Matt looked down at the phone, lying on the corner of the desk. As Trees lunged for it, Matt stepped between him and the device. “I’m serious. This is just going to fuck with your head more.”
Trees didn’t care. And he was done arguing.
This was another moment where it paid to have really long arms and legs. Trees shoved the cowboy to one side and lunged just close enough to swipe the phone.
Matt stopped fighting after that and merely sighed. “Fine. Be a stupid bastard. I was just trying to save you from having your heart ripped out.”
What the hell was he talking about?
Trees launched his emails and found the one from Laila at the top. The subject line read: Maybe this will convince you…
What did that mean?
Inside, the body of the email said:
I tried to tell you that I am happy with Victor, and you did not believe me. Get it through your head, yanqui.
Their conversation in La Pesca rang through his head.
“You want to be with him?”
“Of course. I always have.”
At the memory, cold slithered under his skin.
But there was more, a video. The still frame alone shocked him. A naked Laila smiled up at the camera she was obviously holding. Her eyes were half-lidded and her head tossed back. Victor Ramos was on top of her with one fist gripping her hair and his face buried in her neck.
Suddenly, the last thing he wanted to do was play the video.
“Don’t do it,” Matt warned.
But didn’t he have to? He had to make sure it was real. It was possible Victor had staged this as a way of making him back off. But that’s what someone who felt powerless would do, and Trees’s gut told him that wasn’t Ramos. That asshole had shot the front window out, broken into his house, and walked right inside—something a man with a vendetta did. Was he hurting Laila for revenge? Maybe…but that didn’t make sense, either. Laila was holding the camera, and she didn’t look at all distressed.
He was probably a stupid bastard, but he ignored Matt and pressed play.
Immediately, he heard Laila panting. The camera was unsteady. He heard sheets rustling, followed by a feminine moan, then Laila looked up and steadied the phone on them.
“Chiquita,” he growled. “I want that pussy.”
“It is here for you. Like I am,” she breathed, rolling her head to one side to offer Victor her neck.
“Hmm…yes.” The man she claimed had violated her over and over for six years bounced on top of her. “Good little puta.”
“For you? Always.”
Trees had been feeling queasy all night. Now he felt downright sick. “What the fuck?”
“Stop watching now. It doesn’t get better,” Matt said.
Trees couldn’t. “No.”
But seconds later, he wished he’d listened. Victor gave a vicious tug on her hair and sank his teeth into her naked shoulder hard enough to leave marks.
Laila cried out. “Yes!”
“Mine.”
Laila gave another heavy-lidded glance toward the camera. “Yours.”
The video ended.
Trees sank to the cot and stared at his phone, unblinking. The silence was deafening. His head provided another exchange from La Pesca he wished he could forget.
“You kicked and scratched and tried to get away.”
“It is a game we enjoy. It is our foreplay. I like sex rough.”
“I’m sorry,” Matt finally said.
Slowly, Trees set the phone down. His stomach turned as he tried to make sense of what he’d just seen. But it was obvious, wasn’t it? She’d used her body to lure him. He’d fallen for her…and she’d played him.
Pain chopped through his chest like an ax, cleaving him in two.
“Son of a bitch.”
“If it’s any consolation, when we saw her a few hours ago, I would have sworn she cared about you, probably more than a little. But after seeing that video…”
“There’s no way she ever cared about me.”
Trees had been bullshitting himself. She was too damaged. Too far gone. Too used to giving her body to cutthroats and criminals to have a heart anymore, much less one capable of love and devotion. He’d just been the sucker who wanted to save her.