The Vargas Cartel Trilogy (Vargas Cartel #1-3)(15)
He said it to bait me. I wasn’t dumb. I realized that, but for some reason my mind wasn’t 100 percent sure he had lied. I knew Evan cheated. I saw it. He admitted to it and more, but maybe Evan held something back. Something darker. Something unforgivable.
A tear rolled down my face, but not because I still loved Evan. I didn’t. I wasn’t sure I ever did, but Ryker had kicked me in the gut while I was down. “Given that we broke up weeks ago, what Evan likes is no longer relevant,” I said, my voice choked and shaky, instead of unconcerned and confident as I intended. I cleared my throat. “I will never get back together with him. Never.”
“Really? Are you sure about that?” He raised one eyebrow, his jaw clenched and his lips pressed into a tight line.
I hit him hard in the middle of his chest with my palm, shoving him backward and out of my space. I searched his intense face, and then it hit me. He didn’t know I broke up with Evan. He wanted Evan to care, to be franticly searching for his lost love. Unbidden, a bitter laugh spilled from my mouth as tears rained down my face. One point for me. “You couldn’t have been watching me very closely if you missed that fact. Everyone knows I caught him cheating on me. I guess you don’t know as much as you think you do.”
He stood up. “Hopefully he still cares enough to help you. Senator Deveron would be a useful ally. If not, you’ll only have one person to dissect the months of red tape to pardon my brother and secure your release. You might not make it that long.” He stalked toward the door.
“Maybe your brother won’t either.”
“I’m not worried. The U.S. government doesn’t torture its prisoners, especially a high profile one with useful connections and information.” He shrugged and glanced over his shoulder, his silver eyes glowing with a sinister light. “I can’t say the same about the Vargas Cartel.”
My mind swirled as he slammed the door and locked it, cutting me off from the world. Not that there was much to see and explore outside my white prison cell, but I hated being alone. I hated silence more, and it appeared I’d have a heavy dose of both in the foreseeable future. The soft hum of silence reminded me of a lifetime of disapproval when I didn’t wear the right outfit, say the right thing, or eat the right food. From an early age, those all too frequent occasions always ended the same way…with me alone in my room contemplating how I would do better next time.
As I opened the closet, I found a small stack of clothing. Dropping my robe on the floor, I pulled a dress over my head. I didn’t know much about the Vargas Cartel, just a few tidbits of information from my Latin American politics class.
From what I recalled, they controlled the vast stretch of land from Nuevo Leon, which bordered Texas, all the way south to the Yucatan—which included my vacation destination. From all accounts, the Vargas Cartel had a distinguished record as drug traffickers, human traffickers, arms traffickers, highly efficient executors…and those were just the offenses I remembered off the top of my head. They were equal opportunity players, ruthlessly diving into anything that made money. According to some experts, their range of influence extended to the U.S.
I sank down onto the floor next to the bed, dropping my head into my shaky hands. I was f*cked. Of all the places in the world where Vera could have convinced me to go for Spring Break, she’d picked an area associated with the Vargas Cartel. Instead of taking a vacation to escape my nagging parents and Evan’s pathetic apologies, I had taken a vacation to the center of hell with little hope of escape.
How would my dad get me out of this mess? Miles of red tape stood in the way of my release. Securing Rever Vargas’s release wouldn’t be easy either. My dad would have to call in every political favor in his arsenal and then some. The U.S. government rarely negotiated with criminal organizations and terrorists, which sounded like a good policy until it directly impacted me.
Even if my dad succeeded, I still might not make it out of this mess alive. Every day I spent as a prisoner of the Vargas Cartel increased the chances that I’d learn too much and inadvertently sign my death warrant.
Chapter Nine
When I crawled into the small bed, I knew I’d never be able to fall asleep. Every inch of my body vibrated with anger. I wanted to tear apart the room and turn it upside down. My wrists, ankles, and head throbbed in unison. I should have begged for food when I had the chance. My stomach felt sunken and nauseous—a combination of too little food, too much alcohol, and the lingering effects of whatever Ryker injected into my neck.
I heard a click at my door, and I shot up in bed. A man I didn’t recognize walked through the door carrying a tray of food. Without a word, he sat it on the edge of the bed. Unlike Ryker, he wasn’t tall. In fact, he was probably a good three inches shorter than me. He wore a white collared shirt and tan pants. He had dark hair and wide-set eyes, and black tattoos covering both of his arms.
“I’m not hungry,” I shouted at him, despite the relentless growling and churning of my stomach.
He cocked his head to the side but didn’t say anything.
“How long do I have to stay in this room?”
Again, he didn’t answer.
Frustration boiled under my skin. I picked up the bottle of water on the tray and tossed at the wall, grazing the side of the man’s head. “Can’t you talk or is your silence part of the plan to torture me?”