Stolen By The Queen: A Narcos Romance

Chapter 28

Camila watched as Ryan packed two duffle bags from the safe house storeroom, every movement immaculate, clean, and purposeful. He didn't waste a single second, a single breath that wasn't necessary. How she had ever thought she could successfully trade him in to the Sinaloa's and not have him come after and hunter her was a mystery. Or at the very least, a sing of her poor judgement. The man was a killer. 

And something about his calm, icy, stony exterior had her far more terrified than the loud, blustering, macho man act her father and his men had shown her meant strength during her upbringing. 

She wanted to ask him a thousand questions. Like how he knew exactly where Sinaloa's men were and where they were supposed to go and most importantly, why he hadn't killed her already. But she could tell by the granite-hard set of his jaw and the tense position of his brows that now was not a time for questions. Perhaps there'd never be a time. She didn't deserve his answers anyway. She was at his mercy. And she knew it.

When she'd opened that envelope and found the leather passport holder empty, it had been like the very Devil himself was laughing on her shoulder. mocking her for thinking she could "play with the big boys" so to speak and actually broker a real deal, a real trade for herself. Nothing about tricking Ryan had felt good--in fact it had bloody broken her--but at least she had that envelope. She had her reason. Her life. 

Without it, she was just a lying, traitorous failure. A stupid girl. A destined Cartel Queen with no power, no voice, no autonomy over her life and body.

And she'd gladly give that autonomy now over to the man who not only held her life in his hands, but her soul. 

"Hand me that magazine." Ryan nodded past Camila's head, her reflective trance snapped by the curt sound of his voice as she turned and handed him the empty magazine. He loaded the bullets so quickly his hands looked like a machine as he set it inside one of the filled duffle bags and zipped it up. "Take that one, it's yours." He dipped his chin at the other duffle bag on the ground, turning around before she could respond and exiting the room. 

Camila quickly stooped down and lifted the heavy duffle. She hadn't even though through such measures as a change of clothes when she'd hatched her hole-ridden plan. Just her shredded yellow silk dress Ryan had bought her and a clutched manila envelope with nothing but a lie in it.

Thankfully one of the women working at the DEA safe house had found her a sensible pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and tennis shoes. Her limbs were still covered in various gauze and bandages from her cuts but the IV back and food had restored her energy, allowing nervous adrenaline to course free and clear through her again.

And remind her exactly how Ryan had helped calm that same adrenaline last time. That certainly wasn't going to be offered again.

"We're taking the truck." Ryan shouted over the din in the rolling door garage. This place was so unassuming, you'd drive by it a million times and never know it had ties to the DEA. 

But it sounded like from the bits she'd been able to pick up that her very presence was jeopardizing that. And she didn't miss the way some of the workers and agents eyed her as if she was to blame.

No matter, the stare she'd be serving herself in the mirror for the rest of her life was far more lethal than that. No one could ever make her feel more guilt than she already felt herself. 

"Keep this on." Ryan slid a black ball cap over her head, the size a bit too large has he pulled it down snug over her forehead. She opened her mouth to say something--anything--but Ryan was already rounding the front of the unassuming Tacoma truck, slipping on a pair of dark black shades that had him looking every inch the American DEA agent.

She remembered teasing him about it over lunch just days ago.

Now she knew, he simply didn't give a fuck. If he looked the lethal American ex-solider, so be it. He was ready to kill and he wasn't hiding it. 

Camila's palms were clammy as she opened the passenger door, swinging her duffle back to the backseat before turning to strap on her seatbelt, sitting stiff and staring straight ahead, unsure what to do now that it would be just the two of them going God-knows-where, outrunning the Devil himself.

Camila did the sign of the Catholic Cross, a small robotic prayer slipping past her lips in habit. 

Ryan laughed, the sound dark and rough like gravel as he put the truck and reverse, the clunky sound of the garage roller door lifting as a freckled, red-headed agent waved them off. 

"What?"

"Hope you have a real cozy relationship with God, because I don't think he wants shit to do with any of this." 

Ryan cocked an arrogant eyebrow at her before turning his attention back to the road, dragging a hand across his mouth before wrapping it firmly around the wheel.

Camila paused a moment, wringing her hands in her lap. 

"So, you never prayed? Ever? When you've been on dangerous missions or faced with death?"

"Never." Ryan didn't look at her, his jaw carved from stone as he navigated through the city roads, working a looping path toward the highway. 

"Don't you get scared." 

"Not when most people do." 

Camila fell silent, trying to unpack his words. A hailstorm of bullets, dangerous killers on his tail, automatic rifles aimed at his chest--that was home for Ryan McCallister. But something scared him. He was human after all. Even if just barely.

"So then, what does?"

"What does what?"

"What scares you?" 

Ryan bit down on his lower lip, not answering for several long moments that Camila expected him to ignore her question entirely, to reach for the stereo or sit in tense, static quiet until they arrived at wherever he was so hellbent on going or until a bullet flew through the back of one of their heads. 

But when he spoke, his voice was low and threatening, settling itself into Camila's bones.

"Having a weakness I can't control that an enemy can exploit. Allowing myself to care if someone dies before me." 

Love. Camila thought, not daring to say the word out loud. Ryan McCallister, American agent, former special forces, cold-blooded Sangfroid killer, was afraid of love. 

And she was afraid her life was almost over before she'd ever experienced it.