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And she’d stopped me from killing him. She’d begged for his life. I’d thought my timid captive couldn’t bear the violence, but she’d been protecting her accomplice.
Arturo didn’t know what had happened in that hallway. He didn’t know that Marisol had softened and melted in my arms.
But he did know that she was a traitorous, deceptive little liar who was willing to send me to my death in order to get away from me. She hadn’t wanted my touch at all. She’d been manipulating me, buying herself and Daniel more time by distracting me with her pliant mouth and sweet sighs.
My burning rage surged to sear the inside of my chest, leaving ashes on my tongue.
I’d protected her. I’d cared for her, as I’d never cared for anyone. I’d stupidly allowed myself to indulge in the laughable fantasy that there was even a shred of goodness in me and that Marisol had seen it.
The darkness at my core closed tighter around my heart, squeezing out all my delusions and crushing the needling pain that’d momentarily stabbed deep at the realization of her betrayal.
Marisol had deceived me. She’d left me for dead and run from me. She might already be miles away, glorying in her freedom while she imagined my gory death.
My arm swung in a brutal arc, and Arturo’s hot blood splattered over my face as my blade slit his throat. I dropped him, barely noticing that I’d killed him far more quickly and mercifully than I’d intended.
There was only one target for my retribution now: Marisol.
Chapter 6
Marisol
I kept my hand tightly clenched around the cash in my pocket, thumbing the remaining bills as I stared out the bus window. I hadn’t let my fingers slip from the pesos even once since I’d walked out of the pawn shop in Mexico City.
Purchasing a bus ticket to Juárez had been a risky decision. Not only had it taken nearly half the funds I’d procured, but there was CCTV around the bus station. Raúl would easily be able to figure out where I was headed if he really wanted to track me down.
If he’s still alive. The cruel little voice had been tormenting me for the last twenty-four hours, ever since I’d fled from Stefano’s building and out into the unfamiliar city. I’d never been allowed outside the drug lord’s fortress. When I’d been captured alongside Carmen all those weeks ago, we’d been forcibly taken directly to his building from her remote estate on the west coast.
Catching the bus had been the quickest way for me to get out of town. I couldn’t afford to waste time blundering around in an attempt to find a more covert service to help get me to the US border. Not only would I have made myself an obvious target for people who might take advantage of a woman wandering aimlessly around on her own, but staying in Mexico City meant I was within easy reach of Raúl.
I closed my eyes against a fresh wash of pain that had nothing to do with my aching head wound. He’s alive, I assured myself, recalling his ferocious snarl when he’d promised to kill Arturo slowly.
I shuddered and forced my sandpaper eyelids to open in order to clear away the terrifying image. Worry for Raúl and anxiety about my own survival had kept me awake for the entire journey, but it was becoming difficult to stay alert.
I blinked hard and pulled out the energy bar I’d purchased at the same time as my bus ticket. The wrapping was crumpled and warm from long hours in my pocket, and I only had about a quarter of the bar left. I needed to make it last, so I could save as much of my remaining funds as possible. Money was my only hope to guarantee my safety in Juárez. If I wanted to survive, I’d have to pay for my life.
I took two bites of the energy bar before tucking the little that remained back into my pocket. I stared out the window, watching the buildings grow taller as the bus wound its way into the border city. My heart beat faster with each mile, and the end of my journey suddenly seemed to be happening far too soon. The bus had served as a safe little bubble during the day-long ride to Juárez. As soon as I stepped out into yet another unfamiliar city, I’d be facing the unknown again.
I kneaded my forehead with the heel of my palm in a useless attempt to alleviate the ballooning pressure in my skull. I was so tired of fighting for everything: my independence, my freedom, my life.
My struggle for the first two had endangered the people around me as well as incurring devastating personal consequences. I wouldn’t be here now—desperately seeking asylum in the US as my last hope—if I hadn’t been recklessly independent. If I’d just behaved like a respectable girl and obeyed my parents, I wouldn’t have been driven from my home. If I hadn’t fought for my freedom from Stefano Duarte’s cartel, Carmen wouldn’t have been kidnapped by her enemies.
