Disclaim (Deliver #3)

by Pam Godwin

  Her stomach bottomed out. “No, you’re—”

  “Those dark desires you try so desperately to hide beneath your quivering victim act? I see the hungry, dirty slut.” His accent thickened into a rolling drawl. “Hell, every man here sees it. And wants it.”

  Ice filled her veins. This motherfucker was either blowing smoke up her ass or he paid attention a hell of a lot more than he let on.

  “I’m not a slut.” She jutted her chin, hands fisting on her lap, and eyes burning with angry tears.

  “You’re a slut in the most desirable way possible. How many men have you fucked, chiquita? How many dicks have left your pussy clenching for something harder, crueler, and more powerful? All those sloppy, monotonous hookups with strangers, while searching for the one who will pound you into submission, searching for anyone who will fuck your convictions into broken meaningless pieces. A search that took you all the way to Colombia, shackled as a slave in a slave trader’s bed.”

  Fuck him to hell! She shook with unholy rage, her gaze skipping across the grove to Matias. He tipped his head in her direction, elbows propped on his knees, but he was too far away to make eye contact. Too far away to hear this fucked-up conversation or to stop Nico. Not that he would. A twinge of hurt stabbed through her.

  “You don’t know me,” she said to Nico while keeping her gaze trained on Matias.

  “No, I don’t. But Matias does, and he tells me everything.”

  Her hackles went up. Matias told him all of this? Why would a cartel boss even entertain a conversation about her?

  This discussion had taken a turn into Insanityville. She should’ve brought a pillow so she could bury her face in it and scream. Everything about this felt off. Yet she couldn’t stop Nico’s comments from sinking in, itching beneath her skin, and sparking a pang in her chest.

  She sucked in a serrated breath. Matias should’ve been sitting beside her, not on the other side of the grove like a goddamn coward. It was as if Nico had waited until he had her alone to unleash his crazy. But why wait? He was the fucking capo. He made the rules, could do whatever he wanted, and didn’t have to explain himself to anyone. None of this made sense.

  Throwing Matias a frigid stare, she returned to Nico. “Would you have said all of this in front of him? I thought you two were friends.”

  “I prefer your genuine reactions, not the ones influenced by him as he breathes down your neck.” His tight grimace strained the tension in the air. “I want to talk to Camila Dias, not the woman who’s Matias’ slave.”

  “No one influences my…anything.” Her voice came out small, weak. She strengthened it with a deep inhale. “No one owns me.”

  “No one owns your soul. Yet. But a voluntary captive lives deep inside you, craving to be claimed, used, and fucked in every way imaginable.”

  “That’s slavery, Nico.” She seethed with indignation. “A violation of basic human rights. It was a monstrosity two-hundred years ago in the south, and it still is, here, now, no matter how sexy you try to paint it. But clearly, you and Matias and your damn profit margins—”

  “Now you’ve ruined it.” His scathing stare made her wilt. He didn’t even need to raise his voice.

  “Ruined what?” Her throat closed up.

  “Your proposal.”

  “Were you actually considering it?”

  He continued to glare, but now that she looked closer, there was something missing in it. The hard lines of his jaw, dark furrow of his brow, flat line of his lips—it was all there to appropriately communicate his displeasure. Deep behind his inky eyes, though, she didn’t see the heat or the passion she’d expect in an outraged man.

  Maybe she was just imagining it. “Tell me what you want, what to say. If you’ll reconsider, I’ll take back whatever I said and—”

  “See, you were doing so good there. You were respectful of our business and made suggestions for improvement. You initiated trust by sharing your weakest moments with Van Quiso. Then you blew it with your self-righteous, preachy judgment. If I wanted a homily on moral values, I’d visit my mother.”

  Shit. Fuck. Okay, she could recover from this. “What do you want?”

  He leaned in, and the potency of his cologne chased away the perfume of orange blossoms. “I want you.”

