19. Chapter Nineteen

Rylan stared out the window of the limousine as it pulled up to the West family home. The sight of the familiar white columns and manicured gardens should have brought him comfort, but instead he felt hollowed out.

As he stepped out of the car, he imagined his father rushing down the front steps to greet him. "Rylan, thank God you're safe," the Hamilton in his imagination said, pulling him into a tight hug.

But that would never happen. Rylan walked slowly up the steps, and was shown in by Carlton, the family butler. Carlton at least seemed relieved to see him, though he hid it behind his usual professionalism, and showed Rylan into his father's study.

It was a familiar room, the setting for so many of Rylan's childhood disappointments. The same oak cabinets, the same heavy desk, the uncomfortable armchair for visitors.

The real Hamilton West gave him a weary look and rose from his desk with a sigh. "You made it home. Good. I was beginning to think those thugs had lied about releasing you."

Thugs. Yes, Rylan supposed that's what they were. It seemed an insufficient word for the whole of the cartel and Bautista himself.

Bautista…But Rylan could not think about him. The pain was too great.

Hamilton eyed him narrowly. "You look thin. Did they feed you enough?"

Rylan shrugged, not meeting his father's eyes. "I survived."

Hamilton sighed. "Well, at least it's over now. Though if I'd known how he'd react, I would have just paid Bautista the money in the first place."

Rylan's head snapped up. "What did you say?"

Hamilton waved a dismissive hand. "Nothing, never mind. Let's get you something to eat-"

"No," Rylan interrupted. "What do you mean, if you'd known how he'd react? React to what?"

Hamilton shifted uncomfortably. "Rylan, it's complicated. You wouldn't understand-"

"I was kidnapped!" Rylan shouted, his composure shattering. "I was held prisoner for weeks, not knowing if I would live or die. I think I deserve an explanation for what I went through!"

Hamilton's shoulders slumped in defeat. "You're right. You do. Sit down and I'll tell you everything."

Rylan took a seat in the uncomfortable armchair, his pulse flickering with agitation.

"It's true, I had an arrangement with Bautista. He was going to provide certain... services that would have been beneficial to my campaign for governor. In exchange, I promised him a substantial sum of money."

Rylan's eyes widened in disbelief. "What kind of services?"

Hamilton waved his hand dismissively. "That's not important. The point is, I realized that the payment would look suspicious in my financial records. So, I made the decision to tip off the police instead."

Rylan felt like he had been punched in the gut. "You... you what? You tipped off the police instead of paying him?"

Hamilton nodded, seeming almost proud of himself. "I thought it was a neat solution. I didn't realize that Bautista would retaliate by taking you."

Rylan stood up, his hands clenched into fists. "He was right. You did try to fuck him over. All of this... everything I went through... none of it would have happened if you had just kept your word!"

Hamilton stood as well, his expression hardening. "Watch your language, Rylan. I did what I thought was best for my campaign, for our family's future."

"Our family?" Rylan laughed bitterly. "Since when do you care about our family? All you care about is your own ambition and greed."

Hamilton's face reddened with anger. "That's enough, Rylan. I won't be spoken to like this in my own home. Now, we have a lot of work to do to prepare for the wedding. If the press finds out where you've been, they'll be all over this story. We need to make sure that we present them with a distraction."

Rylan stared at his father in disbelief. "The wedding? Are you serious right now? I just spent weeks as a prisoner, not knowing if I would live or die, and you're worried about your fucking wedding?"

"Mind your language," Hamilton said sharply, but Rylan just threw up his hands in disgust. He stormed out of the study, ignoring his father's angry calls for him to come back. He couldn't stay in this house a moment longer, not with the man who had so carelessly put his life in danger.

"Sir?" Carlton was hovering by the door. "Can I get Thompson to drive you somewhere?"

Rylan hesitated. What else could he do? "Yes, Carlton," he said. "Please ask Thompson to drive me home."

***

Rylan stepped into his apartment, the familiar surroundings feeling foreign and strange after his time at Casa del Rey. He looked around at the staid, minimalist furnishings, the sleek lines and muted colors that had once seemed so chic and sophisticated. Now, they just felt cold and empty.

A pang of longing hit him, and he wished he could be back at Bautista's compound, with the scent of the rose gardens filling the air. But no, he couldn't think like that. Bautista had sent him away, had made it clear that he never cared for Rylan at all. "I was just a sexy toy to him," Rylan muttered, his voice bitter and filled with self-loathing.

