The cartel boss didn’t let women into his dirty fraternity. But he made an exception for Tula Gomez. She must’ve been important to him.
Ricky entered her cell with a tingle of apprehension between his shoulder blades. Martin followed, and she shut the door behind them.
“What about you?” She stepped toward the small sink and rummaged through the supplies on the floor. “Any spouses or committed relationships waiting at home?”
“Nope.” He stood beside the cot, scrutinizing the claustrophobic space.
Several crates of books, cartons of cigarettes, a portable cooking stove, and an old cell phone summed up her belongings. She’d definitely been here a while.
He and Martin only had the clothes they were wearing and the cash in their pockets. Everything else had been confiscated during their arrest, as expected.
“Tequila?” Crouched beneath the sink, she held out a bottle behind her.
“Thanks.” Martin lifted it from her hand and removed the cap, glaring at the gold contents as if hesitant to drink.
“I don’t have cups. Are you not used to slumming it?” She snatched the tequila and sipped straight from the bottle. “Where did you say you were from?”
“We didn’t.” Ricky grabbed the bottle and swallowed a long pull, savoring the smooth burn of agave before handing it to Martin. “Where did you learn to speak English so well?”
“College. I’m a Spanish high schoolteacher in the States.” She paused, and her eyes lost focus as if she were rearranging her thoughts. “I was.” She blinked. “Never dreamed I’d end my career with a prison sentence, but here I am.” Her fist gave an unenthusiastic pump in the air. “Killin’ it.”
“What are you in for?” Martin lowered onto the mattress and rested his elbows on his knees, watching her from beneath the bloody gashes on his brow.
“Drug smuggling.”
Why did you do it? Did you do it? The silence exhaled the questions so loudly they didn’t need to be voiced.
“I’m innocent.” She grabbed some gauze and a bottle of antiseptic solution. “Same thing every prisoner says.” She held up the supplies. “Who’s first?”
He nodded at Martin. “This guy needs all the Band-aids you got. He’s been holding back tears since we left the yard.”
With a swollen-lipped scowl, Martin flipped him off.
“Take off your shirt.” She peered at Martin from beneath her lashes. “I’ll soak it in the sink and try to get the blood out.”
This would be interesting. Martin wasn’t exactly the touchy-feely type, especially around strangers.
“Don’t bother. It’s ripped to hell.” Martin reached behind his head with a pained grimace and pulled off the shirt.
Ricky lowered onto the bed beside Martin and examined the defined cuts of muscle he’d been drooling over for seven years.
Martin had always been fit, but the past six months of training had turned his body into a chiseled work of art.
He and Ricky had spent several grueling hours a day together, rolling around on a mat, boxing in a ring, and lifting weights. The torture hadn’t just been physical.
His hands knew every inch of Martin’s body, and it wasn’t enough. The urge to reach for Martin plagued him constantly, to feel all that strength against him, the press of hot skin, and the gust of frantic breaths as their bodies moved as one.
“How do you know each other?” She poured the antiseptic solution onto a swath of gauze and inspected Martin’s swollen eyes. “I assume you were arrested together?”
“It’s a long story.” Martin angled forward, putting his face within an inch of hers.
“We have nothing but time.” She didn’t try to reclaim the personal space he penetrated. “Get it? Time?” She sighed. “Prison joke.”
“Why are you helping us?” Martin leaned back and pressed his scowl to the lip of the bottle, taking a swig.
“Why are you here?”
“Drug trafficking,” Ricky said.
He and Martin could be honest about everything except their alliance with the Restrepo Cartel and the assignment that put them here.
“Let me guess.” She touched the medicated gauze against the cut above Martin’s eye. “You’re innocent.”
“We’re guilty of many things.” Ricky grabbed the tequila and slugged it back.
She glanced between them, and her eyebrows gathered. “Are you lovers?”
The alcohol went down the wrong pipe, and he tried his damnedest to stifle a coughing fit.
“No.” Martin glared at him. “Why would you ask that?”
“You seem close. I don’t know.” She shrugged. “The way you look at each other… It’s intimate.”
“I’m attracted to him.” Ricky calmed his gag reflex and took another drink. “He’s attracted to women. At the end of the day, all that matters is our friendship.”
“Oh. That…” She moved the gauze to the cut on Martin’s lip. “Sounds complicated.”
“We don’t make it complicated.” He winked at Martin, coaxing a soft smile from that handsome face.
“Such a guy thing to say.” She gave him a dissecting look, up, down, and through the heart. “Are you only interested in men or do you—?”