  “YOU WANT ME?” Camila widened her eyes, her insides shriveling from throat to gut.

  “You,” Nico mouthed, his face a breath away. “In my bed, riding my dick, and wearing my collar.” He flicked the lock at her throat.

  A vise gripped her chest, squeezing her air. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think past the words burning through her heart.

  “In return, we’ll pull out of the slave trade.” He sniffed. “We’ll stop capturing women in your hometown. We’ll stop enslaving humans altogether.”

  Her muscles were so locked up she couldn’t move, but her head shifted, seeking out Matias on the other side of the lemon grove. His attention was on her, his ass still seated on that bench.

  “Eyes on me.” Nico’s bark jerked her focus back.

  His straight nose, even breaths, and dark gaze betrayed nothing. His features were so empty, in fact, she decided he was probably a very good liar. That sucked considering every answer she needed was concealed behind those eyes.

  She lowered her head, trying to reason through his offer. “I become your willing slave and you end the slavery of all others. That’s what you’re proposing?”

  “Yes.”

  “If you wanted me, you could just take me, with or without a deal.”

  “That’s not how this works.”

  Because of Matias? Or something else? The proposal was irrational. He knew Matias had claimed her. Why would he destroy their friendship or risk Matias’ loyalty? Her mind whirled to decrypt the undercurrents. There was more to this. Something he wasn’t saying.

  “I want Matias in this conversation.” She met his eyes.

  “No.” He bent closer, hands dangling between his spread knees and lips inches away. “This is between you and me.”

  “Does he know you’re making this offer?”

  His head turned, and she followed his line of sight across the grove. Matias stared back at her for an endless moment and looked away.

  Her heart sank. He knew. He knew, and he was letting this play out.

  Because he chose his job over her.

  “Decide, Camila.” Nico’s rhythmic accent grated across her skin. “The offer’s about to expire.”

  She wanted to kill him. Strip his golden skin right off his face and smother him with it. But she couldn’t.

  After two weeks of residence in the cartel’s headquarters, she’d watched and learned and come to a glaring realization that attempting to murder the capo would result in an epic failure for two reasons. One, he was never without guards. Even now, she knew Matias was armed and would protect his boss with his life. Two, Nico would be replaced, likely with Matias or someone else in the inner circle. Someone who would continue the slave trade.

  Nico’s offer was her best choice. Not that she could trust him to follow through on his end of the deal, but it would put her in his bed and potentially in his heart. It would give her an advantage, the ability to persuade him, an in, that she didn’t have with Matias.

  But there was one very muscular, dark, and deadly problem.

  Fire trickled behind her eyes and burned through her sinuses. “What about Matias?”

  “Disclaim him. Choose your crusade over the man who has caused you so much torment. Is the decision really that hard?”

  The lump that was lodged in her throat burned hotter. “He’ll kill you.”

  “Do you honestly believe he cares more about you than he does about me?” He arched a brow.

  Logic and reasoning said no. Matias sat his fucking ass on the other side of the grove knowing what Nico would offer.

  She’d put herself here with the very real possibility of death. To end slavery. Now she had what she’d come for—the carte
l capo, the top fucking guy, telling her she could stop their human trafficking with her surrender. How could she not do this?

  Something didn’t feel right. Deep in her gut was a discomfiting suspicion that she was being set up. And crowding that suspicion was her stupid sentimentality. Did she care more about saving slaves than she did about Matias? Than the boy she grew up with? Than the man who rebuilt her citrus grove?

  Could she willingly have sex with another man?

  “Time’s up.” Nico tilted his head, his fingers playing with the short black hair on his jaw. “I need an answer.”

  “No.” The strength of her voice rose from a place of besotted resolve, but it was resolve nonetheless.

  With her heart in her throat, she pushed away from the table, strode out of the gazebo, and took the path through the lemon grove, heading toward Matias. There would be a shitload of introspection in her near future, like was that decision ever really hers to make? But she knew with certainty, no matter what happened, she would never regret choosing Matias.

