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“Go. Then we’ll head inside and get some supplies,” he instructs. I climb out, but he stops me with his words. “And, Izzy?” I turn, holding the door in my hand. “If you’re thinking about running, don’t.”
I sigh and slam the door.
While I’m peeing, it does occur to me I need to decide right now if I genuinely believe he is who he says he is. I could run or cry for help. Except I’m in a strange country with no passport, money, phone, or anything. So far, Decker has done what he promised; he’s gotten me out of the hands of the cartel.
Although has he done that to save me or to sell me for himself?
Or is he an honorable U.S. Marine undercover in a foreign country working for Connor Barrett, a respected and influential billionaire?
I’m not sure.
I have little time, so I decide to simply take my chances with Decker. I want to believe it’s not because I’m attracted to him, but if I’m honest with myself, it’s part of the reason why.
I step outside and find Decker leaning against the brick wall, his foot lifted against it, looking utterly badass in his long black shorts and T-shirt stretched across his broad frame.
Ugh, stupid, sexy gangster.
He drops his foot as I pass and we walk into the gas station together. We grab piles of supplies for our journey ahead: potato chips, soda, candy, bottles of water, and a map.
“Grab some music.” He tells me when we stop by a rack of CDs.
I frown. “This isn’t a road trip.”
“Fine, but don’t complain when I repeatedly play Led Zep.”
No thanks. I glance quickly at the options, feeling Decker tower over me as I grab both Taylor Swift and Rhiannon's albums. I glance up. “What?”
“That’s your choice?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say firmly.
Judgy much?
“Christ,” he says, reaching past me to grab one of his own. He adds the Linkin Park CD to the pile in my hands, and we stare at each other, knowing we have some serious music negotiations in our future.
It’s almost amusing, given we’re on the run from the Mexican Cartel.
“Come on,” he says, and that hand of his returns to the small of my back as he guides me up to the checkout.
It’s still dark outside and the bright lights inside the PEMEX gas station make it difficult to see what’s happening out in the front.
I feel safe, but I’m not sure I am.
When we place all our items on the counter, Decker’s handsome and brooding face glowers down at me. He hands me a handful of Mexican currency.
“Stay in here. I need to use the restroom. Do not leave until I return,” Decker says, glancing around and then back at me.
“I won’t move,” I assure him. “But if Iwasgoing to run, I want to reassure you I’d leave the Linkin Park CD here for your listening pleasure.”
I smile innocently at him.
His lip quirks, even as I watch him fight it and lift his brow instead. “Very thoughtful. However if youareconsidering it, know this, Isabelle. I will enjoy chasing you, and your ass will be bright red from my hand once I catch you.”
My mouth falls open.
Jesus, he can’t say those sorts of things to me.
Decker leans closer. “As red as the aroused flush on your cheeks.”
