by Pam Godwin
Goddammit, how could her brilliant mind get this so fucking wrong?
“Not only will you live, you’ll be more alive than you’ve ever been.” He withdrew his grip and strode up the path without waiting for her.
When he reached the stone wall of their destination, she caught up with him, arms crossed over her chest, gaze lowered, demeanor subdued. Scaring her hadn’t been his intention. Or maybe it had been. Either way, he wanted the light to return to her eyes.
He paused at a heavy wooden door, watching her closely. His hands felt sweaty, his throat parched and scratchy.
“What is this place?” Her gaze skittered along the eight-foot-high rock wall, tracing the length left to right where it faded into the jungle in both directions.
“Go ahead.” He gestured at the retinal scanner that was bolted into the stone. “This is the only entrance. The wall keeps out most of the critters, but we still have problems with monkeys and large birds.”
His pulse hammered as she leveled her eye with the security panel. He rubbed his palms on his jeans as she pushed open the door. Then he followed her in, clinging to her every movement as she gazed upon the landscape that had taken him a decade to recreate.
Her hands flew to her chest, her gait faltering mid-stride beside the first row of orange trees. Her head swung right, toward the acre that housed kumquat, tangerine, grapefruit, and lime trees.
“Holy shit.” Her mouth fell open, and her steps sped up, still unsteady but her excitement palpable.
She walked beneath the limbs, her hand reaching upward. He remained at her side, devouring the bright glow of her eyes, the tremble in her chin, and tentative way she brushed her fingers over the leaves as if she couldn’t believe they were real.
She halted suddenly, her attention directed straight ahead on the lemon grove. Her breath cut off. Then she gulped raggedly, again and again, her hand lifting to cover her mouth as the other reached out, blindly searching for his.
He caught her fingers, lacing them with his own, and inhaled the deepest, fullest breath he’d ever taken.
Four hundred flowering trees spread across the secluded five-acre grove, infusing every particle in the air with tranquil memories. There was only one scent as sweet as the fragrance of citrus blossoms, only one sight as beautiful, and she was finally here.
Her wide, unblinking eyes took in the delicate buds, the vibrant colors of the fruit, and the fertilized soil, and he knew she appreciated the labor and passion in a way that had connected them since they were small children. She appreciated his tribute to her.
“How did you—? You did all this…” She stepped toward the nearest lemon tree and gripped tighter to his hand, pulling him with her as she studied the healthy branches. “They’re… God, they must be ten years old?”
“Yes.” His voice broke, and he cleared it. “Yeah, I’ve been at it a while. But I’ve had help. Hired one of the best citrus farmers in Florida about eight years ago.”
“Nico let you do this? I mean…wow. There must be four or five acres here.”
“Five acres. Four hundred trees. And Nico…” A smile pulled at his mouth. “He questions everything I do.”
Most of his arguments with the other man had been over the necessity of the eight-foot wall.
She didn’t let go of his hand as she entered the lane between two rows of lemon trees, scattering the bees that hovered around the blooms. Twisted branches arced over the path and tangled together, forming a living trellis of deep green foliage and dangling fruit.
When she tilted her head upward, a tear glistened on her cheek. She swatted it away with a soft smile on her lips.
“It’s just like home. The planting pattern. The archway. Every detail.” She stopped walking and turned toward him, her gaze on the inked leaves on his forearm, her fingers squeezing tighter around his. “You did this because you missed it?”
He lifted her chin with his free hand and held her gaze. “I missed you.”
She pulled her head back, and her focus slipped away, seeking the trees, the ground, their entwined hands. When she returned to his eyes, hers were wet with regret. But there was hope there, too.
“A five-acre grove recreating our childhood. Because you missed me.” She touched his jaw, the line of his throat, her gaze following the movement. “I understand you were taken by the Restrepos, and I assume you didn’t rise to the top-level in the span of a year. So you must’ve started as a lackey? Is that why you didn’t come back for me?”
