“So I can see you at all times,” he replied. Then his voice dipped—smooth, deep, unintentionally lustful. “We’re not losing you in the woods or to some weird shit.”
There was a beat, as if he realized how his tone landed.
Then he added sharply, almost defensive, “And don’t try nothing. I’ll know if you do.”
I swallowed. “I’m literally just trying not to pee on myself, sir.”
“Find a store. Five minutes, tops.”
Ten minutes later, like God felt pity on my bladder, a small gas station appeared like a miracle.
I pulled in, unclipped the camera from the sun visor, and held it up. “How do I…?”
“Angle it down,” he instructed, voice rough, as if he was adjusting something on his end. “Higher… good. Keep walking. Don’t lower it.”
Inside, I beelined toward the bathroom, pushing the door open with my hip.
“Do you have to watch me pee too?” I whisper-snapped.
“Yes,” he answered bluntly. “But don’t flatter yourself. I ain’t trying to look at yo’ pussy; I just need to see the door. Don’t get cute.”
The way he saidpussy? God. He did not say it like a man who wasn’t thinking about it.
I almost hated how flustered he had me.
“Fine,” I muttered and handled my businessfast.
When I finished and washed my hands, he spoke again. “You done?”
“Yes,” I sighed, grabbing the camera.
“Good. Walk out slow. Let me see the whole store.”
Bossy.
Demanding.
Annoyingly sexy.
Thankfully, they let me bring light snacks for the drive, so I didn’t need to grab anything else.
Outside, I returned to the car and clipped the camera back onto the visor.
“You should be good now,” he said. “No more stops until you reach your destination.”
I pulled out of the lot and merged back onto the lonely black ribbon of road, praying my bladder didn’t betray me again.
The dirt road leading to the location felt endless. When the compound finally came into view, my breath caught in my throat. Marcos had warned me that this location would be unlike any other, but nothing could have prepared me for the sight that lay ahead. That wasn't just another warehouse like those I had encountered before; it resembled a full-fledged cartel base.
High, imposing metal gates loomed at the entrance, flanked by concrete barriers that seemed to scream security. Surveillance cameras were mounted on every pole, leaving no corner unmonitored. And then there were the men… lots of them. Everywhere I looked, they were there. Marcosdidwarn me that one was different, but I was seeing it.
As I slowed toward the gate, two guards stepped out, rifles pointed down but ready. One held up his palm.
I stopped.
He walked straight to my window. “Name,” he said, accent thick, tone colder than the barrel he carried.
“Ajori.”