Rylan pulled out his new phone and scrolled through the contacts until he found Katja's number. His stomach twisted into anxious knots as it rang. "Rylan?" Katja's familiar voice came through after the third ring. "Oh my God, where have you been? Your father said you were at some health retreat, but you never returned my calls or texts."

Anger flared hot inside him at the mention of his father's lie. "I wasn't at any retreat," he spat. "I was kidnapped."

There was a shocked silence on the other end of the line. "Kidnapped? Rylan, what...? Are you serious?"

"Dead serious," he said bitterly. "Grabbed right off the street and held for ransom by a Colombian cartel."

"Hell," Katja whispered, horror in her voice. "Rylan, that's... I can't even imagine. Are you okay? Where are you now?"

"I'm back home," he said dully. "They let me go."

"Let you go? Just like that?" Her voice was laced with disbelief.

Rylan didn't know how to explain the mess that had been him and Bautista. "It's...complicated."

"It sure is!" Katja said instantly. "I'm coming over right now. Don't go anywhere, okay?"

Rylan bit his lip. "I don't want to hang up," he said, feeling pathetic.

"Then don't," she shot back. "You can listen to this amazing story I have about what Antonio got up to last week. I am living."

He listened to her story, his feelings in conflict. On the one hand, he didn't care about any of the people in it or anything they did. But on the other, Katja's voice was soothingly familiar.

The story had so many asides and tangents that she was still telling it when he finally opened the door to find her on the step, a bottle of champagne in one hand and a huge smile on her face.

"And," she went on, pocketing her phone, "no one wants to admit it, but the cassowary theme was fire. Darling!" She threw her arms around him in a tight hug. "Oh my God, I'm so glad you're here back! You have to tell me everything!"

Rylan managed a weak smile as he let her into the apartment. "I don't know what to tell you."

"It must have been terrifying," she said sympathetically.

"It was," he admitted, taking the champagne from her. She opened a cupboard to fetch out glasses, already making herself at home. He carefully popped the cork on the champagne. "It was actually really dangerous. I didn't know if I was going to make it out alive."

Katja's eyes widened. "Were they simply awful to you?"

"No," Rylan said slowly as he filled their champagne flutes. "Bautista…he wouldn't let them hurt me." The name stuck in his throat, making him hoarse.

"Who?"

Rylan swallowed. "He was the cartel leader. The…kingpin, I guess."

"Was he a total beast?"

Rylan hesitated, images of Bautista flashing through his mind. The way he moved, all coiled power and raw sexuality. The intensity of his gaze, the way it seemed to strip Rylan bare and expose all his deepest desires.

"He was... complicated," Rylan said finally, his voice soft. "And dangerous, like you said. But also..."

Katja gave him a probing look. "Also what? Did he have a heart of gold?"

"No," Rylan said awkwardly.

"A secret love of pink frilly panties?"

Rylan smiled in spite of himself. "No. He was just…"

Katja's eyes narrowed. "What? Tell me."

"Sexy," Rylan said, and immediately wished he hadn't.

Katja's eyes widened at Rylan's admission, her expression morphing into one of shock and concern. "Sexy? Rylan, did something happen between you and this cartel guy?"

Rylan avoided her gaze, his cheeks flushing with shame. "It's...complicated," he mumbled.

But Katja wasn't having it. She set her champagne glass down with a thunk and leaned forward, her eyes intense. "Did he force himself on you? Did he...did he rape you?"

"No!" Rylan said quickly, his stomach twisting at the thought. "No, it wasn't like that. It was..." He trailed off, struggling to find the words.

Katja waited, her expression expectant.

Rylan took a deep breath, steeling himself. "We ended up in a sexual relationship," he admitted finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "It was toxic and messed up, but also...thrilling. I've never felt anything like it before."

Katja's eyes were wide with shock. "Rylan..."

"I know, I know," he said quickly, his cheeks burning with shame. "It was stupid and dangerous. But I couldn't help myself. He was just so...magnetic."

"Did you fall in love with him?" Katja asked softly.

Rylan's throat tightened, and he blinked back the sudden sting of tears. "I thought...maybe. But then he told me I meant nothing to him. That I was just a plaything."

Katja reached out and took his hand, squeezing it gently. "Oh, Rylan. I'm so sorry."