“Camila—”
“I was there, Matias. Right there in that grove waiting for you for a year before…” She swallowed. “Before it was too late.”
“I couldn’t.” He released her hand and crushed her against him, holding her face to his chest as his insides rioted with invidious memories. “The men who found me—”
“Found you?”
Fuck. He should’ve chosen a different word. “The people who came for me that day made threats.”
“What kind of threats?”
She tried to lift her head, but he held her in place so she wouldn’t see the vulnerability in his expression. He was having a hell of a time evening his voice.
“They threatened everyone I cared about.” He pressed a kiss to her head. “Specifically you.”
She stiffened against him. “Why? What did they want?”
He couldn’t explain that part without unraveling every fucking thing he’d tried so hard to protect her from. “Camila, there are things I can’t tell—”
Her fist slammed against his abs, not with any kind of force, but hard enough to break free of his hold. She spun away, her face emblazoned with rage.
“You knew about my family.” She balled her hands at her sides. “The day I called you, when I escaped, you told me not to contact them.” Her eyes narrowed. “Why didn’t you tell me they were dead?”
“Lower your voice.” He folded his hands behind his back and widened his stance.
She glanced around, but the rows of trees blocked her view of the wall. “Is someone here?”
“No one has access to the grove besides Nico, the caretaker, you, and me.”
“Is Nico meeting us here?” She pulled on her ear nervously, her attention darting through the branches, as if she were torn between pursuing this conversation and focusing on her end goal.
“He’s waiting for us in the gazebo.” He turned and pointed down the path through the lemon trees. “Just through there.”
“We probably shouldn’t keep him waiting then.” She moved to walk past him but paused, her gaze lingering on his face.
She’d spent the past two weeks watching everything and everyone around her. There were slaves on the property, in her periphery, kneeling beside her at dinner, all of them gagged in her presence to prevent communication. But just as he’d hoped, the bulk of her searching had been focused on him, on what he knew and what he was hiding.
He needed her to not only see the truth for herself, but to see him, the man she was meant to love.
“Your uncle died in that fire, with my family.” With trembling fingers, she brushed the tattoo on his forearm.
It wasn’t a question, so he remained still and quiet beneath her rare touch.
“I’m sorry.” She dropped her hand, letting it hang at her side. “I’ve been so angry, so suspicious about what happened to them, I’ve lost sight of the fact that you lost him, too.”
He didn’t have a regretful bone in his body with regard to that old man. But as far as she knew, his parents had died when he was an infant and the uncle who had raised him on the grove was the only family he’d had. None of that was true.
With an arm raised in the direction of the gazebo, he waited for her to move then followed behind.
Her jean-clad legs carried her out of the lemon grove, the subtle sway of her ass unintentionally seductive in her determination. Despite the confident way she carried herself, he suspected each step twisted her up with nerves. He wished he could carry h
er out of there and save them both a lot of potential pain.
They turned the corner, and the gazebo came into view. Seated at the table, Nico glanced up from his phone, his brows heavy over dark eyes and mouth turned downward in his usual relaxed expression.
She looked back at Matias, her brown eyes hesitant. Then she blinked, and her focus cleared, her features hardening.
He molded his face into something that resembled self-assurance. He was ninety-nine percent certain he knew how this would end. But it was that one-percent that sank his stomach with dread.
A SWARM OF BEES TOOK FLIGHT in Camila’s stomach as she stepped into the gazebo and met Nico’s demoralizing glare. He rarely looked into her eyes, as in not once since she arrived in Colombia. But sometimes she sensed him watching. Like it was his job to watch her without her noticing.
His elusive observance was so much better than this in-her-face staring.
“Matias’ little happy place suits you.” Nico’s gaze subtly skimmed over her body and returned to her eyes, his Colombian inflection falling flat. “You’re much more enticing than the fruit.”
Okay, that drained her blood straight to her feet. It was a joke, right? Nico might’ve kept tabs on her, but he’d never given her so much as a glimmer of interest.
