Total pages in book: 218
Estimated words: 215412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 862(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 215412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 862(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
Those lashes don’t make sense on a man built like him. Neither does the mouth. Too pretty. Too expressive. Too dangerous in how easily it makes me hard as a rock.
I want him. Not abstractly or tactfully. I want to fuck his brains out. I want the heat of him beneath me, the friction, and the release that comes from collision.
The urge doesn’t rush. It locks in. The same way it locked in when I no longer saw Dove as my little sister.
But this sexual tension that Wolf and I share? It’s unlike anything I’ve felt. The pressure is ever-present and all-consuming. One wrong move will detonate the barrier between us and change the physics of the room.
Wanting Wolf isn’t a thought I can argue with or a craving I can starve out. He’s the moon in motion, recruiting my organs, engaging my nerves, and controlling every drop of blood in my body.
He doesn’t chase. He alters the pull of the room just by existing in it. Currents shift. Gravity strengthens. Distances shorten, and I feel myself drawn, dragged closer by forces I don’t command.
His nose wrinkles. He leans back, stares at the ceiling, and exhales through his teeth as if the information on the screen doesn’t make sense.
It doesn’t.
I gave him the profiles of all twenty-two members of the cartel’s inner circle. Faces, aliases, timelines, lieutenants, spies, drug lords, and former sex slaves.
“What in the lord’s sweaty balls am I looking at?” He scrolls, pauses, scrolls again, and shakes his head.
I know that face. I wore it myself years ago, staring at the same profiles, realizing the story I thought I knew was only half the truth and the dangerous half at that.
The further I dug into Restrepo and The Shadow Collection, the more the ground shifted under my feet. Every assumption I carried shattered.
Watching Wolf process it now is like seeing the moment a lock turns, confusion giving way to pattern, disbelief sharpening into understanding.
He finally looks over at me, eyes bright and unsettled, mouth caught between a grin and a scowl.
Yeah. That’s the face he makes when the world just got bigger and meaner and a hell of a lot more complicated.
“This isn’t right.” He shoots me a confused glare. “Cartels don’t do this. They run countries like dictators and rule through fear. They traffic people, slaughter families, and make gory examples out of disobedience.”
“That reputation is cultivated.”
“Cultivated?” He scoffs.
“Maintained. Aggressively.” I point to a page of my notes that he’s hovering over. “They keep the enemies at bay by letting the world believe they’re exactly what the world expects. It keeps rivals cautious and governments predictable.”
“These operations…” Wolf scrolls again, stops, and reads deeper. “They’re not profit-driven.”
“No. They’re surgical.”
“They’re hunting human sex traffickers.”
“Yep. Erasing them, one by one.”
“That’s not how the world works.”
“It does for them.” I sit back. “The Shadow Collection is the name everyone fears. But privately, they call themselves The Freedom Fighters.”
“They’re vigilantes.” He blinks. “They’re the good guys.”
“Good? Not exactly. They’re ruthless, bloodthirsty, avenging criminals. They’ll do anything and kill anyone to protect their cause.”
The words hang there while he reads on, cross-checking and confirming with his own instincts.
I see the moment it clicks. Not comfort or approval. Clarity. The world isn’t simple. Monsters wear many faces, and sometimes the scariest mask keeps the real heroes hidden.
“Let me get this straight.” Wolf slumps in the chair. “They play the villain so the villains don’t see them coming.”
“Exactly. If you’re wondering why Matias Restrepo personally answered my call, it’s because you don’t ignore people who can tell the difference.”
“This changes things.”
“It doesn’t. It explains them.”
“No wonder you traded your life to them. They’re hunting predators, killing them, and protecting girls who’d otherwise disappear. That’s basically your whole résumé.” He lifts both eyebrows, half-grin, half-disbelief. “Bet you couldn’t sign up fast enough.”
Anger ignites so fast it snaps my teeth together.
“This isn’t a punchline.” I slam my fist on the table.
He stills.
“I didn’t want this. I fought it. For fucking years.” I surge to my feet and shove my hands in my hair. “I tried every other path. Every angle. Every shadow route that didn’t end with them. Then you came along, and I was suddenly out of excuses.”
“You made the decision believing Dove would be safe with me. That she’d be protected.”
“Yeah. I surrendered my life to the cartel with the conviction that I would never drag her or you into it.”
“Oh, shit.” Understanding flares in his eyes. “The night you sneaked onto the island, when you said goodbye…”
“Yeah. I’d just signed myself over.”
“Fuck. You were really fucking leaving. Severing ties forever.” He exhales, stunned. “You didn’t want us anywhere near this.”
“No, I fucking didn’t. The consequences aren’t theoretical. They’re permanent.” I tap the screen and meet his eyes. “Everything I’m showing you makes you a target. If they know you understand this, really understand it, you’re exposed.”