Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Going undercover for this job meant he would have to do things that violated his moral principles. Vile things, like forcing his dick inside girls who weren’t in a position to consent.
He wasn’t here to rescue them. Not directly. His assignment was to locate Vera Gomez, glean her involvement in the human trafficking syndicate, and finish the job that his roommates, Martin and Ricky, had started during their undercover stint in Jaulaso Prison.
His friends hadn’t failed in Jaulaso. They’d just, rather unexpectedly, fallen in love with Hector La Rocha’s daughter, Tula Gomez.
Tula’s intel on the cartel was marginal at best. Hector hadn’t fully trusted her with his secrets, and rightfully so. In the end, she’d killed the cartel capo and passed along everything she’d learned about the trafficking operation in his cartel.
She wanted to find Vera, her missing half-sister. Luke wanted to take down her father’s operation and annihilate everyone involved. If the sister wasn’t as innocent as Tula adamantly claimed, he didn’t know if he could keep his promise to show mercy.
The female hands, now sliding over his groin, could very well belong to the missing sister. A sick part of him hoped for that. He’d memorized her face in the old pictures Tula had provided.
Vera’s photographic beauty attached itself to the fingers currently stroking Luke’s hardening cock. He strained against the fabric of his trousers, cursing the confinement but also grateful for it.
Hector La Rocha’s dying confession had painted Vera as the enemy. Add to that her track record with the cartel, and Luke had a good idea about what he was dealing with.
Beneath the hood, he closed his eyes and gripped the slender arms on his lap, ruthlessly squeezing the delicate bones. “I don’t fuck what I can’t see.”
“I assure you,” his cartel escort growled, “she’s every man’s fantasy.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” He shoved her away.
“Very well.”
A tense moment passed, coiling with the hum of tires on pavement. Their destination might have only been five minutes from the hangar, but he wouldn’t put it past the cartel to drive around for an hour to safeguard the compound’s location.
Without warning, a small body straddled his lap and lifted the hood to his forehead. His vision filled with a flash of Tomas’ leg beside him, the opulent interior of the limo, and the girl’s face an inch away from his own.
Not Vera. But no less gorgeous. Christ, her eyes alone made his skin heat and shiver. Huge, gray, and feathered with thick lashes, they blinked at him with gut-hardening vacancy. Innocence. She couldn’t have been older than sixteen.
A seductive, practiced smile stole across her features but didn’t touch her gaze. Not even a little. She was probably drugged. And brainwashed.
Holding the hood to his brow, she reached between them and unbuckled his belt.
Most trafficked victims came from homes with little supervision and even less love. A distinguished, wealthy stranger could saunter into an impoverished town and lure neglected teenagers with a silver tongue and mouthful of lies. Promises of a new home, money, loving attention, education, and above all, passage to the United States turned desperate kids into easy prey.
Luke would know. Eight years ago, he’d been one of them. Hard-up, naive, and broke as fuck, he’d fallen right into Van Quiso’s trap.
It had been eight years since his life irrevocably changed. Nine years for Tomas. Even longer for Ricky and Camila. In total, they were nine ex-slaves, collected one by one, sexually trained, abused, and united in misery.
Luke was damn proud of what they’d become. Vigilantes. Freedom fighters. An inseparable family. The only family he had, and he would take a bullet for every single one of them.
Beyond the tinted windows, luxurious estates dominated the Orange County landscape. The limo headed east, away from the coastline and commercial clusters.
Canting his head, he locked onto the man sitting across from him.
“Is she too cooperative for you?” Dark aura and oily eyes—the desperado scowled at Luke’s grip on the girl’s arms. “You like them to fight? Is that it?”
“I forwarded my specifications.” Luke pushed her away. “You know what I want.”
She returned to her seat without argument, and the hood fell back in place, blinding him. On instinct, he reached up to lift it.
“Leave it.” The man clucked his tongue. “When we arrive, you’ll be pleased with the selection. We have exactly what you requested.”
Early twenties, brown eyes, black hair, slender build, golden complexion. Luke didn’t have a type, but those were the attributes that had been sent to the cartel because they matched Vera Gomez.
Best case, she was enslaved at the compound and available for purchase. He would buy her and get her the hell out of there.
But he was prepared for the worst.
Unbeknown to the cartel, Van Quiso had made this meeting possible. Van, the notorious slave trader from Texas. Van, the dead man who had been shot by his partner, Liv Reed, six years ago.