His apathy was frightening, and he exuded it as if deliberately playing it to his advantage. Even now, his arms hung limply at his sides, his posture relaxed behind the wrought iron table, almost bored, as his gaze wandered away.
“She likes the grove.” Matias stepped around her and pulled out an empty chair, gesturing for her to sit.
She loved the grove. Loved it so much, in fact, she didn’t want Nico anywhere near it.
Sitting as directed, she entertained a silly thought about plucking one of the ripe fruits and traipsing the endless maze of paths through the trees. It was how she’d spent her childhood, letting the twisty arms of the branches guide her, never without a juicy snack in her hand.
“I should hope so, ese.” Nico focused on an errant crease in his black suit pants, smoothing it with a thumb. “You spent an embarrassing amount of time and money growing shit that can’t be injected, smoked, snorted, or smuggled.”
“That sounds dangerously close to complaining.” Matias lowered into the chair beside her, putting her between him and Nico. Folding his hands on the table, he leaned in, eyes on Nico. “You done?”
“I haven’t decided.” Nico shrugged.
Both men grinned, sharing a cryptic moment of silence. As their smiles faded, they continued to stare at one another. Communicating? Whatever it was hinted at a strange kind of simultaneous trust between them. Their postures remained at ease, their eyes bright. Until Nico shifted to her.
“So you wanted to meet with me to discuss the cartel’s affairs?” His tone dripped with censure, expression hardening in a blink, erasing all traces of humanity.
Just like that, he looked every bit the kingpin. Her insides churned.
He didn’t belong here in this magical place, where the trees fluttered with vitality, trilling with birds, and saturating the air with the quiet, aphrodisiac sweetness of orange blossoms. Matias had created a miniature version of her beloved sanctuary, knitting her memories into the soil and coaxing them to life. The resurrected ambiance filled her with a sense of innocence, an unexpected warmth of heart that made her want to turn to him with openness and affection.
And hope.
He could tell her a million times he wanted her, needed her, that her disappearance had gutted him, whatever. It was just words. But this…this nostalgic place was infinitely more moving. It was a proclamation that couldn’t be cheated or faked.
The maturity of the trees alone proved that a decade had been dedicated to growing it, to nurturing something much too wistful for a cartel compound. Sure, he hired out the labor, but his touch was in the tiniest details, such as the planting patterns, the types of fruiting trees, the yellow twine her papá had used to support the saplings, and the unusual way the secondary limbs were pruned—exactly how Venomous Lemonous had taught them.
No one else could’ve replicated her memories with such painstaking and sentimental precision. She knew without a doubt Matias had been here since the plants germinated and participated in every step of their life cycle.
Because he’d missed her.
It left her feeling groundless, dizzy, and utterly seduced by the idea of him and her, by the beauty and promise it bestowed. She could envision living here, being whatever Matias willed her to be, if it meant spending time in this place, recreating stolen moments with him, and cultivating dreams.
Because she’d missed him, too. So fucking much it made her chest hurt.
Maybe that was why he’d chosen this location for the meeting. To bewitch her so thoroughly she’d forget the reason she was here.
Tightening her muscles, she angled her body to face Nico and gave him strong eye contact.
“You might see me as just a slave, but I’m not controlled by fear.” She crossed her legs at the knees, the position pulling the jeans tight across her ass as she rested her hands on the table. “I’ve killed people, and I’m intimately familiar with human trafficking.” She paused. “Can I call you Nico?”
“Please do.” His eyes flickered, and it might’ve been curiosity.
“I’m not an accountant, Nico, but I find it hard to believe the slave trade yields as much profit as, say, your drug smuggling ventures. First off, the slaves I’ve seen on the property are my age. Some are even older. I doubt any of them are virgins.”
He exchanged a look with Matias, and she would’ve given anything to know what was going on beneath their blank expressions.
“Not that I’m suggesting you capture young girls.” Her foot twitched restlessly. She stilled it. “I’m just questioning why you capture and sell people at all.”
“Tell us your theories,” Matias said. Elbow on the table, he rested his jaw on loosely curled fingers, the liquid gold of his eyes sharp around the edges.
