When they pull off the bag that has been covering my eyes, I blink against the sudden light. We've arrived in a heavily wooded area next to a large clearing that is covered in the twilight of dusk. Mateo pulls my arm and I stumble forward, the ropes that tie my wrists together cutting into my skin. The pain is subdued by my lack of energy. My mind is unable to form any thought other than my intense craving for food. The disgust of my own smell cramps the muscles in my abdomen.

Just as I reach the tree line, I trip and would've fallen if Mateo's hand hadn't slid under my elbow to steady me.

"Is she even able to carry the baby?" Brody's face is obscured by the shadows of the trees that shelter our small convoy from sight. I count a total of three trucks with seats for about two dozen rebels, most of them spread at the edge of the clearing with their rifles drawn.

"It's only a few steps. She'll manage."

Mateo's knife cuts the restraints he ordered when I had banged against the door for hours. The constant hunger gnawed at my sanity and they only untied me to allow me to drink and use the hole as a toilet three times a day. I felt like a dog on a set schedule.

Brody straps Luca to my chest in his baby carrier. The baby stirs and whimpers, but I keep my gaze fixed on the tree behind Brody. Since he knocked me out, he and I have not exchanged a single word and I doubt this will change in the immediate future. I no longer trust him and expect another backstabbing move at any moment. He might've even been under orders to take me on those nightly strolls to keep me invested in the training. When push comes to shove, he's nothing more than a stooge who follows orders blindly.

I cradle Luca closer, his warm body giving me comfort. The isolation in the cell had driven me nuts. When the guards stopped by, they refused to talk to me, and I craved company so badly that even the thought of being around Tomás became appealing.

Brody forces a pacifier into Luca's mouth and he settles after a few suckles. His dark eyes pierce into me; they are identical to Miguel's. My heart weeps as the loss once again swims to the surface. This could be my son, my hope for a better future. Instead, I'm about to step into the lion's den and risk my life, although ultimately, that's what a soldier does. Even though I've never officially joined the US armed forces, I'm doing this as a service to my country. The Coyote needs to be stopped before he can threaten the life of an American again.

"It's time." Mateo's expression is vacant. Not the slightest worry reflects on his face.

Brody nudges me in my side with an equal poker face. "Let's go, Stacy."

My gaze travels across the clearing, where I make out a few dark figures.

"Hagamos esto." Tomás's words cut the still evening air and rise in volume as they bounce off the tall mountain walls.

I lock eyes with Mateo's. You can do this, his silently say.

He smiles. "Just a few more steps separate you from food and a shower. Chin up, Stacy. You've almost made it."

I push myself to leave the protection of the trees just as a figure separates from the group across from me. My steps are steady, although my knees wobble more and more the closer I get to the other side. A light drizzle hits my face. By the time I meet the rebel with coronel stripes in the middle of the clearing, my hair sticks to my face. I cup my hands protectively over Luca's head to shield him from the rain. He kicks his little legs in the carrier; he's livelier than I've ever seen him.

The coronel is about Varela's age with darker skin and bristle-like hair. His whole face is swollen and even in the dim light, blood shines on his lips. He walks slightly bent forward. How much torture did this rebel endure in captivity? No matter which side anyone is on in this war, pain seems to be the only constant.

My focus locks in on Tomás; he's watching me with a sullen face. I want to run to him, but Mateo's warning to walk across the clearing at a steady pace keeps my legs moving robotically. It's one of the rules of the exchange and breaking them risks getting shot by a nervous trigger finger. Mateo said that a rebel leader was killed by a sniper right after an exchange a few years ago, and ever since, soldiers tend to panic and fire when anything looks suspicious, even if they were previously ordered to stand down.

Just before I reach safety, I stumble again. I wrap my arms around Luca to buffer the fall. When my knees hit the ground hard, pain shoots up my thighs and into my spine. I cry out. Tomás's figure blurs through my tears. He takes a step forward. General Varela holds him back.

"Tomás, no."

Tomás spits on the ground. "I'm not gonna have Stacy crawl through the mud with the president's son strapped to her. Those cowards can shoot me if they want."

