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“Hold on!”
I let out a squeal and brace myself as we cut across two lanes of oncoming traffic to make a sharp left turn. We’re moving in the opposite direction of Scottsdale’s city hall, away from the busy streets to a quiet commercial area of small offices that haven’t yet started their day. The mountain looms on our left.
Gabriel’s phone rings. His answers and shouts, “Where the fuck are you?”
“Four minutes out if you slow down!” Comes Farley’s muffled response through the speaker.
He ends the call, his eyes on the rearview mirror. After a lingering look, he takes his foot off the gas and engine quiets back to a rumbling purr.
“What do they want?’
“Doesn’t matter. They’re not getting it,” he says, his voice taking on that hard, cool tone that used to intimidate me. “I think we lost them. I don’t see them anywhere back—Shit!” Gabriel slams on the brakes and the Lamborghini comes to a screeching halt.
My seatbelt snaps tight across my chest.
Mere feet away from the hood, a white Suburban that pulled out from a cross street blocks the lanes.
Gabriel doesn’t waste time, throwing the car into reverse and stomping on the gas.
Only to slam on the brakes again as two more SUVs race up from behind, boxing us in. “It’s an ambush,” he says far too calmly, reaching beneath his seat to pull out a handgun.
From the Suburban, four men in black clothes spill out, all carrying guns.
A line of weapons aim at our windshield. “Get out of the car!” One of them yells.
Gabriel surveys the situation with calculating eyes. “Farley will be here any minute.”
Movement in the sideview window catches my eyes. More men with guns are trickling out of the other vehicles, surrounding us. “Gabriel—”
“I know. I see them. Just stay where you are.”
“Get out of the car!” The man bellows again. He dips the tip of his gun downward and fires a round into the hood of the Lamborghini. It’s a warning shot.
Gabriel hisses with anger.
A man sidles up to my window and taps the glass with the barrel of his gun. It’s inches away from my temple. My heart, already racing, pounds in my throat.
“Last chance! Get out of the car or she’s dead!”
Gabriel’s jaw tenses. “Listen to me, carefully. They want me, not you.”
“What does that mean?”
“Do what they say, and don’t say a word. Don’t fight back. Do you understand?”
I swallow against my terror. He didn’t answer my question. “Yes.”
Slowly, he sets his gun on the dash and, showing his hands, he hits the door locks.
The next few moments happen in a terrifying blur of shouts and forceful hands, until Gabriel and I are on our knees in front of his car, the barrels of seven guns trained on us and nowhere to run.
From the backseat of the Suburban, a curvy woman in a stylish poppy-colored suit steps out. Jet black heels that match her sleek hair color click on the pavement as she approaches us, a confident stride in her steps. She’s young—in her late-twenties, I’m guessing—and beautiful, and not hinting at an ounce of trepidation. “Gabriel Easton,” she purrs, her accent elongating the vowels from his name with melodic flare. “I hear you have been trying to reach my father.”
“Your father.” Gabriel exhales slowly. “You must be Ava Navarro.”
I’ve heard that name before, just last night. This is the daughter Vlad wants them to kill. I assumed she was a child. An innocent.
“Why do you want to meet with him?”
“That’s between him and me,” Gabriel answers smoothly.
Her lips twist as if she’s tasted something sour. In her coal black eyes, a challenge gleams. “Wrong answer. You have three seconds to provide the right one.” She nods to one of the men and he closes the distance toward me, unsheathing a curved blade from his hip.
My bladder threatens to unleash.
“One—” She begins, her voice hard and uncompromising.
Gabriel’s jaw tenses. “My brother and I want a truce.”
She pauses. “And does Vlad Easton want a truce?”
“No. He wants us to kill you.”
“What a coincidence. My father has plans to kill you.”
“If you do that, I can promise, there isn’t a place in this world you’ll be able to hide from Caleb.”
“I guess we shall see.” She snaps her fingers.
A dull thud sounds beside me. My jaw drops in horror as Gabriel falls forward to the ground, a scream bubbling in my throat but unable to escape. The man behind him holds his gun in reverse. They didn’t shoot him, I tell myself. They only knocked him unconscious. He’s still alive. For now.
“Get up.” Someone jabs me in the back as two men hoist Gabriel off the ground and drag him toward the SUV, his limp legs dragging on the road behind him.
Without any other choice—not that I’d leave Gabriel’s side—I let them lead me into the back seat.
