Enslaved (Colombian Cartel #6) - Suzanne Steele Page 0,15
dispose of it.
“I own you!” His lips were on hers so fast she didn’t realize she was kissing him back!
Judy sat gobsmacked—like a train wreck she couldn’t look away from. These two were the definition of chemistry, and the sparks were flying.
When he finished kissing her, he purposely smeared her lipstick with his thumb.
“You bastard!” she screeched as she stood up and attempted to wedge past him.
“Sit the fuck down,” he growled, raising the gun just enough to send a stab of fear through her.
She slowly sat down, picked up her phone, pulled up the mirror app, and grabbed her lipstick from her pocket. Her hand trembled as she fixed her face. She knew he had purposely done it to humiliate her.
Mano leaned in and whispered in her ear, “Good girl.”
“Fuck you!”
“That comes later. I can’t wait to hear you scream my name out.”
“I’ll be screaming alright; when I cuss your ass out.”
Mano slouched down in the booth with one hand lazily draped over the Glock, and both eyes targeted on his new toy. This was going to be fun. He hadn’t counted on chemistry between them. Beautiful women were the norm in his world, but chemistry was hard to come by.
Page straightened her body again, which caused him to squint at her suspiciously.
“So, what’s your name, Mr. 'I own you now'?”
“You can call me Mano, and I can’t wait to get mine all over that hot little bod of yours.”
“Pretty confident, aren’t you?”
He side-eyed her and answered, “Cocksure in this case.”
When she squirmed again, he just chuckled. There was something very sinister about his laugh.
“Tell me again why I let you talk me into this, Page.” Judy looked at her with eyes full of accusation.
“I didn’t talk you into it, you insisted. You were supposed to be here to protect me—to have my back. Now I wonder if you just wanted to see Antonio Wayne in the flesh.”
“And now…I wish I hadn’t been so dogged about watching over you. I swear you draw trouble like a magnet, and that man sitting next to you is trouble with a capital T.”
It was going to be a very long night…
Chapter Seven
No matter how long the ride home had been, it hadn’t been long enough. Looking at Mano seated in a chair in her bedroom with a gun still in his lap was unnerving. What the fuck had she gotten herself into? The soft light of the moon drifted through the curtains like a promise of safety from the darkness that inhabited Mano’s threats. Telling him, he couldn’t come in wasn’t an option when she had a Glock stuck between her shoulder blades. When he’d poked it into her back, forcing her through the door, she knew he was coming in invited or not.
Judy had given her the standard ‘I’m worried’ look as she hesitated at the bedroom door, and Page had assured her, she could handle things. Now, with him sitting so close with a gun in his lap, she was second-guessing her decision to let Judy sleep while she did night watch.
Page sat against the headboard clutching the duvet up around her chin as if it would protect her from the unwanted intruder.
She cleared her throat to gather up the courage she needed. “I think we should discuss this like adults. Why are you threatening us?”
“I haven’t threatened you. I’ve stated facts. You got a very close friend of mine killed. I plan on stopping you from killing anybody else. Do you have any idea how many journalists are killed every year? The Colombian cartel doesn’t assimilate to their story being told. It doesn’t matter if it’s true or not—you, young lady, are bringing heat and unnecessary attention to the organization.” He smirked and shook his head as if it was an issue she should already get. “We like to fly under the radar if you know what I mean.”
She would have had no problem with the way he was articulating things if he hadn’t been tapping a Glock against his lap as he spoke.
“And just how do you plan on making me quit? Are you going to follow me around like some psychotic stalker? This isn’t just a job for me; writing is my life’s blood. Writing is who I am, not just what I do. You’d have to kill me to force me to stop writing. I’ll admit you scare me because you work for the Colombian cartel, but I refuse to allow fear to stop me from