  He lifted his head at the sound of her steady footfalls, and when he stood, the relief etching his expression sent her heart racing. And her feet.

  Hands behind his back and stance wide, he stared at her without moving, forcing her to take every last step toward him, sealing her future with him. Her choice solidified as she ran, and when she reached him beneath the canopy of leaves, she looped her arms around his neck.

  He stood still for a moment, his rigidness choking her heartbeats.

  Slowly, confidently, his arms wrapped around her back, smothering her against him. His chest felt hard, burning up through the thin material of his Henley. A vein bulged in his brow, the sinews in his neck strung tight. She stroked his throat, making his breath catch.

  “Gracias,” he said in a raspy rumble and touched their foreheads together.

  Her entire body trembled as she slid her fingers along his softly shaved jawline and stabbed them through his hair. “I’m scared, Matias.” Scared of him. Scared Nico will take her away from him.

  “I know, mi vida. I know.” He kissed her with a glide of lips and warm gasps. “Thank you for facing your fears with me.”

  He kissed her again, this time with force and urgency, his tongue sliding against hers and his fingers digging along her spine. Then the kiss was no longer a kiss. It was his lips whispering into her heart and his breaths caressing her soul. He was hers in his citrus grove, and she was his in any manner he wanted.

  It was a dream, one that would take a lot of work and even more answers. But for now, she savored it, tasting and licking his mouth. He was hunger and passion, his tongue tangling with hers with a ferocity that curled her toes.

  He swung her around, and hard wood met her back. She lifted her gaze to a ceiling of leaves and ripe yellow lemons. Laughter burst from her chest, shaking her against the tree trunk and breaking the kiss.

  His hand swept through her hair as he studied her intently, smiling. “What?”

  “Kissing me in a lemon grove, Matias?” She shook her head, grinning wider. “I guess if it worked the first time…”

  “And the time after that.” He kissed her. “And the next time.” Another kiss. “Every time, Camila. You’ve never denied me in our grove.”

  “No. I suppose I haven’t.”

  The crunch of shoes on gravel sounded behind him, and he sighed, resting his lips against her brow.

  “Guess she likes you better than me.” Nico stepped off the path, stopping a couple feet away, hands in his pockets and a strange look on his face.

  She untangled herself from Matias and shifted away from them.

  “You knew what he was going to offer me,” she said to Matias.

  “Yes.” He held his hands behind his back.

  “What if I had agreed?” She kept her tone quiet, more curious than accusatory.

  His eyes slid to Nico, and they shared one of those unspoken looks she couldn’t begin to decipher.

  These assholes had planned this, all of it, to test her. More specifically, Matias had set it up. Why would Nico go along with it? What did he gain from it? Something about their relationship niggled, and she couldn’t put her finger on it.

  She backed up a couple steps so she could study them side by side.

  Nico was a hard one to decode with his shroud of suits and disinterest. He was a couple inches shorter, maybe ten pounds smaller than Matias, and around the same age. Nico’s complexion was a shade fairer, his scowl a hundred times darker, and he was intimidating in the mysterious way he was always inconspicuously watching, always present. Like a guard.

  Contrarily, Matias was jeans and guns and hot-blooded temper, but he didn’t carry the vigilance of a sentinel—which she assumed was one of his jobs. In fact, he had a slew of guards that followed him everywhere.

  “Why do you need armed chaperons?” She narrowed her eyes at Matias.

  “I know things.”

  “What things?” She ground her teeth.

  “Important things that require security.”

  “You give me answers that tell me nothing.” She rubbed her head. “What is your job in the cartel?”

  Nico cleared his throat, drawing her gaze. He looked away, and she swore a smile touched the corner of his mouth. That was weird. And why was his shoe scuffing the ground?

  Because Nico’s not who he says he is.

