Page 34 of Wait for You

Mateo

“Feed him to the jaguar.”

Mat was coherent enough to hear the lieutenant’s words, but their meaning didn’t fully register. He’d heard rumors thatEl Jaguarkept anactualjaguar, but Mat had never seen the animal. Not at the mansion and definitely not at the lieutenant’s lake house. But then, Mat had no idea where he was.

As soon as the lieutenant had verified the Sanchez siblings were missing, they’d moved locations. He’d ridden there tied up, blindfolded, and with Julio’s gun aimed at his temple. The drive had taken about an hour, and when they’d arrived, the air had smelled like dirt. But those were his only clues.

Even now, the scent lingered in his nose like freshly turned earth. Maybe he was near farmland. But fields were every other mile in Texas. It didn’t help him narrow things down. Not that it mattered. He knew he wouldn’t be walking away from this.

Hell, at this point, he wasn’t sure hecouldwalk.

Mat lay in a pile of dried blood—his blood. It stained the dusty dirt floor of the shed they’d tortured him in for his betrayal. He’d gone down fighting, though, sowing seeds of doubt about Julio’s loyalty. The lieutenant was naturally suspicious, and Mat knew enough of Julio’s weaknesses to expose them toEl Jaguar.

Before they’d started in on him, Mat tried to throw the blame on Julio for the Sanchez siblings’ disappearance. Maybe he hadn’t implicated the asshole, but he’d done enough to have Julio’s trustworthiness called into question.

As a result, Julio tortured him out of revenge, imparting pain for the pure joy of it. Mat had expected no less after the way he’d treated the man.

They’d launched countless questions at him—who did he work for, where was the Sanchez family, how long had he been a traitor—but it didn’t matter what information he gave the cartel. His death certificate had already been signed.

At least if he were going to die, he’d weakened the cartel on his way out. If Julio wound up dead because of the doubt he sowed, well, that meant Mat didn’t have to worry about the asshole going after Imogen or her brother. Andthatwas worth the hit on his conscience.

The best he could hope for was that the authorities found his remains so Imogen would know what happened. So she could grieve and move on. At least, he thought she’d grieve for him. He sure as hell wished he’d been able to make up for walking away from her before, but now he had to leave her again.

Dammit.

Of all the regrets, and Mat had a lengthy list, leaving Imogen was at the top of it. If God had any mercy left, he’d give her some closure. Therewasstill a chance.

Julio had immediately discovered the comms unit in Mat’s ear and taken his phone, but he’d had a GPS tracker hidden on his person in case the rescue plan went south. He didn’t know if the lieutenant had found the locator device yet or not. Mat had been in and out of consciousness for hours and the details were as hazy as fog over a pasture. The tracker was the last shard of hope he had that the Rangers would find his body, but thepossibility of that outcome dwindled if they meant to make him a wild animal’s dinner.

Julio’s footsteps retreated, probably to go prepare the jaguar. The dark beckoned, and Mat hoped it would take him away again because being awake meant being in pain—sharp, burning, so intense he had to scream pain. To avoid it, he welcomed the dark. In it, he could dream, and in those dreams, he found Imogen.

Some of the dreams had been memories of the life they’d shared five years ago. But he’d had new ones, too. Of places, he wanted to take her, like the wildflower meadow near his home. It would riot with color in another month. As a boy, his mother had taken him to pick wildflowers every spring. He wished he could share that tradition with Imogen, but at least he’d experienced it in his subconscious.

“Travers.” Someone shook his shoulder, and searing pain scorched his body. “Can you hear me, Travers?” The question was the last thing Mat heard before the cool blackness overtook him, soothing away the agony.

In the dark, Imogen smiled at him. “Wake up,vaquero. It’s time to go home.”

But he didn’t want to wake up. He wanted to stay with her. He tried to tell her, but she faded in front of his eyes. “No! Don’t leave!”

“Mat?”

Is that Imogen?

He struggled to lift his eyelids. They felt like weighted blankets, and he was as weak as a newborn kitten.

“Nurse, he’s awake!”

That’s her voice, alright.

Though it took a monumental effort, Mat opened his eyes. Imogen’s beautiful face smiled at him, but she had tear tracks down her cheeks. “Gen? What . . .?” When he looked around,the sights and sounds of a hospital room brought only confusion. How did he end up here?

He tried to sit up, but she jumped up to stop him. “Don’t!” Mat froze, and she pushed his shoulders back onto the scratchy blankets. “You have muscle tears in your forearms and thighs. The doctor said they”—she sniffed around a sob—“they shoved corkscrews in your arms and legs.”

The memories came back in a rush. The cartel. The shed. The torture. “How?” Mat took a deep breath and flinched as pain shot through his left side. He’d broken a rib before and felt a familiar stabbing. “How’d I get here?”

Before Imogen could answer, a plump redheaded nurse blustered in. “Well, I’ll be.” She propped her hands on her round hips. “We didn’t expect you to wake up for hours yet, Sergeant.”

Hearing her use his title came as a shock. It rippled through him as he realized he was done. Done with being the lieutenant’s man. Done with the Lazcanos.

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