abuelo thought I needed more time to grieve Jacobo’s loss and build a new life for myself, so he convinced Papá to give me a two-year respite.” Though she hadn’t needed even a day to grieve for her dead husband, she craved the stay of execution. “We made a deal—I would have my own apartment and do whatever I wanted, within reason. In return, I would honor my family by marrying whatever man Papá chose.”
“Your grandfather, Senator Carreon?”
She nodded. “Abuelo often votes for certain laws to benefit the Villegas Cartel, so Papá agreed to his terms.”
“Right, he didn’t want to anger the man.”
“The two-year mark ended a few months back, so I’ve been living on borrowed time. Even though Papá arranged for me to have bodyguards, my grandfather provided the apartment and a monthly allowance.” She huffed, so exhausted and emotionally drained she nearly melted right into the floorboard. Frustration ripped her words free. “I’m twenty-seven years old; I should be self-sufficient. Pay my own bills. Live my life without the need for an armed shadow trailing my every step. But no, I’m obligated to rely on the men in my life.”
“The bane of your birth.”
“Exactly.” Resentment sharpened her tone. “Part of my father’s conditions was that I couldn’t do anything to shame the family. Getting a job to earn money or enrolling in school were in the no column. To him, women are trophies and unworthy of an education because they shouldn’t have a career to warrant needing a degree. We’re only good as cooks and baby-making machines.” She rubbed her lower stomach where she’d twice held her baby before the heartbreak of miscarriage stole them away.
She grasped Enrique’s warm, roughhewn hand, determined to make him understand. “You whisking me off like this isn’t going to change anything. Papá will find us. He will force me to marry Diego. If Diego no longer wants me, I’ll have another fiancé before the year is out.”
“You’re wrong on one thing, Lourdes.” He turned his hand over to hold hers and veered into the other lane to miss a tortoise that crossed the road. “The great Gerardo Villegas will not kill me. He may want to, but it’s not smart business. I’ve damaged the Lozano-Villegas alliance by taking you, but if I do right and marry you, we will strengthen the bonds of our cartels. That’s the whole reason your father arranged for you to marry Zayas.”
“To strengthen the bonds, I know.” While Diego was only a senior capo with the Lozanos, Enrique was the number two man and best friend of the current Lozano leader, Jacobo’s younger brother, Rubén. If anything, her father should’ve accepted Enrique’s suit over Diego’s. “That’s all well and good if war hasn’t already broken out. If Papá turns against Rubén, your life will be forfeit.”
“Again, not smart business. Your father is a businessman above all else. Both cartels will search for us. They will either join forces or work separately. Eventually, someone will find us. I’m not so arrogant as to think I can hide you away forever. Before that happens, we need to be on the same page.”
We need to be married. She heard his unspoken words loud and clear.
Manipulated into one marriage after another. Why couldn’t she choose who she wanted, or better yet, stay single? The four years she’d spent under Jacobo’s thumb were enough to last a lifetime. Only, would she have such a terrible fate as Enrique’s wife? Even though he’d kidnapped her, he hadn’t technically hurt her. Terrorized and angered her, sure. But that was the extent of his cruelty. If he were Jacobo or Diego, he probably would’ve assaulted her by now.
Of course. Now she’s rationalizing Enrique’s male-chauvinistic actions just as she had Jacobo’s when he hit her while drunk. She was stronger than this. No matter what happened, she couldn’t lose herself in fear and self-pity as she had before. Whether she married Diego, Enrique, or someone else, she had to be strong and resilient. She had to survive.
Lourdes pulled from his grasp. Enrique’s heart was in the right place, though he was going about saving her all wrong. She had to protect him from his foolishness. Somehow, she had to escape and beg her father to grant him mercy.
“If I had the chance to go back in time and stop myself from doing this, I wouldn’t.” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “Give me time, Lourdes. You’ll see I’m right. I will make you happy.”
Happiness, hope, love—those were dangerous words. Everything she’d ever wanted.
Too bad it wasn’t meant to be.
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