Rylan tried to keep his composure, but he could feel the cracks starting to form. "It's fine," he said, his voice wavering. "I was an idiot to think it could be anything more."

But even as he said the words, he knew they weren't true. Because despite everything, despite the danger and the toxicity and the heartbreak, Rylan knew he would do it all again in a heartbeat. Just to feel that thrill, that rush of being desired by someone as powerful and dangerous as Bautista.

No, not someone like him. Just him.

He told her everything, or as much as he could stomach, as they devoured the bottle. She made all the right noises, asked all the right questions. He was so glad of her he could hardly bear it. He'd forgotten to miss her while he'd been in Colombia. Everything had been too much.

Eventually she made a clucking noise. "Darling, we need to open another one of these and order some food. How do you feel about Korean?"

"I would commit murder for Korean," he said with a smile.

While she made the call, Rylan unzipped the gym bag that had been shoved at him as he was thrown out of Casa del Rey. Inside were the clothes he'd been kidnapped in, now cleaned and folded neatly. There were also the clothes Bautista had bought for him during his captivity, including the beautiful peacock-hued dressing gown.

Holding his breath, Rylan pulled it out of the bag. The silk spilled over his hands like liquid, cool and smooth against his skin. He brought the fabric to his nose, inhaling deeply. The scent of Bautista's cologne filled his nostrils, musky and masculine, and Rylan's heart clenched painfully in his chest.

As he lowered the gown, something fell out of the folds and clattered to the floor. Rylan bent to pick it up, his fingers closing around a gold chain. It was a necklace, clearly meant for a man, with a small, flat, gold plaque. A word was carved into it, in an elegant curling font. Rylan squinted at it for a moment before he understood. Cari?o.

A sob welled up in his throat. He held the necklace in his palm, his hand shaking. When Katja came back into the room, she opened her mouth to say something blithe, but stopped when she saw his face.

"What's wrong?"

"This," he showed it to her. "It means…"

"It means ‘darling'," she said, glancing up at him. Her expression seemed torn between dismay and something else. "That doesn't look like a gift from someone you meant nothing to," she said slowly, handing it back.

Rylan stared at the necklace for a long moment, his mind whirling. Bautista had sent him away, had told him he was nothing more than a plaything. But this necklace, this endearment, it didn't add up.

He looked up at Katja, his heart blazing with a sudden determination. "Do you want to go to Colombia?"

***

A week later, Rylan lounged on the plush sofa of their hotel suite, his phone buzzing incessantly on the coffee table in front of him. He glanced at the screen, seeing his father's name flash up for the umpteenth time that day. With a sigh, he ignored the call and tossed the phone aside.

Katja emerged from the bedroom, her hair still damp from the shower. "Hamilton again?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Rylan nodded, running a hand through his ash blond curls. "He's not going to stop until I answer."

"Maybe you should," Katja suggested gently, sitting down beside him. "He's probably worried about you."

Rylan snorted. "Doubtful. He's probably just pissed that I'm not there to wrangle his wedding."

Katja sighed but didn't push the issue. Instead, she pulled out her own phone and started scrolling through her contacts. "I've been asking around," she said, her voice low. "Trying to figure out how to get in touch with a cartel without raising any red flags."

Rylan's heart skipped a beat at the mention of the cartel. He knew what they were doing was dangerous, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he needed to find Bautista, needed to understand why he had sent him away and then secretly given him that necklace.

"Any luck?" he asked, trying not to sound desperate.

Katja shook her head. "Not yet. But I'll keep trying."

Rylan nodded, his fingers absently tracing the silky fabric of the peacock-hued dressing gown that lay draped over the arm of the sofa. He had been trying to track down the manufacturer for days now but had come up empty-handed. It seemed to be a one-of-a-kind piece, with no label or identifying marks.

"It could have come from anywhere," Katja had pointed out when he first showed it to her. "Including the internet."

But Rylan had a hunch that wasn't true. The gown felt too personal, too intimate to have been purchased online. No, he was certain that it had come from somewhere in Colombia. Somewhere close to Bautista.

"Anyway," he said, pushing himself up from the sofa. "I'm on a romantic mission here. Surely that's enough of a reason to be in Medellín?"

Katja smiled, but there was a hint of worry in her eyes. "Just be careful, okay?" she said softly. "I don't want you getting hurt again."

Rylan swallowed hard, nodding. He knew she was right to be concerned. But he also knew that he couldn't turn back now.

