Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Totally the dumb tourist trap Delia might stumble into if she wants a closer look.
The door is unlocked when I pull. I walk into this vacant mall that looks dark and abandoned. There’s not even a door concealing the entrance to the fortune teller’s place, but a cheap burgundy curtain.
Everything smells dank and funky on the other side. I nearly trip on some old boards pulled up from the floor.
Fucking hell.
Looks like Madam Ghizzy hasn’t been telling fortunes for a while, and this place hasn’t been secured by the city.
Adrenaline spikes through my system as I scan the darkness, looking for movement, for her.
Would Delia have really gone so far knowing how creepy this place looks?
An icicle pierces my gut as I press on, turning another corner.
It’s like a small theater inside, several rooms full of beat-up seats and separate stages. Looks like they used to do magic shows or something in here.
It’s dark and seedy as shit.
What the hell was she thinking?
Panic swarms my brain and I breathe deeply.
That’s when I notice something reeks, and it’s mighty hard to care about anything except finding Delia safe.
Unlike the streets, where there’s always some noise, this place is too quiet.
With a heavy sigh, I know what I need to do.
I cup my hands over my mouth and yell.
“Delia? Cordelia! Are you in here?” My voice echoes through the stillness, bouncing off tight walls. “Where the fuck are you?” I mutter when nothing comes back.
Every nerve in my body sharpens.
Around the corner, there’s a narrow hallway with some dingy restrooms. I wonder if she got lost in here, or maybe she went hunting for a real bathroom.
The girl drank like a fish earlier. We only made a quick pit stop before leaving the casino over an hour ago.
I walk up to the women’s room and press my ear to the barely hanging door, listening for Delia, for anything.
Then I hear it.
This weird smacking sound, like somebody tossing meat down on a cutting board, followed by a low, angry voice.
“Shut the fuck up. Stop struggling, bitch, or we’ll flay you wide open. Cooperate, and maybe you’ll see your family again. Fuck around and you bleed out on the floor here with the roaches. Choose wisely.”
My teeth pinch together so hard they’re about to break.
I squat down, ripping the knife out of its holster around my ankle. I carry it everywhere in public like this, feeling naked without it.
I’m in full combat mode now, feeling a familiar, heady shot of instinct that vibrates my veins.
For a second, I’m back in a penthouse on St. John Island, ushering a dirty and miserable little girl who can’t be older than thirteen out of a dungeon hole.
This is where I have to stop and make myself think.
I don’t know how many vicious motherfuckers I’ll find behind the door.
I don’t know if they’re armed or if they’ll tear into Delia’s throat the second I walk in.
I just hear low, ugly laughter, pierced by a muffled sob.
And I know exactly what I need to do.
Fucking save her!
Three more seconds go by—all I can spare to assess the situation.
“Quit fucking around and gag her,” the same gruff voice growls. “Get a pic for Mr. Joaquin so he can finally relax. We’ve got her, nice young skin and all. She’ll fetch a pretty penny after she brings us their heads. The boss will love sending them back in fucking boxes.”
My heart thuds as Delia whimpers again.
Shit, shit.
They’re definitely from the cartel, and that means they could be well armed, well trained, and flush with backup. I don’t like the odds if it’s six on one or worse, but even six hundred hit men and mules won’t make me run.
Again, Delia cries. “Please.”
Fuck.
What the hell is he talking about? What heads?
Oh.
My whole body jolts as I realize he means Enguard. He means me.
I’m the very reason she’s there, battered and scared for her life, completely at the mercy of these soulless fucks.
“I dunno, Rafa, you wanna just pack up and let her off that easy? She bit me,” another man snarls. “Bitch acts like she’s never seen a grown man’s dick before. Let’s get her back to the van and have some fucking fun for our trouble. Loosen her up before we hit the road.”
Rage flares through me like fire through a cannon.
I have to stop and count breaths to regain control, my body quaking like it has a live current.
“Fuck you, pussy. Rules are rules, and if you want to fuck with Mr. Joaquin, be my guest,” the older man growls, stomping a boot down hard on the tile. “Hand her over and give me a tie. I’ll show you how it’s done.”
“She can pay something with that mouth. Quick and easy,” the younger man growls.
Then I hear a belt coming undone.