Page 174 of Damián

Oh, God, they’re already here.

“And we need to leave right now, through the back door!” I yell, grabbing her by the hand and pulling her back into the house.

“My purse, my phone, I need to get—”

“Leave it! Phones can be tracked. We’ll call Alexios once we are safe.”

We are seconds away from reaching the back door when the front door flies open.

“Mom? Can you help me with the groceries?” a woman’s voice calls out.

María stops dead, holding my hand tight. “Fernanda.”

Shit!

“Stay here,” I tell her. I run to the entryway of the house, where I see a young woman with the same dark hair and striking features as Damián’s. Her hair is tied up in a bun, and she’s wearing medical scrubs. “Hi,” I say.

“Who the hell are you?”

“One of Dami’s friends. Your mom is in the back. We need to leave.”

SCREECH!

The sound of tearing rubber is so loud this time that even Fernanda flinches. Her face goes pale, but she doesn’t move. Instead, she grips my wrists with a strength that catches me completely off guard.

“My son is outside! He’s sleeping in his car seat!”

Oh, Jesus Christ…

“I’ll get him. You go to the back with your mother,” I tell her and leave without waiting for her response.

If she is anything like Damián, she would fight me over it. So instead of debating, I sprint through the front door, down the porch steps, and across the garden.

Fernanda’s blue sedan is parked right in front. Through the rear window, I can see a tiny, dark-haired boy fast asleep, his head tilted sideways against the straps of a plastic car seat.

Shit, shit…

I see the SUVs a few yards from the house, getting closer by the second… and if I can see them this clearly, I’m pretty sure they can see me too.

I dive toward the rear door of the sedan, yanking it open, and scramble into the seat. My fingers fumble, desperately fighting to unbuckle the child’s seatbelt.

I slam my thumb onto the red button, but it doesn’t budge.

What the hell?!

Who designed these things? NASA?

“Come on, you piece of… open up!” I growl, sweat dripping down my nose as I yank at the straps.

And somehow, the kid is still asleep.

Do all Sotos sleep this deeply?

I finally manage to unbuckle the monster seat, scoop the kid up, and cradle him against my chest as best I can.

CRACK!

The glass of the sedan’s rear windshield instantly shatters into a million tiny crystals, showering over my back and finally waking Carlitos up.