Winters Heat (Titan) (28 page)

“Brock, you’ll go in with me. Rocco, you follow behind.”

“What about me?” She hated interrupting him, but he edged her out of their discussion.

Jared didn’t skip a beat. “What about you?”

“What will I do?”

“You’ll sit your behind on this chair.” He tapped the back of a ratty chair. “And wait for us to come back with your boy.”

“I don’t think so.” She puffed out her chest and straightened her shoulders. Anything to make Jared change his mind.

He coughed a sarcastic laugh. “I’m not giving you an option here, Mia. This isn’t a game, and you’ll do as you’re told.”

“I didn’t say it was a game.” She took a step forward. “I’m just supposed to sit here and wait?”

“No two ways about it. You’ll stay put. The rest of you, let’s go.” He motioned toward the door.

“I could—”

“You can’t.”

Mia slapped her hands onto her hips. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“Honestly, I don’t care. We don’t have time to debate this.”

“Prick.”

He cracked the tiniest smile. She saw it, but it faded faster than his shutdowns. “Call me all the names you want. But if you went back out there and got hurt, Winters would have my ass.”

“Yeah, you’re so scared of him. I see that.”

“You don’t get it, honey. He’s not here, and it’s our job to make sure you’re safe. We watch out for our own, and that means you don’t move. He’d have every right to take a cheap shot at me if one good-looking hair on your head gets hurt under my watch.”

“You’re still a prick.”

“And you’re a subordinate. Sit your cute ass down.”

Cute?
Jared speaking in anything other than black and white seemed a deviation. Mia rolled her eyes but didn’t respond. Cash ambled by her and winked. At least she had a friend in him. Jared was a jerk. And who knew about the others.

They filed out the shack door. Jared turned to her before leaving. “Sit down. Don’t move. Don’t leave. You may hydrate. That’s all.”

She hated him. Frustrated tears burned her raw eyes, but she wouldn’t let them fall. She hated losing control. Hated her emotions when they ran rampant. But none of that mattered as she sat alone.

Insects buzzed throughout the shack. Mia ignored the rickety chairs and packed dirt floor. In the corner of the room was a makeshift bed. Really, just a thatched mat.

Exhaustion clawed in the silence. It overpowered the nerves that tormented her stomach. The bed called to her with burden-easing promises.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Winters blinked against the reverberations. Bursts and pops sounded dull in his cinder block cage, yet not too distant. He blinked again, registering blistering pain and chorusing excitement. Titan has arrived. Thank the Lord.

And if Titan was close, Mia was safe. Somewhere, somehow, they had secured her. They wouldn’t stage an assault if she weren’t.

Sweet, sweet, Mia.

Or instead, poor, sweet, Mia.

He blew a hard sigh, strong enough to empty his desperate lungs. What the hell had he brought into her life? Nothing but danger, trauma, and brutality. He was to blame for every perilous misstep she’d had since the kidnapping at the airport.

He should have left her alone on day one. Smoky-eyed and tear-gassed. She was a smart girl. She could have talked her way out of that motel room when Louisville’s finest arrived, lights gyrating.

Shit, any five-oh, assuming they were red-blooded and male, would have tripped over themselves to take her statement and offer her comfort. And all he did was toss her in the backseat of his truck.

What kind of dickhead was he? The kind who selfishly exposed her to hell.

His life was too dangerous. His judgment was inherently disjointed when it came to her. Clara, he could protect, but Mia… She was different. She had a life, a job. Maybe even a mortgage. Everything was fine before he came along. And now? Very much not fine.

She was rat-holed in a jungle safe house. A deep ache, worse than the field mended gunshot holes, festered in his stomach.

Dread. Terrible, gut-wrenching dread. He squeezed his eyes shut. The realization was a knockout punch to the temple. He needed to protect her from evil and violence. And from him.

He’d have to walk away.

