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He floored it, glancing in the rearview mirror. “Montilla is on my tail. At least you weren’t lying about that, puta. Where is your phone?”
She patted her skirt pocket. Empty. “It must have fallen out of my pocket during the commotion.”
With a curse, he fumbled in his pocket and thrust his phone at her. “Call Estevan. Tell him we need a new truck and men to cover us right now. Tell him to meet us at…” He scowled, obviously thinking. “Fuck, I don’t know. Tell him to start driving north. We’ll head south and meet along the way.”
That would never work. The assassins would catch up to them too quickly. But she didn’t correct Victor, simply took the phone from him dutifully while shoving back her worry and sorrow. “Passcode?”
Victor scowled.
“I cannot dial anyone without it.”
He spit out a six-digit number, focused on rumbling the top-heavy vehicle down twisting dirt roads without toppling over. Behind them, the little blue sedan closed in.
After the fourth ring, voicemail picked up. She relayed Victor’s message, then hung up. “Should I try someone else?”
“My brother would have had my back.” He turned another sharp corner at insane speeds, and the truck teetered on two wheels. Sweat rolled down his brow.
If Montilla’s men didn’t kill her, Victor’s driving probably would. With Trees gone, she almost didn’t care.
There were no such things as miracles. But if there were and Trees had survived, she had to stay alive so she could keep him safe from Victor.
The world was a better place with Trees. He had friends and loved ones who would miss and mourn him. He had refused to see her as expendable, even though everyone else did. Other than Valeria, he was the only other person who would truly care if she was gone.
“Fuck!” Victor growled, correcting his steering as he came out of the turn.
Thankfully, the truck set down on all four wheels again.
“Should I try another number?”
“Call Miguel. He shouldn’t be far away, and he owes me for fucking up last time. If he fucks me now, I’ll cut out his tongue.” He turned and shot her a dark stare. “Which I will do to you if you lie to me again. Do you understand?”
She nodded, trying to make herself as small as possible against the passenger door.
Laila hated falling into these old patterns. When EM Security Management had extracted her from her brother-in-law’s compound last September, she’d sworn she would never be Victor’s slave again. But here she was, back in his clutches, about to suffer…what? Days, weeks, months, years with him?
No. She would fight. She would get out. She would avenge Trees. She would never give up.
Scrolling through Victor’s contacts, she dialed Miguel as Victor swerved at the last minute down a dirt road, fishtailing to kick up dust. But the truck was white and way too massive to hide. The sedan easily followed, now almost directly on their tail.
They opened fire.
Laila shrieked involuntarily, then forced herself to do something more active. “Give me your gun.”
“What?” he shot back as if her demand was absurd.
“I will shoot back at them.”
Victor hesitated, then snarled just before ripping the weapon from his holster and slapping it in her palm. “Aim carefully. This is all the ammo I have. The rest is back at the villa.”
Along with the only other clothes she owned and Trees’s semiautomatics.
She handed Victor his phone, disengaged the safety, took a deep breath, then leaned out the window, staring into the faces of Geraldo Montilla’s men. Once she pulled the trigger, she would become their enemy, too. They would hunt her as relentlessly. They would not stop until she was dead.
She was tempted to turn the gun on Victor, end his vile existence, along with her torment, then run back to Trees and forget her rapist ever existed. But she would be sacrificing her family for her happiness, because Geraldo Montilla would still be out there, wanting to kill her sister and kidnap her nephew.
As much as she hated it, Laila needed Victor to be her shield against the narcotics king. He might still be her pawn, too, weakening Montilla while engaging in a futile attempt to take him down. Of course, Montilla would kill him. Victor was merely a gnat to such a powerful drug lord. But if she could learn Kimber’s location, EM Security could save the poor woman and finish off Montilla. Only then would she and her loved ones have any hope of a future.
Beside her, she heard Victor bark at Miguel. She turned to find more sweat dripping down his brow as he navigated the winding road with both hands, his phone wedged between his shoulder and his ear.
Laila swallowed, clandestinely engaged the safety again, then pretended to struggle with the weapon.
Victor ended the call and scowled her way. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“I cannot fire the gun. I do not know why.” She huffed for effect.
“Because you’re a stupid whore. Give me that.” He yanked the weapon from her grip and flipped the safety off. “Hold the wheel.”
Was he crazy? They were driving over a hundred miles an hour, bouncing painfully down something that seemed more like a twisting dirt path than an actual road, and he wanted her to steer with one hand?
Still, what choice did she have?
