Page 15 of Bound By Her

Her eyes began to glaze over. She rarely missed her father, but it was meetings like these where she wished he was still alive and it was him playing these ridiculous games and not her.

“Callen, as interesting as this all is, we both have a business to run. Why don’t you tell me what brings me to Chicago?”

Callen smacked his lips, licking a bit of cheese from his thumb.

“Bryce, what did I tell you? Just shy of thirty-six, and she’s as shrewd as ever. This one’s a viper. She’ll find your weakness before you even know she’s there. Keep your eye on her—just like her father.”

A chill crawled up Adria’s spine.

“I’m nothing like my father,” she said, her voice flat.

Too flat.

She’d forgotten to keep the innocent, feminine lilt she’d adopted upon arrival.

Callen’s fake smile faltered.

Shit.

She had shown emotion. A misstep. That meant she’d already lost the first round.

Her best move now was to stay silent and let Callen play his cards first.

“I brought you here for a business proposition,” he said, jaw tightening, the gleam in his eye betraying his usual measured control. “The Winters are looking to expand globally. We have several options, but we’re setting our sights on South America.”

Adria leaned back, feigning nonchalance. “I wasn’t aware you had allies there.”

“That’s for me to worry about.”

Her fingers tapped idly against the table as she tried to anticipate his angle.What does he want from me?

“I’m not sure I understand.”

Callen snapped his fingers. Three men emerged fromthe doorway, clearing the table between them. A map was rolled out, and Callen’s fat finger tapped an area in South America.

Something wasn’t right.

A rare flicker of excitement crossed Callen’s face, cracking his usual stoicism. “Actually, it’s a property of yours that’s piqued my interest.” His finger landed on the map. “Here. Off the Tapajós River in Brazil.”

Adria kept her expression smooth, but her pulse quickened.

How the fuck does he know about that property?

“And what would I get?” she asked, masking her unease.

Callen snapped his fingers again. A manila envelope appeared in front of her.

Sliding it open, her fingers brushed against crisp paper, cold and sterile. Inside: a dossier.

Courier contacts. Smuggler rights. A contract granting her exclusive access to a major shipping line.

She flipped through the pages, scanning photographs—men with sharp goatees, cocaine pallets stacked in warehouses, grim-faced women lined up like livestock.

Her stomach twisted.

The Nine didn’t deal in money. They delt in people, land, and favors.

Callen’s offer was clear.

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