His mind double-timed. A shrapnel-snarled explosion ripped his heart to pieces. He didn’t deserve a woman who sacrificed herself for his daughter. He sure as shit couldn’t handle the responsibility of chancing her life again.

Losing her would be the hardest battle he’d fight. Ever.

Nothing good ever came easy. Or some shit like that. He’d be miserable, but that wasn’t the point. She’d be safe. That was the damn point.

Winters pushed onto his elbows, cursing his fatigued muscles. His head spun. The blasts were closer. He needed to put on his cartel-surviving game face, if he was going to hobble out of this prison.

He rubbed his eyes and ran his bloodied hands through his gritty hair. He needed a few vacation days after this clusterfuck subsided.

A booming shout bled through the solid door. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty, back the fuck up.”

Had he ever been so happy to hear angry Jared? The deadbolt exploded. A thump of a boot later, and the door flung open.

“About time you showed up. Lazy asses.”

Jared huffed. “You’re more trouble than you’re worth. I swear.”

“Mia’s safe?”

“Safe and sound, and a pain in my ass.”

He smiled. Mia’d busted Jared’s balls. He’d pay to see that entertainment.

“Ready to get your pansy ass back to your girl?”

His girl
. Not anymore. He couldn’t let this happen again. “I’m ready to bug out of here. That’s for damn sure.”

Boss man eyed his injuries. “Can you move?”

“Enough with the Mother Teresa act. I can move fine.”
Maybe.

“Right.” Jared pulled a subcompact weapon from his ankle holster and handed it to him. With a smooth inspection of the magazine clip, Winters reinserted it, then nodded. Jared clasped his bicep, gave him an arm up, then they exited out the door. Each step behind Jared torpedoed pain. Winters’s arm burned, leg throbbed, and everything in between ached. He gritted his teeth and kept pace. They stepped over downed bodies and blew past the front door.

“We’re coming out. Ready for cover,” Jared said into his mic, then turned to him. “We got most of ‘em. New Jefe weaseled out. The money, the guns, all gone. The safe room is empty.”

Jared pressed his earpiece, listened, and nodded for Winters to follow. They made their way into the darkening night. Fresh air and open heavens gave him the push he needed to keep stride with his debilitating limp.

They reached the gate, rounded the corner, and moved fast to an idling Range Rover. Brock popped up behind them, running backwards and firing cover. Ahead, Rocco ascended from a defensive position, weapon pointed forward until he slid over the front hood, then he jumped in the driver’s seat.

With everyone piled in, Rocco sent dirt flying when he slapped the shifter into drive, jumbling hard down a makeshift road.

Winters was breathing way too fast. Pain was a nasty mistress, screwing him in ways he couldn’t have imagined. He tried to compartmentalize it and block it out.

Then his stomach bottomed out. “Where’s Cash?”

If Cash got hurt hauling his ass out, he’d be pissed. Pissed at Cash for doing something stupid. Pissed at himself for a million different reasons he didn’t have time to list. Pissed at everyone.

“Relax, lover boy. Sniper’s out doing his sniper thing. We didn’t have eyes on any cartel leadership, so he’s doing some recon to confirm.”

“Stop it with the lover boy.” Winters cleared his throat. “Got any water in this rig?”

“Touchy. Touchy.” Rocco laughed from the driver’s seat, not necessarily looking out the windshield.

“I was wrong to pull her into this shit. The last thing that lady needs is me in her life.”

Jared turned from the front passenger seat. “That lady? Dude, you realize we just traveled halfway around the globe for
that lady
. Your lady.”

Brock reached behind them and grabbed Winters a bottle of water and the first aid kit. He took a big swig of the water. “I need some penicillin. I pulled a damn bullet out with a bed frame.”

Jared rolled his eyes. “Cry me a Colombian river.”

“Christ, man.” Brock pulled the vial and a syringe from the kit. “What do you want for pain?”

“I don’t care. Something over-the-counter. Nothing narcotic. I need to be clear-headed.”