Twisting her thoughts to that of a criminal, she voiced a cut and dry hypothesis about how they sought to gain market share and remain competitive against rival gangs and drug lords. She talked out of her ass while trying to keep her opinions on a cohesive level, brainstorming ideas they could relate to, and maintaining an eager, unbiased tone, like she was a fucking marketing consultant for the cartel.
It was ludicrous, listening to herself suggest how they could broaden their drugs and weapons smuggling to other countries, like Australia. But in her desperate mind, smuggling those things were a lesser evil than selling innocent lives.
Neither of them interrupted her long-winded pitch. Matias nodded at some of her points and lifted his eyebrows at others. She avoided those hazel eyes, though, as well as the symmetrical beauty of his flawless face. She tried not to glance at him at all for fear he’d derail her, command her with a look, and make her want things that didn’t belong in this conversation.
Focusing on Nico wasn’t any easier. He was dangerously handsome, or at least, he would’ve been if he didn’t look so scowly and disinterested all the time. Didn’t matter where he was or what he was doing, he gave the impression that he wanted to be somewhere else, like he was too goddamn important for the world around him.
Other than the night Van delivered her to them, Nico always wore a suit. The crisp black fabrics and collared shirts that opened at the neck projected an urbane, cultured persona that was only mildly intimidating if taken at face value. It was what he hid beneath the casual arrogance that had her carefully choosing her words.
Was she talking to a psychopath? An empty soul? A man who didn’t rationalize his own behavior? If he was a man at all, then somewhere in there was a heart.
Steeling her backbone, she changed gears without segue and launched into her experience as Van’s captive.
“He locked me in a coffin-like box for the first twenty-four hours, wearing only rope around my hands and feet and a ring g
ag in my mouth.”
Her cheeks twinged in memory at the godawful stretching, and sweat beaded between her breasts. With a waver in her voice, she told them how Van fucked that ring gag over and over in the days that followed, how he beat her, spit on her, and stripped her of every ounce of hope and courage, all while refusing to speak to her beyond the bark of his commands. Kneel, open, suck, cry…
“I was there a week before Liv stepped in.” Camila folded her trembling hands on her lap. “She introduced herself as a deliverer and said I was to be trained as a slave and sold as a piece of property.”
She rushed on, giving voice to the worst of her time there. The whips, the rules, the stifling loneliness, each harrowing memory blooming heat behind her eyelids. “You can’t comprehend the depths of human depravity until you experience it on your knees, in the dark, your body broken and throbbing, your mind pulling away in an attempt to protect, to endure. But no matter where your thoughts go, there is nothing or no one to cling to. It makes you question the very reason for life, like what the fuck are we even doing here and why are we the cruelest to our own kind?”
Matias stood, fingers sliding into his pockets, and stepped out of the gazebo. He strode away with a wide gait and strong posture—shoulders back and chest out, but she hadn’t missed the stark pain in his eyes.
Her pulse quickened. She’d already given him the full unpolished recitation of her year with Van and Liv, hoping to soften his insistence for slavery. Maybe she was finally getting through to him.
Except he wasn’t the one she needed to convince.
Nico stroked a finger over the shadowed edge of his thin beard as he watched Matias walk the path to the far side of the grove, fringed by rows of lemon trees.
Matias sat on a stone bench out of hearing range, elbows braced on knees and profile angled so that he could still see her.
For the span of several heartbeats, Nico didn’t move or speak, his vacant eyes on Matias as if gazing down a long dark road. Then he blinked, straightened in the chair, and turned his attention to her.
“You know what I see when I look at you?” His tongue slid over straight white teeth. “With your tight body and your anti-slavery campaign? I see a hardcore submissive in deep denial. A well-trained cliché, trying to top from the bottom, all the while telling yourself you want no part of it. Stubbornness and fear have driven you to fight against your nature, but you’re only one hard, violent fuck away from surrender. Am I right, Camila Dias?”