He steps out in the open at the same time Mateo yells, "Contenga el fuego."

For a breath, I squeeze my eyes shut to avoid the oncoming slaughter of Tomás torn up by bullets, but only the howling wind rips through the canyon. The bone in Tomás's jaw jumps from his grinding teeth. As he helps me to my feet, his gaze is fixed on his brother. With one arm wrapped around me and the other arm shielding Luca from harm, he drags us toward safety.

We cross the tree line and my knees buckle. I sob, the tension of the last few weeks threatening to consume me.

Tomás drapes a blanket around my shoulders. "It's over, Stacy. You're home."

The tears make it hard to breathe and his ink-blue eyes are the only thing still registering in my mind. The concern reflected in them warms my insides.

"Can you take me away from here?"

Careful not to squash Luca, he scoops me into his arms and carries me to the Jeep. No more turning back now.

~~~~

When we arrive at the mansion, Santino is pacing the living room. He only glances at me before his full attention shifts to his son. Varela places the baby into his arms.

"What's his name?" Santino's usual hard eyes have softened, yet he regards the small infant without making any attempt to soothe or cradle him. Luca stirs with a scrunched-up nose, ready to give this new man an earful of loud protest.

"It's Luca." I step next to him and run my fingers over the soft baby hair. Luca turns his head toward me and the memory of Miguel is unbearable. I spin around to keep the tears at bay.

"He looks just like Naiara, don't you think?" Santino hands the baby to one of the maids, who wraps a small blanket around him. Luca kicks his legs vigorously and the young girl forces the pacifier into his mouth. He almost slips out of her arms but settles after a few suckles.

"I think he looks like Miguel." Pressing silence follows my muttered words.

Glaring at me with a raised brow, Santino finally clears his throat. "I don't know if you are aware, Stacy, but Miguel betrayed my regime. I would appreciate if you don't mention his name again in this house. He's not only the reason why we had a war for several months, but Luca would still have a mother if it weren't for Miguel."

I clutch my hand over my mouth. "Oh my god, I didn't know. Are you sure?"

"Yes, we are sure."

"I would've never thought that Miguel would betray you. I'm so sorry."

I stare at Tomás; he has been watching me without missing a beat. His face holds a hint of coldness and I can't figure out if he believes my last statement or not.

"Were you there when Naiara died?" Santino asks.

I shake my head. "When labor started, they took her away and I never saw her again. One of the rebel leaders told me that she had died after giving birth to a baby boy."

He and Tomás exchange a glance. "Do you know the name of the rebel leader?"

The temperature in the room drops considerably. The three men glare at me and I instinctively know that I have stepped on thin ice. The next few minutes will determine if they believe my story or classify me as a traitor. If the latter happens, I'm going to be executed in the morning.

"He never introduced himself, but one of the guards called him Mateo."

Tomás's eyelid twitches.

"They kept me locked up for most of the time, only feeding me the bare minimum." My face twists and I allow fresh tears to rise. "After Naiara was gone, the loneliness was unbearable. I thought I was going to die, too." A few tears roll down my cheeks and sudden fear pricks my skin like a thousand little needles.

"What about your own government?" Varela asks calmly.

"In the beginning, I insisted on talking to Anthony Bennett, the ambassador I had met once during Bettina's wedding, but I was told that my citizenship had been revoked when I joined the Malaguian Army. They said I could never go back to America unless I told them everything about Miguel's business. When I refused, they tossed me in a cell with Naiara and forgot about me until this evening." I almost choke with panic and more tears run down my cheeks. "Please, you have to let me stay. I have no place else to go."

My outburst is followed by more silence. Varela and Santino mumble to each other in Spanish while Tomás keeps staring at me. His face doesn't give away the slightest hint of emotion.

"What do you think, Tomás?" Varela finally asks.

"Well, when I spoke to Juana this morning, she confirmed the citizenship thing, so she isn't lying about that. Mateo is too softhearted to torture a woman unless it's absolutely necessary, so that checks out." He lets a few strands of my hair run through his fingers. "She isn't in the best of shape, though I would have expected her to be even more malnourished."

