A month later, curiosity led him to Colombia at Matias’ request. He wanted to learn more about the dangerous capo and the anti-slavery raids he supposedly operated. It was on one of these raids, in a dilapidated barn, where Tate saw the horrifying goodness in Matias Restrepo.
He watched from the safety of a barn window as children—naked, beaten, and bloody—were auctioned off, one by one, for the wretched pleasures of men. Then he watched Matias save them all, leaving a bloodbath of wrath in his wake.
It was on that night that he knew he would do anything for the man who held Camila’s heart.
After spending weeks with Matias in the slums of South America raiding slave operations, he gained a friend and lost all hope of requited love from Camila.
He might’ve been her closest friend, but Matias… He was the counterpart to her passion, the mate to her vengeful soul. They shared a spirit Tate couldn’t begin to understand.
So he consented to Matias’ plan. He would watch over her, protect her, and call Matias every day with every detail of her life.
But he wouldn’t, couldn’t stop loving her.
“You need to return to her.” Matias eyed him from across the table at his Colombian estate. “Her safety is my number one priority.”
“I’ll head home tomorrow,” Tate said, distracted.
He scanned the floor of Matias’ veranda, every inch of it covered with piles of papers, maps, and photos of warehouses and slave traders.
When he left Camila in Texas three weeks ago, he told her he was going on a soul-searching journey across the States. Now he found himself in the luxury of Matias’ home, poring over an unsolved mystery.
“There’s nothing there.” Matias rose from the table and stepped toward the interior door. “I searched for Camila’s sister for two years. She’s dead, Tate.”
“She’s missing.”
“For six years.”
“You don’t know she’s dead.” Tate stared at a photo of Lucia Dias, hypnotized by the huge brown eyes of a girl who looked so much like her sister.
“I know she was inside a transport of trafficked slaves that crashed in Peru. No one survived. That’s where the investigation ends.”
“You gave up.”
“I prioritized.” Matias gripped the door jamb and straightened his spine. “My priority is—”
“Camila.” Tate swiped a hand down his face. “Mine, too. But there’s no harm in digging further, to see if there’s something you missed.”
“Camila can’t know. If you get her hopes up, I’ll cut your—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. I won’t tell her.” Tate lifted a photo of Lucia and Camila embracing each other in an orange grove.
In their teens, their likeness was uncanny—long black hair, delicate bones, stubborn chins. Yet there were notable differences. Lucia was two years older, her features sharper with maturity, her smile more relaxed, carefree. She was even more beautiful than her sister, if that were possible.
“I’ll make copies of the documents.” Matias blew out a breath. “I can digitalize everything and send it to you.”
Tate nodded, his gaze glued to the image of the lost girl.
He might not hold Camila’s heart, but could find her sister—dead or alive. He could bring her closure. It would give him purpose, a distraction from the persistent ache inside him. He desperately wanted to do this for her.
Because he loved her.
CHAPTER 1
Present day…
The electronic beats of Ke$ha’s “Take It Off” followed Tate through the dimly lit halls of The Velvet Den. The worn wallpaper, creaking wood floors, and faint scent of perfume evoked a tantalizing nostalgia for his old stomping grounds. But beneath the swell of sentimentality lay a prickle of unease. Not all his memories of this place were pleasurable.
Stepping out of the final corridor, he lingered at the entrance of the main room. Settees and lounge chairs surrounded an empty stage. The rich textures and dark decor was designed to make club members feel relaxed and safe, and the exceptional service catered to their upscale tastes. Then, of course, there were the girls. Scantily dressed and easy on the eyes, they served drinks and sex with alluring smiles.
Nestled in a suburban border town in southern Texas, the invite-only establishment was older than his twenty-five years. It hadn’t always been a swinger’s club, but as laws cracked down on prostitution, The Velvet Den evolved. Money still exchanged hands after a sweaty fuckfest in a private room, but no one spoke of those transactions. A narc would lose more than his membership.
The club owner didn’t just enforce the rules, authorize the contracts, and hire the well-vetted staff. She set the mood, simply through the elegance and grace of her presence.
As he scanned the room for her long blond hair and voluptuous body, her husky voice caressed his back.
“Your guest has arrived, darling.”
“Lela,” he breathed, turning to meet the sharp green eyes of his oldest friend. “It’s good to see you.”
“Is it?” Her plump, red-painted lips pouted her disapproval. “You never visit. I’m under the impression you don’t miss me at all.”
“You know that’s not true.” He wrapped his arms around her and smoothed a hand down the corset’s lacing along her spine. “I’ve missed you more than you know.”
Hard to believe she was in her forties. She didn’t look a day older than thirty. He could still picture her towering over him and pommeling his ass for the mischief he’d stirred up as a boy.
She framed his face and caressed her lips against his. The lingering kiss, the exotic aroma of her shampoo, and the press of her fingers against his jaw—all of it filled him with warm memories.
The Velvet Den was his home, and while Madame Lela Pearl wasn’t his mother, she was the closest thing he ever had to one.
“Thank you for letting me hold my meeting here.” He glanced over his shoulder, searching the crowd. “Where’s my guest?”
“I set him up in the Cognac Room.” She trailed a blood-red fingernail down the placket of buttons on his shirt. “Unless you prefer a room with more privacy.”
“It’s not that kind of meeting.”
“No?” Disappointment creased her pretty features. “I hoped you returned to work for me again.”
“Lela—”
“You’re even more handsome than you were as a boy. Stronger. More virile.” She petted his bicep. “The ladies would empty their purses to experience your dominant nature.”
His stomach buckled. The clientele tended to be older, with marriage, careers, and kids behind them. Too old for the downtown club scene, they came here with unique proclivities, looking to quench darker appetites.
It didn’t matter. Young or old, male or female, locals or out-of-towners, no one would be paying him for sex. Never again.
“I don’t need money.” He caught her arm and gently set her away. “There’s more to life than getting off.”
Her eyes bugged. “Shut your mouth. I raised you better than that.” She propped her fists on the flare of her hips. “Have you forgotten what it feels like to fuck without commitment or strings—?” She snapped her teeth together, eyes growing wider. “Oh shit. Are you in love?”
That was only part of it. She didn’t know what happened to him when he disappeared from The Velvet Den’s parking lot six years ago. He was nineteen when Van Quiso took him at gunpoint and raped him for ten weeks in a soundproof attic.
She assumed he ran away, and he let her hold onto that belief. The truth would wreck her.
“Yes, there is someone.” He averted his gaze, unable to hide the resentment in his expression.
“But?”
“She’s engaged.”
“So? Win her away from her fiancé.”
“They belong together, and I love her enough to let her have that. To let her go.”
It’d been four years since Matias approached him in that Austin bar. Four of the most miserable years of his lif
e. After going along with Matias’ plan, watching Camila reunite with him, and losing her completely when she moved to Colombia, Tate no longer wanted to stay in the Austin house he’d shared with her.
Visiting her a few times in Colombia hadn’t helped his miserable jealousy.
So he came here.
Home.
But it wasn’t the same.
No, he wasn’t the same.
“My guest is waiting.” He kissed the top of Lela’s head. “I’ll stay a few days, maybe longer, okay? We’ll catch up.”
“Very well.” She fussed with the collar of his shirt. “I’ll have a room prepared for you. Stay as long as you want.”
“Thank you.”