Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 88918 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88918 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
The kitchen window felt like a spotlight on his back. Was Matias watching from the street? Were there cameras in the house? During the meeting at the bar, the cartel boss had described—in vivid, gory detail—all the ways he would remove limbs and organs if Tate touched Camila in a sexual way.
Tate didn’t scare easily, but a man in love wasn’t a force to be taken lightly. Especially when that man was the king of a cartel.
“Why don’t you call it a night?” He released her and stepped back.
“I will…soon.” She stared longingly at the scatter of papers on the table.
With an aching hunger, he left her with her outlined maps of revenge and climbed the stairs to his room.
He hadn’t agreed to help Matias with his insane plan to win Camila, but they’d exchanged phone numbers before parting ways.
A month later, curiosity led him to Colombia at Matias’ request. He wanted to learn more about the dangerous capo and the anti-slavery raids he supposedly operated. It was on one of these raids, in a dilapidated barn, where Tate saw the horrifying goodness in Matias Restrepo.
He watched from the safety of a barn window as children—naked, beaten, and bloody—were auctioned off, one by one, for the wretched pleasures of men. Then he watched Matias save them all, leaving a bloodbath of wrath in his wake.
It was on that night that he knew he would do anything for the man who held Camila’s heart.
After spending weeks with Matias in the slums of South America raiding slave operations, he gained a friend and lost all hope of requited love from Camila.
He might’ve been her closest friend, but Matias… He was the counterpart to her passion, the mate to her vengeful soul. They shared a spirit Tate couldn’t begin to understand.
So he consented to Matias’ plan. He would watch over her, protect her, and call Matias every day with every detail of her life.
But he wouldn’t, couldn’t stop loving her.
“You need to return to her.” Matias eyed him from across the table at his Colombian estate. “Her safety is my number one priority.”
“I’ll head home tomorrow,” Tate said, distracted.
He scanned the floor of Matias’ veranda, every inch of it covered with piles of papers, maps, and photos of warehouses and slave traders.
When he left Camila in Texas three weeks ago, he told her he was going on a soul-searching journey across the States. Now he found himself in the luxury of Matias’ home, poring over an unsolved mystery.
“There’s nothing there.” Matias rose from the table and stepped toward the interior door. “I searched for Camila’s sister for two years. She’s dead, Tate.”
“She’s missing.”
“For six years.”
“You don’t know she’s dead.” Tate stared at a photo of Lucia Dias, hypnotized by the huge brown eyes of a girl who looked so much like her sister.
“I know she was inside a transport of trafficked slaves that crashed in Peru. No one survived. That’s where the investigation ends.”
“You gave up.”
“I prioritized.” Matias gripped the door jamb and straightened his spine. “My priority is—”
“Camila.” Tate swiped a hand down his face. “Mine, too. But there’s no harm in digging further, to see if there’s something you missed.”
“Camila can’t know. If you get her hopes up, I’ll cut your—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. I won’t tell her.” Tate lifted a photo of Lucia and Camila embracing each other in an orange grove.
In their teens, their likeness was uncanny—long black hair, delicate bones, stubborn chins. Yet there were notable differences. Lucia was two years older, her features sharper with maturity, her smile more relaxed, carefree. She was even more beautiful than her sister, if that were possible.
“I’ll make copies of the documents.” Matias blew out a breath. “I can digitalize everything and send it to you.”
Tate nodded, his gaze glued to the image of the lost girl.
He might not hold Camila’s heart, but could find her sister—dead or alive. He could bring her closure. It would give him purpose, a distraction from the persistent ache inside him. He desperately wanted to do this for her.
Because he loved her.
CHAPTER 1
Present day…
The electronic beats of Ke$ha’s “Take It Off” followed Tate through the dimly lit halls of The Velvet Den. The worn wallpaper, creaking wood floors, and faint scent of perfume evoked a tantalizing nostalgia for his old stomping grounds. But beneath the swell of sentimentality lay a prickle of unease. Not all his memories of this place were pleasurable.
Stepping out of the final corridor, he lingered at the entrance of the main room. Settees and lounge chairs surrounded an empty stage. The rich textures and dark decor was designed to make club members feel relaxed and safe, and the exceptional service catered to their upscale tastes. Then, of course, there were the girls. Scantily dressed and easy on the eyes, they served drinks and sex with alluring smiles.