Page 39 of His To Claim

He leaps across the room, snatching a gun from under his jacket with more speed than I ever would’ve dreamed from a man as big as him, from a man bigger even than Arturo.

He brings the barrel of the gun to my cheek, stroking it with the cold metal, sending hateful shivers up and down my body. The sensation is like a sick caricature of the way Arturo makes me shiver, tickling hands replaced with scratching fingernails.

“Oh, nothing to say now?” the man grins. “That’s strange. You were just so talkative. And if you care that much, I’ll tell you. It’s not like you’ll be alive long enough to share it. I’m Marty fucking Johnson, ladies and gents, one of the top FBI agents this nation has to offer. But why be a good guy, or a bad guy, when you can be both? You see …”

He leans in closer, pushing the barrel firmly against my face. I want to be brave, but the closeness of the weapon makes me tremble, my heart thundering in my chest.

Every instinct I have screams at me to get away, but I can’t.

The metal bindings bitting into my ankles and wrists.

“I’m one smart motherfucker,” he growls. “I saw a weakness in the government. I saw there were ways to exploit it. And I used that weakness to build myself an army, an empire. I created the name Peacekeepers, but it’s just me. I’m the army. I’m everything. Little lady, you should speak to me with some respect, because you’re speaking to a fucking god.”

I cringe away from him as much as I can, but he just casually moves the gun, always keeping the barrel pointed at me.

The revelation swims hotly around my mind.

A rogue FBI agent who created a criminal empire.

It would make quite the story.

But he wouldn’t have told us if he thought we were going to be alive to tell it.

Suddenly, he stands up, throwing his head back and laughing. It sounds unhinged, as though he’s on more than steroids.

Laced with an undercurrent of rage, an eerie energy permeates the room, like violence, like any second he could erupt.

“I guess we can make this easy,” the man says, strolling over to Arturo. He points the gun at his head. “Give me the coordinates of all your secret warehouses. I know you’ve got them.”

Arturo didn’t say anything when the man – Marty – had the gun to my head. I catch his eye now, and then I realize why.

We scream at each other silently.

If he shows this man that he cares about me, he’ll use me as a tool to extract information from Arturo.

He’ll torture me.

My man always protecting me.

“You’re a fool,” Arturo sighs, a dead calm falling over him.

It’s like all the fire inside of him has suddenly cooled to knife-sharp ice.

“A fool?” Marty cackles. “Want me to get the taser again? You sounded pretty damn foolish when you were croaking and flopping around, pal.”

“A fool,” Arturo repeats. “You think I’ll tell you about my business. You think I’ll let you hurt my friend. You think I’ll let you hurt my woman.”

Arturo stares at me, eyes hard, brimming with meaning, as though he’s roaring at me that everything’s going to be okay.

All I have to do is trust him.

All I have to do is love him.

And I do—both of them.

I love you, I scream with my eyes, hoping he understands what I’m saying, hoping he feels the same.

The man turns to glance at me, a cruel smirk of realization touching his lips—

And then Arturo strikes, slipping out of the binds on his hand.

He must’ve wriggled his hands out of them at some point, and now he’s been holding himself up.

He smashes him across the jaw as he falls – his feet still tied – and then lands atop him.

He elbows him violently and snatches his gun, and then turns and brings the gun to the metal bolt tying his ankles.

The gunshot rings through the room, the flare blinding me.

I close my eyes, the ringing moving through my head.

I try to lift my hands to cover my ears and kill some of the sound, but the bindings won’t let me.

Spots of yellow flicker across my vision.

Finally, it clears, the ringing dies down.

I let out a scream when I realize what’s happening.

All the faceless men have surrounded Arturo, their fists flying, knives going hiss in the air.

I can’t even see Arturo, the wall of men is so thick, all of them clambering to get close to him and have their chance to hurt him.

Marty is slowly climbing to his feet, blinking as though he doesn’t know where he is.

He stumbles and then rights himself, slowly turning to the mass of violence just a few feet away from him.

I feel so helpless.

I scream.

I rage.

But there’s nothing I can do.

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