“Coming right up. Tylenol for the tough guy. Or is it Motrin for the moron?” Brock dug through the kit, laughing at his joke. “The warrior games are over. Feel free to stone it up.”

“Nah. I need to think,” Winters mumbled to himself but realized everyone heard him. Silence hung thick and heavy as Rocco bounced them through the rainforest. Bushes slapped, underbrush dragged. The Range Rover revved, piercing the white noise.

So this was self-doubt. Or was it self-pity? Either way, perfect timing.

Jared turned again and trained his eyes on Winters.

“I’ll say this once, so it’d be in your best interest to smarten up and listen. That’s your girl. Not some lady. No one you need to be clear-headed around. I don’t particularly like telling pretty girls to shut up and sit down, but I had to ‘cause she wanted in on this little rescue op. I don’t know the first thing about love or any mushy shit like that. But I know Mia’s your girl. So man up, and handle your shit. Handle her.” He glared at Winters. “Christ, I feel like fucking Oprah. And oh yeah, asshole, you’re welcome.”

The muscles in Winters’s face contracted against his will. He flexed his fists in his lap, trying to control gurgles of sanity-busting rage and emotion.

That lady
. He called Mia
that lady
. What the fuck was wrong with him? It didn’t matter. She was just too precious for a man like him.

***

Tight pain seized Mia’s wrist. Her eyes shot open, terrified. The scratchy mat, the rickety shack. Everything came into focus, including Alejandro’s twisted smile and the trails of sweat pouring down his temples. It was a sick vision.

She bicycled her legs, trying like hell to scamper away. Escape was futile.

“You are awake.” His breath stank of rancid milk and rotted flesh.

“Help!” She pulled and kicked. “Help me!”

“They left you. All alone without so much as a weapon to guard yourself with. Tsk, tsk. Not smart on their part.”

She didn’t even know he could speak English. Now, he taunted her. Breathing her in. Licking his teeth.

“Please don’t—”

He yanked hard enough her arm to make her shoulder joint pop in and out of place. Tears of pain, desperation, and exhaustion rolled free.

Alejandro shook her again. “Wretched slut. Shut up.”

“Help—”

“You were promised to me.”

Mia’s lips trembled. Her heart screamed into her throat. Bile surfaced on the back of her tongue.

“I am in command. I am in control. And I will take my reward,” Alejandro shouted, almost releasing her to beat his chest.

Thick fingers toyed with her sundress strap and snapped it, forcing it loose. His gnarly tongue licked his chewed lips, and he pulled her close to his face. She shut her eyes tight, pushing hard away from him.

“No. Don’t do this.” He was going to rape her in a jungle shack. Her life was over. She didn’t even wipe the cascading tears. The fear, the terror boiling in her mind and gut overpowered planning an escape. Her fate was sealed.

Alejandro cackled. “My favorite part. Every time. Every girl. I get to see how much you fight. I watch your will to live drain like a gutted pig.”

She whimpered. The tears obscured her vision. She wasn’t sure if her pleas were verbal or frozen in her petrified brain.

Alejandro released her wrist. She dropped on the scratchy bed mat, then rolled away, slamming into wall. The shack swayed, as if breathing in and out, trying to decide if it should remain upright. His gaze raked over her, sending ice-cold shivers in the humid heat down her spine. He scraped the wooden chair on the dirt floor, leaving a trail in the dust. The devil flashed across his face.

“Sit here. Now.”

She shook her head. Tears flew off her cheeks, landing on her shoulders and collarbone. Her fists clawed into the mat, bracing for his wrath. Blood thumped in her ears, drowning out his grotesque breaths. Her pulse pounded faster and faster, swimming her head dizzy.

A howl rumbled from Alejandro. He balled his brawl-scarred fists until his cracked knuckles changed color, off-white and fleshy-red. He wore a tight black shirt and black cargo pants with loops and pockets. A knife was strapped to his thigh, and a gun was holstered on his hip. He looked like an immoral, repulsive adaptation of Colby.