It was a gamble. Women were smart, resourceful, and underestimated only by fools. But they shared a common weakness. He’d seen it time and again, the way they rallied together in support of one another. Until they didn’t.
Too often, they let men come between them. Especially the narcissistic assholes who slept around and committed to no one.
“Put a good-looking bachelor in a house full of women, and what happens?” Luke asked.
“Reality TV?” Tomas twitched his lips. “They turn on one another, plotting and competing to be the one who ensnares him.”
“Exactly.”
He couldn’t blame them. It was animal instinct. Find the mightiest male in the herd, mate with him, and breed the strongest offspring. Vera might not consider herself part of the female selection here, but her biology said otherwise.
Men were simpler, like trees in a field, with the urge to spread their seeds far and wide to ensure they take root in as many diverse and distant places as possible.
Survival, stripped down to its crudest, most basic denomination.
“Okay…” Tomas squinted, giving Luke’s nude body a once-over before meeting his eyes. “From what I’ve seen of the guests, you’re the only attractive dickhead here.”
Not exactly true. Tomas turned heads without trying. Beauty had been the primary requirement in Van’s selection process. Their entire vigilante team looked like they’d walked off the set of Baywatch.
But Tomas’ sex appeal suffocated beneath the cloud of fuck-off vibes he wore like a pressed suit. Luke trusted his friend without hesitation, but there were moments when he detected something sinister—in Tomas’ glare, in his voice—that sent a chill through the bones. For that reason, as well as Tomas’ shadowed role as a bodyguard, it was unlikely that Vera would take an interest in him.
“You make her nervous.” Tomas glanced at his watch. “She’s clearly attracted to you. Maybe that scares her.”
“Maybe.”
But Luke meant what he’d told her. She wasn’t meek. Once she saw him with another woman, her primal nature would claw to get out.
If she made the mistake of falling into his bed, it was game over. He was trained in the art of sexual pleasure. Add to that his insidious brand of dominance, and she was as good as his. Her heart. Her trust. Whatever he wanted.
In theory.
A knock sounded on the exterior door, and the hinges creaked, opening without waiting for an answer.
“Four-minute response time.” Tomas raised his eyes from his watch and moved to the far wall.
Luke returned to the warm spray, giving his visitors a full-frontal view as they stormed in. Two armed guards led the intrusion, their eyes instantly locating and assessing the broken camera.
Vera swept in behind them and anchored her hands on her hips. “Damaging property is not—”
“My boss,” Tomas said, crossing his arms, “doesn’t need an audience while taking a shit.”
“But you’re welcome to stay while I finish my shower.” He arched a brow. “Or join me.”
Her gaze dropped to his half-hard cock and skittered away. “No, I…” She coughed. “I don’t play with the guests.”
He shouldn’t derive this much pleasure from her discomfort. He wanted to like her. Pity her, even. She was Tula’s half-sister, for fuck’s sake. But beyond his appreciation of her physical attributes, he felt nothing for her. No chemistry. No interest in learning why she was a human trafficking bitch.
The sooner he rid the world of her and this operation, the better.
“Then stop wasting my time.” He turned off the shower, giving her his back.
“If you break another camera—”
“My being here doesn’t mean my business stops running out there. I require a secure space to discuss confidential details with my right-hand man.” He nodded at Tomas. “This room will serve as my private meeting space. If I learn that your organization is eavesdropping on the business dealings of my organization while I’m in this room, I will take you down with every connection I have.”
“La Rocha doesn’t tolerate threats or damage to their property.”
“Put it on my tab and go fuck yourself on the way out.”
Her gasp filled him with sick satisfaction. As she vanished out the door, he squeezed his fist, imagining it crushing the bones in her neck. It wasn’t rage that pumped through his veins. It was focus, clarity, all thoughts aligning on the path ahead.
He twisted to find the same determination in Tomas’ hard eyes.
Martin and Ricky wouldn’t have been able to finish this job. They loved Tula too much to hurt her sister. In fact, they might never forgive him for the things he was about to do.
“I’m gonna take a walk and do some reconnaissance.” Tomas pushed off the wall. “Try not to get yourself killed while I’m gone.”
Dinner included lamb chops with balsamic reduction, crispy Hasselback potatoes, carrot soufflé, and superficial chitchat with five disgustingly wealthy slave buyers. Appetite long gone, Luke slid his fork away, fighting the impulse to repeatedly stab them with it.
“Best lamb I had in ages.” Lester, with his snake-skinned boots and Texan drawl, leaned back from his empty plate and lit a cigar. “Wouldn’t you agree, John?”
“No. My whore of a mother cooked better than this slop.” Luke lied through smiling lips, prompting a ripple of laughter around the table.
He’d lied about his name, his mansion in Tahoe, his trophy wife, and his undefeated golf game at the country club. They all lied, and they all knew they were spouting canards to one another. It was the most pointless, fucked-up dinner conversation in history.
Maybe this was a game to them, to see who could spout the most bullshit without getting called out. After two hours of table talk, he still didn’t know their real names, real occupations, or anything genuine or useful.
They were master manipulators. Whatever powerful positions they held—CEOs, politicians, investment moguls—they hadn’t achieved their success honestly.
They were bad men, the sort who fraternized with a cartel and fucked underage girls. Someday their sins would catch up to them. If he moved quickly enough, he could be the one to deliver what they deserved.
Tomas ate alone on the other side of the veranda, ever the scowly, unapproachable bodyguard. He wasn’t the only plus one. Most of the guests had brought along a male attendant. They probably couldn’t function without their personal servants wiping their asses.
Without looking, Luke marked Vera’s footsteps in and out of the dining area. She hadn’t eaten with them, hadn’t sat down long enough to join the conversation. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was avoiding him.
La Rocha guards loitered in the periphery. Cantina girls, dressed in corsets and garters, kept the food and drinks coming. Hector’s sons had yet to make an appearance, and no one seemed to care.
Except Luke. He wanted to see the faces of his primary targets.
“Are you betting on the fight tonight?” Ted, a wrinkly old man with sharp eyes and a frail body, met his gaze across the table.
“Fight?” He took a swig of peated whiskey, swallowing the smoky burn with a trickle of dread.