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“Was Stucco there in the maintenance room?” She sneers sarcastically. “No, stucco wasn’t there, nothing happened,” she imitates me in a fake, deep voice.
I narrow my eyes.
“I was there, asshole. I saw you fight him.”
“What were you doing there?” I yell.
“Waiting to back you up with my gun.” She shakes her head angrily. “Like I was backing you up today.”
“Doing something without a plan is not backing me up. It’s fucking me up, Roshelle!” I yell.
“It’s Roshina,” she snaps.
I cannot believe it. I cannot fucking believe it.
We keep driving for a while and eventually we get to a sign.
Columbia—60kms
Finally
“We will go back to Columbia, dump the car, and catch a cab to Bogota. You still have the booking for another ten days in the hotel. We can lie low there until things die down. Make a plan,” I suggest.
Her face softens and she smiles her first smile of the day. I have to stop myself from reaching out and grabbing her hand. “Okay,” she murmurs as her scared eyes hold mine.
There is something breathtakingly beautiful about her bravery—her unbelievably stupid kamikaze bravery. She calls to me on a level I don’t understand, and even though I am beyond furious with her, my urge to protect and nurture her is at an all time high.
She was prepared to die for me today… for her cause.
She’s brave enough to be dangerous and yet vulnerable enough to die.
My worst nightmare.
It’s the last thought that I can’t stand and I know I need to get her safely out of the country as a priority.
Vikinos is not getting her. He’s not laying a damn finger on her. The damage he has already done to her is immeasurable. If I am honest with myself, I know why she shoots first and asks questions later. She has been pushed past the point of return and she doesn’t care what happens to her anymore. The need for revenge has consumed her just as much as it has consumed me. What are the chances that we both have the same target? Two people who randomly meet and have a connection, both with a thirst for the same man’s blood.
I’m not sure what to do with all of this. It’s information overload. I need to get my head around the fact that she is his daughter. The thought of him killing her scares me more than anything else.
This is not good.
A complication I don’t need.
As planned, we dump the car in a deserted street and grab a cab to Bogota. Two very silent hours later we arrive at the hotel.
* * *
Rosh
We walk through the reception of the hotel and I drop my head. I wanted to come back here with Stace one day, but not under these circumstances. As if he can read my fragile mind, he grabs my hand reassuringly. We walk into the elevator and he wraps me in his arms and pulls me to him. I put my head against his chest and close my eyes.
I’m home.
I don’t care what I did today, he is here with me. He is alive. The rest is just semantics.
We get up to the room and we walk limply. Without a word, he walks into the bathroom and turns on the shower and I make my way over to the window and pull the sheer curtains back and stare down below.
I have a heavy feeling hanging over me, like I’m carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders. Beyond exhausted, I feel like I could sleep for a week.
