She complained loudly from the back of the jeep, sighing theatrically, kicking the seat in front of her hard enough to be irritating without crossing into dangerous. Every jolt of the road earned another groan, another muttered remark about discomfort, hunger, and heat.
José shifted constantly in the passenger seat.
Good, she thought.Let him stew.
He snapped back at her in Spanish more than once, sharp phrases spat over his shoulder. Mateo answered him each time, his replies calm but edged, the tension between them tightening with every mile.
She was getting under José’s skin, which was perfect.
Better to be hated than desired.
They drove for hours, the jungle gradually thinning, the air changing. Smoke drifted in on the breeze. The smell of animals—livestock, sweat, fire—replaced the damp green rot of the rainforest. Gabriella’s heart began to race.
They were getting closer to a town. Which meant water. Food. Maybe a bed.
Or escape,a voice whispered.
The “town” was little more than a cluster of buildings scattered around a clearing. Chickens wandered freely, darting between bare feet and rusted tools. A few cows stood tethered in the shade. The people who emerged were young and old alike—weathered faces, sharp eyes, women with babies on their hips.
This was near Panama. She knew it by the clothing, the cadence of Spanish, the way the land felt drier beneath the wheels. She wondered briefly how long it would take for them to reach the town with the off chance she could get help. Assuming she would ever be able to escape. Or she could stay and trust Mateo's words that he would protect her.
The jeep slowed, and eyes followed them.
Mateo spoke easily as they rolled through, greeting people by name. There was laughter, a few exchanges she couldn’t quite catch. José jumped out, suddenly relaxed, barking orders to the other drivers and motioning them towards cover.
Mateo parked near the edge of the clearing and jumped down to help Gabriella out. Children ran towards him instantly, hands outstretched. He laughed at something a little girl said and, impossibly, reached into the pocket of his tactical pants and pulled out a handful of wrapped candies.
Where had he even been hiding those?
The kids shrieked and scattered, fighting over the sweets as they ran.
Mateo turned back to her and opened the door. “We’re resting here for the day.”
“They won’t turn you in?” she asked warily.
He shook his head. “Half the group is made up of their family. And we bring news.” His mouth twitched. “They’ll give us shelter. And a shower.”
She nearly moaned. “Yes. Please.”
She tried to climb down and promptly wobbled. Mateo caught her without thinking, hands firm at her waist. Solid. Warm. All muscle beneath damp fabric.
“You seem to lose strength in your legs a lot around me. Weak ankles perhaps?” He joked.
Her body responded before her brain could intervene. “Hardly. Your shit driving more likely.”
He chuckled at that, his fingers burning a hole through her clothes.
“Next time you can sit up front. Maybe even in my lap, if you'd like.”
“That doesn't sound safe at all,” she shot back, unwarranted images of her ass pressed against his groin, his fingers exploring her breasts and nipples, twisting and teasing her as she tried to steer.
You don’t know how to drive a stick shift, the logical part of her brain tried to reason.But he'd still make you come regardless, the devil on her shoulder said.
I'm definitely not right in the head.
She straightened quickly, mortified. “They won’t question … me?”
“Not their concern,” he said. “They care if their people are alive.”