  “All this time, I thought he was your boss.” She pointed at Nico with her eyes on Matias. “But he’s not.”

  “Not exactly.” Matias scratched the back of his neck. “We’re close.”

  “Close like besties? Or brothers?” She watched them carefully, looking for reactions. “Lovers?”

  “No,” they said in unison then laughed uncomfortably.

  She turned her attention to Nico, who was just standing here instead of hurrying off to run the cartel. Hell, the man spent the majority of his time up Matias’ ass. And Matias walked around like he owned the joint, building citrus groves and silencing rooms just by stepping through the door. Then there was his extravagant suite that only a few people had access to. She’d never entered Nico’s personal space, but from the outside, it looked like Matias’ wing was the prime real estate with the best views.

  Nico appeared to hold authority over everyone who lived here, barking orders and sending people scuttling. But when he was alone with Matias, the dynamic between them flipped.

  Like now. The three of them stood there, as if waiting for instruction, for someone to say Let’s go. Naturally, she looked to Matias.

  But so did Nico.

  Light bulbs went off in her head, and her mouth dried as she aligned the pieces. “Who owns this property?”

  “Hector Restrepo built it.” Matias leaned a shoulder against the tree trunk, his timbre as steady as his eyes.

  She’d heard stories about the old capo in the news and whispers in the halls during her stay here. Apparently, he was a brutal bastard. Was. Hector was dead.

  “You’re not Hector’s son, are you?” She directed the question at Nico, but holy hell, she was certain she knew the answer.

  He glanced at Matias.

  “See, he’s looking at you!” She turned to Matias, heart hammering. “Because you’re the one making decisions around here.” She fisted her hands on her hips. “Who are you?”

  “You already know.” Matias stared at her, his unblinking gaze knocking the air from her lungs.

  He’s the boss.

  Matias is the goddamn kingpin.

  What better way to protect the capo than to make everyone think someone else was the capo? How had she missed this?

  “If you’re not the second in command…” She glared at Matias then looked at Nico. “You are.”

  “Told you she’d find out.” Nico scrubbed a hand over his head and scanned the surrounding trees.

  “I need to hear you say it.” She swayed as her stomach bucked in denial. “Say it, goddammit.”

  “I’m Matias Restr
epo.” The name rolled off Matias’ lips with mellifluous possession.

  Her face numbed with icy prickles. “You’re Matias Guerra.”

  Matias Guerra, the boy she’d spent her childhood with. Camila Guerra, the name she’d doodled on all of her school folders.

  Her mind swam, and her pulse spiked. Christ, she’d grown up with a Restrepo family member? And he’d inherited this estate? This business?

  “I’m Nico Bianchi.” Nico held out a hand. “Matias’ adviser, personal guard, and decoy.”

  Decoy echoed through her head. She stared at his offered hand, refusing to touch it, her muscles too stiff and heavy.

  Her chest heaved as she peered up at Matias through her lashes. “You’re the capo.”

  “Yes.” Matias’ tongue darted out, wetting his bottom lip. “This is my cartel.”

  A MASSIVE WEIGHT EVAPORATED from Matias’ shoulders, replaced by a warmth of sunlight that broke through a rip in the clouds. He licked his lips and swore he tasted joy, tasted her, the beauty of his vida.

  Camila paced in front of him, working herself into a sexy mess. Her nipples pebbled beneath her damp shirt, and denim molded deliciously to her tight ass. He wanted nothing more than to strip her bare and fuck her under the blooming branches, just like he’d been meant to do twelve years ago.

  But not with Nico here and not while her huge brown eyes were searching for answers.

  She’d turned down Nico’s offer, surrendered the easier path, and abandoned herself. For me.

  Just the thought of what that meant left him breathless.

  “All these years…” She wandered a short distance away and returned, her eyes cloudy, distant. “You were the boss since the beginning.”

  Not exactly, but close enough.