Page 4 of Wicked Ambition

Ayla waited for him to tell her they were leaving, but it didn’t come. She peeked around his big body. If they tried to walk away, those men would be on them before they made it to the other side of the street. Terror returned. What could one man do against a dozen?

Her protector spoke in a lazy, bored voice. “Do you really want to start a war? The city is filled with mercs with nothing to do. You attack me or my wife, and they suddenly have revenge to keep them occupied. Mercenaries don’t allow anyone to take out one of their own.”

It took a few seconds for her to translate his Spanish into English, but Ayla must have gotten something wrong. Mercenaries?

“Do you think we’re afraid of a mercenary?” one of the gang sneered.

“One? No, but you won’t be facing one. You’ll be facing dozens.”

“They care only for money, not for friendship.”

Her protector shrugged. “You know better. Allowing an attack to go unchallenged puts more mercenaries at risk. Theanswer will be swift and brutal retaliation. You and the rest of your buddies won’t live to see mass on Sunday.”

Division brewed among the gang members.

The camouflage pants and shirt her rescuer was wearing finally registered. She’d been focused on the guns when she’d rushed toward him, but if she remembered correctly, he’d been wearing the shirt open over an olive green T-shirt. Military attire. Mercenary attire?

He couldn’t be a mercenary. He must be claiming to be one to get them safely out of here. That had to be what was happening.

There was more muttering from the gang, and Ayla leaned to check out what was going on. One man was murmuring to the leader. She couldn’t make out the words, but the scowl suggested the asshat in charge didn’t like the message. More rumbling and then a sharp nod.

“Killing you isn’t worth the effort, not for some scrawny woman.”

Ayla stiffened. Scrawny? She went to the gym every day. She could do half an hour on the elliptical while scrolling on her phone. That leader wouldn’t be able to do that.

The gang started breaking up, leaving in smaller groups of two or three. They remained standing in the street until the leader finally walked away. He was the last one.

“Let’s go, chicken woman,” her rescuer said.

Her brows went up. “Chicken woman?”

“That’s what the dude called you.” His lips quirked.

“I thought he said scrawny.”

That got her a shrug. “Either way, we need to move in case he changes his mind and returns with reinforcements. Come on,Pollita.” He holstered his guns.

“Little chicken?”

He moved her hand off the telescoping handle of her suitcase, lowered it, and then reached for the grip. Lifting herbag, he headed across the street toward a café. Ayla followed him, not willing to give up the safety his presence gave her. “Little chicken?”

“Relax, I know you’re not a scrawny chicken woman. I remember everything about that night,” he said over his shoulder.

Ayla’s cheeks went hot. She should have let him call her Pollita without complaining about it. It was less embarrassing. Especially in that deep, sexy tone he used. It made her body heat and brought that night front and center in her mind. The things he’d said. Things he’d done. The things she’d done. Her breath quickened, and it had nothing to do with hurrying after him.

He paused when he reached the sidewalk, waiting for her to catch up with him. “Are you really wearing heeled shoes?” He sounded incredulous.

“I didn’t realize where the bus station was.”

“Yeah, but you were traveling from Rio Blanco to Trujillo. You should dress comfortably, not for the office.”

Ayla frowned up at him. “Thesearemy comfortable clothes.”

Her rescuer shook his head but didn’t comment. Instead, he took off without a word, expecting her to follow him. Which, of course she did, because she didn’t want to be alone in any section of town that looked like this.

“Where are we going?” she asked after a few minutes.

“First? Out of this neighborhood. This is one of the most dangerous places in Trujillo.”

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