His phone buzzed again. This time, however, it was a text message and not from his dad. "It's Juan," he said, grabbing his satchel. "From the market? He's got a lead for me on the dressing gown."

"Want me to go with you?" Katja asked.

Rylan shook his head. "You're too beautiful," he told her. "You attract too much attention."

She winked and blew him a kiss. "Be careful, darling."

"Never," he said fondly, and let himself out.

When he arrived at the meeting point, however, Juan was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a young man with a friendly smile approached him. "You must be Se?or West," he said, extending his hand. "I'm Diego, Juan's cousin. He had an emergency and asked me to fill in for him today."

Rylan hesitated for a moment, but then shook Diego's hand. He had no reason to suspect anything was amiss, and he was too focused on finding the manufacturer to worry about the change in plans.

As they drove through the bustling streets of Medellín, Rylan found himself comparing the city to Casa del Rey. The noise and chaos of the traffic, the crowds of people on the sidewalks, the colorful buildings and street art—it was all so different from the secluded compound where he had been held captive.

A strange sense of nostalgia for the peace and tranquility of Casa del Rey came over him. Despite the constant threat of violence and the unpredictable moods of Bautista and his men, there had been a certain simplicity to life there. No social obligations, no expectations, nothing but Bautista and his mercurial temper.

He cares for me,Rylan told himself. Was this madness? He was risking everything to speak to a man who had rejected him.

His fingers stole to his chest, touching the engraved plaque hidden beneath his shirt. Cari?o. No, that had to mean something. That had to mean everything.

Rylan blinked. The view of the city outside the car had changed, and they were entering an unfamiliar part of Medellín. The buildings grew more dilapidated, the streets narrower and more crowded.

"Are you sure this is the right way?" he asked Diego, trying to keep the nervousness out of his voice.

Diego flashed him a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, amigo. I know a shortcut."

But as they turned down a cramped alleyway, Rylan's unease only grew. The stench of refuse filled his nostrils, and he had to step carefully to avoid the piles of garbage that littered the ground as he exited the car.

"I'm not sure," he said, but stopped at the sight of a man emerging from a doorway up ahead. Rylan's heart leapt into his throat.

It was Giraldo.

Rylan hadn't seen him since the night Bautista's compound had been attacked. He'd known Giraldo had gotten away, but he hadn't given the man a second thought after that. And now here he was, grinning at Rylan like they were old friends.

"So good of you to keep your appointment," Giraldo said, his voice dripping with false cheer.

Rylan spun around, intending to make a run for it, but his path was blocked by another man with a gun. Back in the alleyway, the car that had brought him here was backing up, already turning to make its escape.

He cursed himself for being so stupid, for blundering right into what was obviously a trap. "What do you want?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

Giraldo chuckled. "Your father paid Bautista a pretty penny to get you back, didn't he? Well, my friends and I figure he'll be just as happy to pay it over again to us."

Rylan's stomach dropped as Giraldo's words sank in. Kidnapped again—this time by men who were clearly not associated with Bautista. Panic began to set in, his breath quickening.

"You're making a mistake," Rylan tried, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "My father won't pay. He doesn't care about me."

Giraldo's grin widened. "Oh, I think he will. I'm sure your dear old papá will cough up the cash."

Rylan's heart raced. He couldn't go through this again. With a surge of adrenaline, he lashed out, swinging his satchel at the man blocking his path. The man grunted in surprise, staggering back, and Rylan took off running down the alley.

But his freedom was short-lived. Giraldo tackled him from behind, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Rylan struggled, kicking and clawing, but Giraldo was larger and stronger. He easily pinned Rylan's arms behind his back.

"Nice try, pendejo," Giraldo panted, hauling Rylan to his feet. "But you're not getting away that easily."

Rylan's vision swam, panic and despair threatening to overwhelm him. As Giraldo dragged him towards a waiting van, he caught sight of someone in the shadows—a young woman was watching with wide, frightened eyes.

Rylan tried to call out to her, to beg for her help, but Giraldo clamped a meaty hand over his mouth. "Ah-ah-ah," he chided. "Can't have you alerting the whole neighborhood, can we?"

Rylan's muffled cries turned to whimpers as Giraldo shoved him into the van. The door slammed shut, plunging him into darkness. Curling in on himself, Rylan tried to will his racing heart to slow. But as the vehicle lurched into motion, all he could think about was that he would never see Bautista again.