The Vargas Cartel Trilogy (Vargas Cartel #1-3)(38)
My tongue knotted, and I couldn’t form a response. The green walls of the jungle closed in on me, suffocating me inch by green inch, unraveling my sanity. My body swayed, and for a second I thought I’d collapse under the weight of my reality, but Ryker wrapped one arm around my shoulders and the other under my knees. Part of me wished he had let me fall, and god-willing, unconsciousness would have followed.
“Let me carry you for a little while. Your feet are sore, and you look exhausted,” he said.
Both were true, but most of all, my mind reeled with the implications of what he said. “Why me? There are plenty of daughters and sons of high profile politicians. A lot of them are more powerful than my dad or Senator Deveron.”
“You’re who they wanted. Who they needed.”
“Who are they? The Cartel?”
He kissed the top of my head. “They’re everyone with something to lose if this doesn’t succeed. Politicians. Cartels. Businessmen. You fit all their requirements. End of story.”
I sucked in a deep breath and nodded, my heart shattering with doubts. I held my body rigid for a few seconds, but in the end I melted into his embrace, wrapping my arms around his neck. What more could I say? Why they picked me wasn’t important. I was here, and hopefully I’d find my way home in the not too distant future.
Ryker’s heart pounded sure and even next to my body, and I inhaled his scent, drawing his essence inside my lungs. For the first time in weeks, I felt like I had somebody on my side, looking out for my best interests, and protecting me…which was a dangerously delusional sentiment. He shoved a needle into my neck and abducted me. He told me I was just a job. He told me not to believe anything. But I didn’t care about any of that. I didn’t want to analyze the madness of my life any longer. I closed my eyes again, trusting Ryker to take care of me and grant me a few moments of comfort.
Chapter Eighteen
The horizon had swallowed the sun about ten minutes ago, and humidity coated my clothing. With each step, my feet pulsed with a bone-deep pain that vibrated up my legs. I missed the spongy comfort of my running shoes. I missed the air conditioning. I missed the comfort of my bed. I wanted a shower, but my desires or needs weren’t important. I kept putting one foot in front of the other, marching into oblivion, following Ryker through the heavily shadowed jungle. My head bowed; I studied the faintly visible contours of the path beneath my sandaled feet, trying to avoid the stones and twisted tree roots.
Just when I accepted that Ryker planned to walk until the night had faded into the haze of the orange sunrise, he halted, and I slammed into his back.
“Shh,” he whispered, glancing over his shoulder.
Somewhere in the distance, I heard the faint hum of people talking and a baby crying. A flicker of fear raced down my rigid spine. I threaded my fingers through the belt loops on the back of his pants. “What is it?” I whispered next to his ear.
“It’s the village.”
“Is that a good thing?” My mind swirled with possibilities…both good and bad. I envisioned a cozy bed and a hot shower even though I realized both were implausible. On the flip side, I knew there was a real chance we could walk into a hostile village with more men like those we encountered earlier.
“It could be,” Ryker answered. “Historically, the Vargas Cartel controlled this region, but I don’t know how far Dario’s influence extended.”
“Dario’s influence?” I echoed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I think Dario planned to launch an offensive against the Vargas Cartel, which means he had more than four supporters, especially since he was a plaza boss.”
“What’s a plaza boss?” It sounded like an important position, but I didn’t know much about the hierarchy of a cartel.
“A plaza boss is the lead representative for the cartel in a particular region or town. He ensures the safe passage of a cartel’s narcotics through the region, which includes making recurring bribe payments to Mexican law enforcement and local officials, and recruiting new members.”
“So Dario would’ve had a lot of connections both in and outside of the Vargas Cartel.”
“Exactly. Hopefully, he hadn’t allied himself with one of the other regional cartels.”
“Why?”
“Because then we’d be sitting in the middle of a turf war, which means there could be plenty of cartel hired executioners, or sicarios, lurking around the area.”
“Fuck,” I mumbled under my breath.
“Those aren’t the only potential players either. Hold this.” Ryker handed me a gun. “We need to worry about the fuerzas autodefensas too.”
“The what?”
“Self-defense forces.” He laced his fingers through mine.
“Who are they?”
“They’re a confederation of vigilantes that united a few years ago to fight back against the Cartels.”
“That sounds like a good thing.”
“Not when you’re with me.”
“Fuck,” I said again, but the word came out fractured as it vibrated over my suddenly dry vocal cords. My heart thundered against my ribcage, and acid burned my stomach. I’d always thought the political backbiting in D.C. was rough, but it didn’t compare to the complexity of stepping into the middle of a regional drug cartel war. Images of the unseen dangers creeping around me swarmed through my mind. I couldn’t believe I ran away from the villa. If I had even a fraction of this information, I wouldn’t have stepped foot outside of Ryker’s bedroom yesterday, much less ran out the back door of the villa.