Page 12 of Hunted By the Cartel

I was in Diego's bed, his arms holding me close, his breath soft and steady against my neck. He was possessive of me. I thought something like this would never happen, but he took a liking to me — no denying it. Or maybe I should say that he more than liked me.

I felt a rush of conflicting emotions as I lay there, my body still relaxed from sleep. On one hand, I enjoyed the warmth and safety I felt in his embrace, but on the other, I knew that I was essentially his prisoner. I didn't want to think that about all this, but I also didn't see another way to look at it.

He had made it clear that I couldn't leave, that I was safer with him than anywhere else, and the fact that he hadn't been able to reach his boss only confirmed my suspicions. He would want to keep me here even if his boss didn't want to kill me. That conclusion made me feel more apprehensive.

I shifted slightly, my body tensing as I tried to gather my thoughts. I wanted to pull away, to assert my independence, but a part of me didn't want to let go of this moment of peace. I hadn't felt this good in a long time, and I knew that it was wrong. I shouldn't feel anything positive for the person keeping me hostage.

It was selfish, I knew, and I couldn't deny the comfort and protection I found in his arms. I had always wanted someone to do what he was doing for me.

Time seemed to stand still as I lay there, my body relaxing against his. Eventually, I felt Diego stir, his arms tightening briefly before he pulled away, his breath warm and inviting against my skin. I squirmed slightly, my arousal growing.

"Good morning," he murmured, his voice deep and rough with sleep. Even if he were trying not to be sexy, I knew he would still fail. He was like that even when he wasn't trying to be.

I nodded, my heart pounding in my chest as I tried to ignore the rush of desire that flared within me at his proximity. It wasn't the first time I felt it, but for some reason, it was stronger this time and I didn't know why.

"Good morning," I whispered, my voice hoarse and thick with sleep. Nevertheless, I couldn't yawn. I didn't feel completely peaceful in his presence. He was a constant source of danger, after all.

He rose from the bed, his movements graceful and powerful, and made his way to the kitchen. I didn't think he could be graceful. He was a big man and I had thought that he was kind of clumsy. But I realized how wrong I was about that.

"What do you want for breakfast?" He called out, his voice echoing in the quiet apartment. I had always valued silence, but with only the two of us together, it only made my situation more apprehensive.

I sat up, the bedsheets pooling in my lap as I tried to shake off the lingering drowsiness. Part of me still couldn't believe that we slept together and that I liked it. How did that happen, anyway?

"Oh, anything is fine," I said, my voice soft and hesitant. "I'm not picky. I know I can't be, anyway."

He turned, a curious look on his face, and I realized that my response was unusual for someone like him, someone used to getting whatever he wanted. He wanted me to choose something for breakfast and wouldn't give up on it.

"Just pick something, Rowan," he said, chuckling slightly. "I can make anything. You tried my cooking before, so you know I'm not lying."

I flushed, feeling suddenly self-conscious. "Umm, pancakes?" I suggested, my voice small. "With bacon, if you have it. I think that just that is enough for me."

He smirked, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of amusement and something else I couldn't quite name. This time, I couldn't help but wonder what he found so funny, but of course, I was hesitant about saying anything concerning that. "Coming right up," he said, his voice deep and smooth. It made me exhale loudly and I hoped he didn't hear it.

As he cooked, the scent of bacon and pancakes filled the air, creating a comforting atmosphere. I didn't want to think I was enjoying this, but the truth was, I was.

We fell into an easy conversation about mundane things — our favorite foods, movies, and music. Thank goodness we were talking about that. I didn't want to talk about him being violent towards me yesterday. That was a memory I wanted to forget.

It was almost as if we were two normal people, enjoying a lazy morning together, and not a loan shark and his captive. As much as I knew he would say I was not his captive, I knew I was.

But as the conversation turned to our current situation — I supposed I should say I already knew that was going to happen — the tension returned. "We'll stay here for a few more days," Diego said, his voice firm and commanding. "It's the safest option for now. You know I know what I'm doing, so you realize that is the best option for us."

I nodded, my eyes downcast as I traced patterns on the bedsheet with my finger. "Okay," I mumbled, my voice quiet and submissive. I wanted to say that was not what I thought, but I also realized it would be pointless to do so. Not to mention, it could make him angry, and I didn't want that.

Diego paused in his movements, his eyes narrowing as he studied me. My heart skipped a beat. I didn't like that at all. I felt he knew what I was thinking.

"You don't trust me," he said, his voice low and dangerous. Yup. He knew. "You think I'm keeping you here against your will."

I bit my lip, my heart pounding in my chest. He didn't need to say that so bluntly. He could have handled it better, but I supposed that was just not the kind of person he was.

"I-I don't know what to think," I stammered, my eyes flicking up to meet his. I knew it was a mistake. I shouldn't even be looking at his eyes. "You haven't been able to reach your boss, and you keep saying we need to stay here. It's hard not to wonder if you're keeping me here on purpose." I took a deep breath. "I don't want to stay here any longer than I have to."

He scowled, his eyes flashing with a mixture of annoyance and desire. This entire time, he may have been thinking he was doing the right thing — and not only for him but also for me. People like him usually had twisted thoughts.

"You're damn right I'm keeping you here," he growled, his voice rough and possessive. I widened my eyes. Again, I didn't think he was going to be so blunt. It appeared to be a characteristic of his. "But it's for your own good, omega. Out there, you're a target. Here, with me, you're safe. I already explained that to you."

I swallowed, my heart hammering in my chest as I took in his intense gaze. He kept staring at me, making me more and more uncomfortable. And I knew he was doing that on purpose.

"I know," I whispered, my voice small. Even if I were trying hard, I couldn't raise my voice. Most of the time, I couldn't do that anyway, even when I was feeling more comfortable. "But it's hard not to feel like a prisoner sometimes. It makes me feel desperate."

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