Page 47 of Ravaged Hearts
“Not so fast.” He clamped his hands around my shoulders and tilted his head in that predatorial way of his. “What have you been doing for three years, Elena?” He said it slowly. Calmly. As though an incorrect answer wouldn’t come with terrible consequences.
I rolled my eyes and sighed, still playing the part of a petulant cartel princess. “Living. Doing all the things you and Papá would never let me do.”
His fingertips dug into my flesh as his stare turned menacing. “You better not have fucked anyone, because if I find out you’re not a virgin, I’ll?—”
“What?” Something within me snapped, and I raised my chin to glare at him. “What are you going to do about it? Find the men I’ve slept with, then torture and murder them? Throw their mutilated bodies in some filthy river like you did to Simon?”
“Yes,” he said all too coolly. “Maybe it’s what I should do to you, too.”
The red dot reappeared, and it was oddly reassuring. But I doubted Jorge would go so far as to murder me while I was still useful to him. Then again, his unpredictability was infamous.
Jorge’s eyes narrowed. “Why come home now, mi princesa? Sick of freedom?”
“I ran out of money.” I swallowed hard against my dry throat. “Being poor grew tiresome.”
“Yes.” His oily gaze dropped to the simple black cami and denim skirt I wore. “Poverty doesn’t suit you.”
Clothes, shoes, hair, nails. None of those things had ever been important to me. It was Carlos who’d masterminded thecover story that I was a billionaire’s daughter living in Jersey while getting my education. Presenting myself as a wealthy heiress had raised fewer questions about why I had a driver with a bulletproof town car, two bodyguards with me at all times, and a penthouse apartment locked down like Fort Knox.
“So, you’ve come running home with your tail between your legs, seeking the comfort of Papi’s bank account, is that it?” He clicked his tongue. “I think we’re past giving you handouts, mi princesa. It’s time you earned your keep. And if you think you can beg your father not to make you marry me”—he laughed with contempt—“you can forget it. A deal is a deal, and Carlos never goes back on his word.” Jorge leaned in close until his hot breath ghosted across the shell of my ear. “You bring shame to your family by being a little slut for three years. But as long as that used-up cunt of yours can give me heirs, the wedding is back on. You’re breeding stock, Elena. That’s all you are to me. So as soon as there’s a ring on your finger, I’m getting you pregnant.” He turned and headed for the door, leaving me stunned and more than a little panicked.
20
VAUGHN
“Would you calm down?” Brandon said from the passenger seat of the van as I peeled away to follow Ortega’s SUV. “Everything is going according to plan.”
What had gone down inside the church had made my blood boil. It’d taken all my willpower not to charge in there, send bullets straight into the skulls of Ortega and his men, then haul Hope out of the building, out of Mexico, and back to Montana where I could keep her safe. This op was killing me.
My jaw ached from how hard I clenched my molars. “No, I will not calm down, and you know exactly why. Two words. Jorge fucking Ortega.”
Brandon adjusted his black-framed glasses. “That’s three.”
I aimed a seething look at my teammate, then returned my eyes to the dark street. “I swear to God, I’ve murdered men for being less annoying than you.”
“You sound like my wife.”
The black SUV turned left a block ahead, so I positioned our van to do the same.
“Were you even listening to their conversation?” I strangled the steering wheel in a death grip. “That shit stain still thinkshe can marry Hope. Jesus Christ, he wants to breed her.” The fierce growl that erupted from me didn’t sound remotely human.
“Then take satisfaction in knowing that Ortega will be dead long before either of those things can happen.” Brandon tapped keys on the laptop resting on his thighs. “Why don’t you channel that lethal energy toward our enemy? You’ll get your chance at Ortega. Just be patient.”
Be patient? After the way that asshole had treated Hope, I was ready to dismember him and any motherfucker we came across in Espinoza’s compound. Those oxygen thieves at the church door hadn’t even looked in Hope’s direction when she’d cried out in pain. I’d wanted to yell at them to do something, to make him fucking stop hurting her. Anyone okay with working for a piece of shit who got off on making women suffer was fair game for my wrath. Period.
A short while later, Ortega’s SUV arrived at the Acapulco airport, where he bundled Hope onto a Gulfstream private jet. This came as no surprise. We’d monitored all aircraft leaving Manzanillo, expecting Espinoza might dispatch one of his senior colleagues to pick up his daughter, and had tracked this one since its departure. We’d never imagined the future leader of the Pacific Coast Cartel would be on board until Sage had relayed the intel from her position at the Manzanillo airport. So while I’d been helpless watching Hope wait to be picked up, I’d known who she’d have to face long before she had. I’d been going out of my mind ever since.
On the other side of the airport terminal, we made our way to the C-130. We had another pilot at the controls to free me up for the op, which was lucky because I wasn’t in the right headspace to fly a dozen people and seventy-five thousand pounds of aircraft. We had wheels up less than fifteen minutes after the Gulfstream’s takeoff.
Brandon was right about one thing. Comms from Ortega’sjet indicated it was indeed returning to Manzanillo, which meant so far, the op was going according to plan. Still, I hated the idea that I was farther from Hope than I’d been since the day we met, and her being trapped with the psycho she was once engaged to was eating me alive.
The sun rosewhile we were still in the air. Sage, Owen, Shep, and a half dozen others waited in cars at the Manzanillo airport for the imminent arrival of Ortega’s jet. Sage already had a drone up and waiting just outside the airport’s restricted zone. Hope’s trackers were functioning perfectly, sending out a ping every minute as Ortega’s jet cruised toward its destination.
Manzanillo had a small airport with only a handful of large aircraft arriving each day. If we were to follow Ortega’s Gulfstream and touch down immediately after it, we could raise suspicion. So our C-130 would land in the city of Colima, roughly a hundred klicks northeast of Manzanillo, and we’d make the remainder of the journey by road.
I sat beside Brandon on the row of red-netting jump seats that ran the length of the cargo bay. Across from us, Kane had his eyes closed and legs outstretched, one ankle crossed over the other. A few of the other guys in the team either read or spoke among themselves while a couple of the logistics crew members checked over the equipment we’d need as soon as we arrived.
“Do you think he’ll try anything?” I asked.