I drop my gaze under his chilling eyes. He walks around me and I stand perfectly still, my heart pounding so loudly that it sucks in the world around me. Santino and Varela disappear completely as Tomás becomes the center of my universe. My life is in his hands. This is how a gladiator must have felt before receiving the thumbs-up or -down from Caesar.

When he continues to circle me, an impulsive part of me screams to bolt out the door, although my rational self is convinced he'll shoot me. He suddenly halts behind me and slides his hand deep under my shirt.

"You're sweating. Why are you so nervous?"

A gulp catches in my throat. "You're scaring me."

"Oh yeah?"

His breath is next to my earlobe and despite its warmth, sends a shudder down my spine. If I weren't so dehydrated, I'd probably pee my pants.

"Am I scaring you because you've been telling us a bunch of crap?"

"No." I swallow to hide the shake in my voice. "I'm scared because it feels like you're determining if I live or die."

"Oh, Stacy. That's exactly what I'm doing." With a chuckle, he spins me to face him, his arm locked around my waist. His gaze is searching, running across my forehead as if he were attempting to cut open my skull to see my thoughts. I want to break eye contact, but his intense glare paralyzes me. Dizziness overcomes me and the blood hammers in my ears. The whole situation is absolutely surreal.

"Say, did Mateo rape you?"

A small smile twitches on Tomás's lips; I can't shake the feeling that this is the final bonus round—a fifty-fifty chance to get it right. If my answer is not what he expects, I'll be out of chances.

"No," I breathe.

He releases me and turns back to his masters. "I think she's telling the truth, but I can't say for sure until after I've debriefed her."

Varela nods. "How do you want to proceed?"

"I suggest giving her a few days to recuperate before I grill her. She's starving and her body is drained of energy. She should rest."

Varela nods again. "I leave you in charge, Mayor Araya. Either way, I expect her cleared or dead by the end of the week."

His words press the air from my lungs and panic settles in. My life is truly in Tomás's hands. What if I can't fool him?

"And if it turns out that she has been lying to us, I want full damage control." Varela picks up his hat off the table. "I need to know what she told the rebels and the Americans."

Tomás tears his stare off me. "Understood, sir. If she has been lying, she'll easily break under torture, so don't worry. You'll have a full report by the end of the week."

"And find out if she knows anything about Ramon's whereabouts. Bettina is about to lose her mind. If he is dead, I'd like to know."

I blink at General Varela with irritation. "What's with Ramon?"

He ignores me and straightens his uniform.

"He's missing," Tomás answers in his stead. "We don't know what happened to him."

The news is both puzzling and alarming. Either Devon withheld pertinent information once again or the rebels got him. It's a change of events that doesn't sit well with me. Of all the guys I met in Malaguay, Ramon was the only decent one, and my heart goes out to Bettina and their son.

After Varela leaves, Santino excuses himself with some mumbled Spanish I don't understand. I'm left alone with Tomás. His clapping hands tear me out of my daze.

"Let's get you something to eat and get you cleaned up." He wrinkles his nose. "No offense, but you smell disgusting."

A high-pitched, nervous giggle escapes my throat. The whole encounter has shaken me up much more than I want to admit. It's as if I just scraped by death. Without objection, I allow him to pull me along to the kitchen. Settling me onto a barstool, he barks Spanish orders at the help.

"We'll give you some bread and soup tonight. Your stomach has to get used to food again, or you'll hurl or get diarrhea. I'm sure you'd rather avoid that."

All I can do is nod. I find his closeness jarring, unsure if he's trying to be nice or keeping tabs on my reactions. As I nibble on the bread, he leans into me, our hands touching when I reach for the things he wants to get for me. During the whole meal, he stares at me. When I finally shove the last spoonful into my mouth, my stomach is not only in knots, but every piece of clothing sticks to my skin.

He ushers me up the stairs in a sudden hurry. "Santino made arrangements for you to stay in your old bedroom."

I halt abruptly and he bumps into me. Catching his balance, he cups his hand around my butt, although I'm not sure he didn't do it on purpose to unsettle me even more.

