“Keep walking,” Nomar growled in her ear.
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Jemma said, voice shaking, focused on the menacing man pressed against her. Everything else—dancers, music, and lights—faded into a blurry periphery. Her pulse raced. Every nerve screamed at her to run. But that could be a bigger mistake. Any sudden movement might provoke him to do something dangerous.
Nomar leaned closer, pressing his face against her neck. His breath was hot against her ear. “You will unless you want to be responsible for a blood bath in this club. It would be such a pity for these people to die because you won’t take a walk with me.”
Jemma tensed as he revealed the gun with a silencer hidden within his sports coat.
She had no doubt Nomar would turn his wrath on innocent and unsuspecting clubgoers. His reputation as the Ortiz enforcer was built on his willingness to kill at will with no remorse or regrets.He’d done it numerous times in the past. She knew he could easily do it again.
How had he snuck up on her? She was a trained fucking agent. Yet she was stupid enough to let her guard down. Think she could have one night out to erase the memories of …
Rocco.
She scanned the club again, hoping to see him, but he was gone.
Her plan to ditch him had worked.
Fuck.
“I see you’re following family traditions of not caring about destroying innocent lives.” Anger simmered within her, but she needed to stay calm. Think through her options.
“Their fate is in your hands.”
“Fine.” Jemma acquiesced, realizing she had no choice.
“Good choice, Preciosa.” Nomar’s hand tightened around her waist, pulling her close to his hard body. His other hand gripped her arm. His fingers, cold and unyielding, dug into the soft flesh, and she winced.
He navigated them with precision through the maze of dancing bodies, no one suspecting that they were anything more than two people who’d snuck off to be alone. Beyond the dance floor and the bar, the crowds thinned, and the area was bathed in darkness. He led her to a metal door, which he kicked open with his boot and pushed her inside.
She was thrust into a dim, secluded corridor. Stumbling in her stilettos, Jemma regained her footing and looked around. A narrow brick passageway led to an open space where empty boxes, trash, and discarded supplies were piled in tall heaps. The area was dimly lit and stank of stale booze, vomit, and rancid garbage.
The door closed with a loud bang behind Nomar, and Jemma jumped. Silence enveloped her like a shroud. The room wassoundproofed. No one would be able to hear if she screamed. Not that anyone out there could help her.
Nomar’s gaze bore into her, dark eyes full of rage. “You’re a hard woman to catch, Preciosa. But I knew if I was patient, I’d be reunited with you.”
Jemma folded her arms over her chest and stared back at him. She couldn’t afford to underestimate him. It had been fifteen years, but he was as lethal now as he had been as a young man, leading the enforcement division of his father’s cartel.
Nomar was larger than she remembered, muscles straining against his clothes. Size could be a strength or a weakness. She’d taken down men twice her size before. Trained countless others on how to do the same. But she’d never been faced with a man with as much incentive to destroy her as Nomar Ortiz.
“The minute the DEA raided our compound, killing too many members of my family and shackling my father like a rabid dog, I knew we’d eliminated the wrong threat. Aurelia’s only mistake was trusting you. Her death is on your hands, Preciosa.”
The truth of his sharp rebuke stung. Jemma blinked, willing the tears not to come. Crying wouldn’t bring Aurelia back. Taking down more drug cartels was the only way to ensure her death wasn’t in vain. Nothing Nomar could say was worse than the guilt she carried every day. But she couldn’t let Nomar use Aurelia to distract her from the threat she was facing now—him.
“So, what do you plan to do about it? Get revenge against me?” Jemma raised her arms and twirled around. As she spun, her gaze registered two brooms with thick wooden handles, a plastic jug with a bleach label, and a retractable box cutter resting on the edge of a stack of boxes. Facing him, she took a small step backward and then another. “I don’t have any weapons. I have no way of defending myself. Stop talking and fucking do it.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Nomar said, voice dripping with malice.
“You were always slow to act, weren’t you?” Jemma taunted, a plan formulating in her mind. “How long had you suspected me? Days? Months? Years? But you had to be one hundred percent sure. Couldn’t make the wrong move because you had other plans for me. Didn’t you?”
“You bitch.” His words were a tortured whisper.
“Your hesitation gave me all the time I needed to gather evidence against your father. I’d say you were the best partner I could’ve had to destroy the Ortiz Cartel.”
Nomar lunged forward, shoving Jemma with the full force of his brute strength. She crashed onto the concrete floor, pain exploding in her hip, arm, and shoulder. Scrambling, she rolled to her left, arm extending toward the broom. Her fingers brushed against the bristles, close enough to send it toppling toward her. Grabbing the bottom of the handle, she swung toward Nomar.
“Fucking bitch!” Nomar howled as the handle connected with the side of his head with a loud crack.
Steadying herself, Jemma jerked the handle and plunged it toward his face, hoping to gouge his eye, but he was too quick. Deftly avoiding another blow, his meaty hand gripped the handle and wrestled it from her grasp. Panting, heart banging against her chest, she scrambled backward across the grimy concrete.
