“They want women,” José continued, shrugging. “And it looks like you’re keeping the only one on base all to yourself.”
Mateo felt the anger rise instantly—hot, violent, coiling tight beneath his ribs. His spine straightened as his voice dropped to a low, lethal hiss.
“She is not part of their entertainment.”
José lifted a brow. “Then what is she? Because one of the men said he heard her make noise.”
Shit.Mateo worked through his panic and calmly responded. “She hurt herself and is afraid of the bugs in the area. What he heard was her panic.”
José waited before he conceded. “Of course. She seems like a handful. Is she going to be useful?”
“Our leverage,” Mateo snapped without hesitation. “Our guarantee if things go sideways with the Americans. She keeps us alive if we need to negotiate.”
His gaze hardened, locking onto José’s with unmistakable warning. “And she is not for anyone.”
For a moment, the rain was the only sound between them.
José studied him, something calculating flickering behind his eyes. Then he smirked faintly and stepped back. “Fine. But the men won’t like it.”
Mateo didn’t blink. “They don’t have to.”
José turned and melted back into the darkness, his footsteps fading into the storm.
Mateo stood there a second longer, jaw clenched, chest tight with the effort of keeping himself under control. Then he turned back towards the shelter.
Gabriella slept, curled slightly on her side, unaware of how close danger hovered or how fiercely he’d just drawn the line around her. His only solace was that the tracking signal was still active, and he knew it would be weak but detectable.Someonewould pick it up. They had to.
Mateo crouched beside the hammock, lowering his voice even though she couldn’t hear him.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured. “Even if you never forgive me.”
CHAPTER 12
GABRIELLA
She felt … better.
Notsafe,but better in the way only sleep could manage. It was as if her body had finally remembered how to exist without pain screaming through every nerve. Whatever span of hours had passed, it had been enough to reset something inside her. The sharp edge of panic had dulled. Her muscles still ached, but the tremor beneath her skin was gone.
And honestly? The orgasm had beenmindblowing.
The rain had stopped while she slept, leaving the jungle steaming and alive. Everything dripped—leaves, vines, the tarp overhead shedding its last reluctant drops. Somewhere nearby, birds had started up again, tentative at first, then louder, as if testing whether the danger had truly passed.
Mateo had given her spare clothes. Lightweight cotton, dark and worn soft with use, the fabric whispering against her skin every time she moved. They smelled faintly of smoke and clean water andhim, which annoyed her more than it should have.
Her shoes were another story.
She tipped them upside down, watching muddy water pour out in an embarrassing stream. They squelched when she set them back down, heavy and miserable.
Dressed in tactical gear, Mateo noticed immediately.
“What size are you?”
The question startled her enough that she looked up sharply. “Um—what?” Her brows knit. “Why?”
He didn’t look at her right away, too busy shaking rain droplets from the floor tarp before folding it with practiced efficiency. Everything he did was precise, economical. No wasted motion.
“I might have a spare set of boots from one of the men,” he said. “You can’t keep your feet wet.”