"Can't I have a guest room? I don't want to stay in the old bedroom." Having to sleep in the same bed that Miguel and I shared on our last night together causes a hitch to form in my throat. I swallow bravely, not prepared to cry in front of Tomás.

"It'll be fine, Stacy. Beating those types of demons is important in the grieving process. You can't hide from your past forever."

I gaze up at him. His brows wiggle with a challenging smirk before I detect a glint of sadness in his eyes. Yet the change is so brief I could be mistaken.

My steps grow heavier the closer I get to the bedroom. When Tomás opens the door for me, I hesitate on the threshold. Except for two open boxes sitting in the middle of the floor with what appears to be my clothes, nothing hints that anyone ever set foot into the room while I was gone. Even our wedding photograph is still on Miguel's dresser. Thankfully, the sheets look new.

"I'll hop into the shower."

Tomás's response is to plop onto the couch in front of the fireplace with a pleasant smile. I blink at him with irritation. Why doesn't he leave? A couple of deep breaths manage to calm me down. I need to stop driving myself nuts in an attempt to figure out his motives. He does what he wants anyhow.

Another box stands on the vanity table next to the sink in the bathroom. When I open the lid, I find my toiletries, including the Chanel bath gel Naiara had gotten me from the duty-free shop on her final trip. I grab the bottles I need and get into the shower. The warm, soothing water pearls softly off my skin and eases the tension in my shoulders. All the filth and nasty odor are scrubbed away with a soft sponge, and after I wash and condition my hair at least a half a dozen times, the brush runs smoothly through it without getting entangled in the knots.

When I step out of the shower, the mirror is fogged up, leaving me guessing if my eyes have regained some of their shine. I slip into my bathrobe without drying myself off. Pulling my hair up, I wrap a towel around it like a turban. My teeth are next. I brush until my gums are sore. I never want to smell my sour breath again.

The feeling of cleanliness lifts my spirits, although the prickling sensation of danger resurfaces as soon as I step out of the bathroom. Tomás is still slouched comfortably on my couch with a book in his hand. Apparently, he doesn't intend to go anywhere soon.

His gaze travels up and down my frame. "Here, let me put some Vaseline on your lips." He disappears in the bathroom and resurfaces with the jar of Vaseline. As his fingers glide over my chapped lips, they are gentle. He gazes at me with those intense eyes and my cheeks tingle. My wrists are next on his inspection list. He runs his thumb over the red marks left behind by the tight rope. "I could kill Mateo for this."

His voice is thick and our eyes lock. Tension sizzles on my skin the way it did before he kissed me. My body starves for his tender touch just as it craved food earlier. When I glance at the bed, the need is replaced by incredible guilt. How can I long for another man in the same room I shared with my husband? I turn away from Tomás and the bed, hot tears burning in my eyes.

"You miss him, don't you?"

I nod, pressing the back of my hand against my lips to stifle a sob. What is wrong with me? After all the evil things Miguel did to me, I shouldn't feel this way. How can I still be hung up on a man who caused me more pain than anything? Someone who took my innocence by force. It's not right. I shouldn't feel sad for him. He got what he deserved.

Tomás spins me around, his gaze searching as he regards me with a sense of calmness. All of a sudden, he turns his back on me. "I should go."

After spending all that time in isolation at the rebel camp, I crave company, even if it's only Tomás. I can't stomach the thought of lying in the dark, in total silence. "Can you wait until I'm asleep?"

When he spins around again, his whole facial expression has changed. The coldness is back, together with his signature smirk. "Sorry if you got the wrong impression, but I'm not the man to crawl between your legs tonight."

I gasp. "I didn't mean—"

"I know exactly what you meant, Stacy." His chuckle is teasing. "Maybe you should try Santino. He likes younger women, and you two can whine about all the things you've lost."

When the door closes behind him, I'm left speechless. He totally misunderstood; I wasn't hitting on him. With a sigh, I drop onto the bed. Why is everything always so complicated with him?

~~~~

© Sal Mason 2016

This work is protected by copyright and should not be copied, downloaded, translated or used in any way without my expressed consent. Please don't steal it. Thank you!