Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 80139 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80139 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
My heart stops.
Zabala.
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
Terror clutches at me everywhere—my hands, my feet, my knees, my gut. He was supposed to be on a break. Did Cruz lie to me? Have I been duped?
Zabala drops his gaze to our joined hands. “Well,” he says. “This is interesting.”
Cruz doesn’t flinch as he steps slightly in front of me. “Lock issue,” he says.
Zabala’s eyebrows rise. “Lock issue?”
“Her cell door isn’t catching right.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes.”
Zabala looks past him at me. “And you’re moving her yourself?”
“Vega’s orders.”
Cruz doesn’t look at me. He doesn’t act protective. He doesn’t give me anything except the steady pressure of his hand around mine.
“It couldn’t wait?” Zabala asks.
“You want to explain to Vega why the hostage was kept in a cell with a faulty lock?”
Zabala looks me up and down, his eyebrows furrowed. “I wasn’t informed.”
Cruz shrugs. “You want to be informed, take it up with him.”
My heartbeat is so loud I’m sure they can both hear it. Every inhale feels too shallow, every exhale too loud.
Zabala looks at Cruz. Then at me. Then Cruz again.
I don’t know what he sees. I don’t know if Cruz is a good liar or if Zabala is just arrogant enough to assume no one would dare cross Vega under his nose. Maybe both.
Please be both.
Zabala rakes his gaze over me, and somehow I feel even dirtier.
“Why does she look so pretty?” he asks. “Wasn’t she supposed to be beaten up tonight?”
My throat closes.
“I was looking forward to tomorrow,” Zabala continues. “Taking the photos of her naked bruised body.”
I say nothing, because if I open my mouth, I’ll either scream or spit in his face.
“I’ll take care of it once she’s moved,” Cruz replies, his voice cold and detached.
“Will you?”
“Yes.”
“She doesn’t look frightened enough.”
I almost laugh. It would come out hysterical, so I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood.
Zabala reaches for my free hand. I try to pull back, but he holds on and lifts it to his lips.
My stomach heaves.
His lips are warm and damp. Then he slowly drags his tongue over my skin.
Vomit claws up my throat. I stop breathing. I stop being a person.
“I’ll miss this pretty little face,” Zabala says, looking up at me. “But broken women are a lot more fun to play with.”
I force the nausea down.
I want Cruz to kill him. Hell, I want to kill him myself.
Not hit him.
Not shove him.
Not threaten him.
Fucking kill him.
Zabala releases my hand.
I snatch it back, but I can still feel his lips and tongue. I will scrub my hand raw if I survive this.
When.
When I survive this.
Zabala looks at Cruz. “Don’t make her too ugly before tomorrow.”
Cruz inhales. “I don’t take orders from you. Now get the hell out of my way.”
Zabala smiles and continues the other way. “Sleep well, Robin.”
I swallow but I don’t look back.
I won’t.
Cruz keeps walking.
Not fast at first. He continues like nothing is wrong. Like we’re exactly where we’re supposed to be, doing exactly what we’re supposed to do.
Only when we turn the next corner does his pace change.
He stops in a shadow.
I drag air into my lungs.
I don’t throw up.
Small victory.
Cruz lets go of my other hand. “I’m sorry,” he says.
“For what?” I ask, though my voice barely works.
“For not beating him into a goddamned pulp.”
A laugh breaks out of me. Sort of. “That would’ve been bad?”
“It would’ve made this harder.”
I nod. I know he’s right. We have to play along. That’s how we stay alive.
“I get it,” I say, though secretly I wish he’d pounded the life out of that creep.
Cruz reaches for my hand.
20
CRUZ
We make it out through a service door that was never meant to be an exit.
Not for prisoners.
Not for men like me, either.
The hinges groan when I force it open, and for a second, I expect shouts. Boots. Guns raised. Zabala’s voice.
But only the darkness of night greets us.
Robin inhales sharply beside me.
“Move,” I whisper as I take her hand and pull her into the dark.
The ground outside the prison is uneven. Robin stumbles once, and I catch her before she goes down. She’s barefoot. I should have found her shoes. I should have found her something warmer. I should have found a hundred things before I dragged her through those corridors.
But a clean escape doesn’t exist.
Not from Diego Vega.
So I keep moving.
“Where are we going?” she whispers.
“Parking lot.”
“Are we stealing one of Vega’s cars?”
“No. His vehicles will be tracked.”
“So we’re not stealing a car from the psychopath holding me prisoner. That’s good.”
“We’re stealing from someone else.”
She goes quiet for a second. “I hate that I prefer that.”
“You can hate it after we’re gone.”
The parking lot comes into view beyond a low concrete wall. It belongs to a closed business, though I don’t know what kind. Doesn’t matter. Three vehicles sit under the weak security light.