“Cartels prefer arranged marriages to strengthen family ties.”
He shook his head in amazement. “That’s so archaic.”
“Happens more often than you think.”
Somehow, the notion seemed barbaric to him, but he also understood that their cultures differed drastically. Steel’s past was very different from that of an ordinary person.
Triumph circled back to the topic of a tracker. “Would he have wanted to follow her movements?”
The man barked out a laugh. “He’d have followed her into a bathroom to make sure he knew where she was. Not only is it more than possible, but it’s almost a sure thing.”
Midas pushed. “Okay, well, when you get to Taminango tonight, you might want to ask her about those. Maybe they were a gift from Guillermo. It would be easy for him to have slipped something into the jewelry.”
Triumph offered, “I’ll see if I can trace any radio frequencies. Figure out if we’re leaving an electronic trail and backtrack it to where it’s sending information. When we get to our destination, I’ll broach the topic of the… jewelry.”
He felt his face heating. Normally, talking about nipple piercings would have next to no effect on him. After all, he worked and hung out in adult clubs, and he saw much more than that on the regular. Somehow, because they were hers, and he was talking about her—a woman he was refusing to outright admit to them he was attracted to—it was different.
“Take care, and talk to you soon,” Wes said. “We’ll be waiting for you.”
Midas cut the communication, and the drive carried on in silence.
WHAT HAPPENS WHEN FROGS PARK ILLEGALLY?
Glennon
Triumph bundledher up into his arms and carried her up a flight of stairs. Navigating them herself probably would be impossible, so she showed her appreciation by curling her arms around his neck and nuzzling into the space between it and his shoulder.
Mmm. He smelled nice, too, like coffee and rain.
Soft lips touched her hairline. Not a kiss. Just a touch. A whisper floated across her. “Almost there, little spy. Then we’ll get you some food, and you can go back to sleep.”
She fell back into a hazy state similar to the one she’d been in for most of the ride today. Not quite awake, but not quite asleep. Murmurings from the men in the truck, as well as the voices over the radio, had drifted in and out of her consciousness.
At one point, when she’d floated up to the surface, the others had accused him of jealousy, and he’d denied it. Claimed he didn’t know her well enough to be jealous. While he wasn’t wrong, it stung her ego a bit.
But then reality set in. She was a cartel jefe’s whore. No man would want that for a partner. Maybe it would be exciting initially, some sort of conquest, but not for the long term. Hadn’t he said his relationships had been short-term in recent years? Given he was into BDSM and had talked about contractual play, she had a guess how short those contracts were.
In her heart, she knew her thoughts about his feelings were unfair. It was childish and suggested avoidance. He’d been nothing but kind, helpful, and protective of her. He’d shared things with her that she doubted he’d vocalized to anyone else. If he had, he wouldn’t be in the pain that he was.
Assumptions like the ones she made said more about her wanting to avoid disappointment. It was natural to want to protect her heart. If she pushed him away, then it wouldn’t hurt when it was over. What did that say about her that she attempted to push him away before things even got started between them?
No. If she wanted a chance of anything normal with him, or with anyone, for that matter, she needed to not think the worst. She needed to not push him away.
But it was so fucking hard not to. If that didn’t reek of damaged goods, she didn’t know what did.
Unwilling to hear any more of the discussion, she allowed sleep to pull her back under.
The click of a light woke her. Groggily, she attempted to focus on her surroundings. The room was dim, save for the bedside lamp and the light from inside the bathroom. The space held a bed with a handmade blanket, clean but coarse sheets, and a thin pillow. A small kitchen-style table with two chairs sat in front of a sink and some cabinets, and a small television sat on a dresser across from the bed.
Triumph’s voice came from the direction of the bathroom. “It’s not a five-star hotel, but it suits our purposes.”
He looked freshly showered, his hair in its normal mussed state, but already drying and curling up at the ends.
Goddamn, he was so… beautiful. Not perfectly coiffed and styled like Guillermo. Not rugged like what so many women seemed to go for these days, with the long beards and endless tattoos. Not a military stud, all overly fit, clean-cut, and growly. Instead, he had elements of all those types—an admitted love for the club scene, shaggy hair, cut abs, and forearm porn—combined with the alpha leanings toward protection, the little-boy charm from simple pleasures like bad jokes, and a caged dominance that made her insides melt, twist, and clench until she didn’t know which way was which, and that she desperately wanted him to set free on her.
In other words, he was uniquely Triumph.
“Are you hungry?”
