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“All right.” She gripped the wheel, hoping this wasn’t where and how her life ended.
Victor leaned out the window and started firing. A glance in the rearview mirror told her he hit nothing. He let out an ugly curse.
Up ahead, she saw a river that looked at least a few feet deep. “Victor, I have an idea.”
“What the fuck do you want?” he shouted as he took his next potshot at the hitmen.
“What if we drove through that river? The truck is much taller than the sedan. Perhaps we will make it?”
He slammed back into the driver’s seat, tossed the gun between them, and jerked the wheel from her grasp as he scanned ahead. “And they will get stuck. It might work. Perhaps you’ll eat tonight after all. Hold on to something.”
Laila did, clinging to the door with one hand, the dash with another, her teeth jarring as they rumbled down the road, straight toward the river. A bullet pinged off the door inches from her. She bit her lip to hold in a scream.
Finally, they reached the water and plowed into it, sending up a big splash that doused the windshield. Water poured in through the window Victor neglected to close, and he let out another frustrated curse. The gun between them bounced and slid across the seat. She grabbed it.
He ripped it from her hand. “Don’t get smart. Sit there and don’t move until we lose them.”
She would do what he said—until she figured out how to either gain the upper hand or slit his throat.
Beside them the water rose along the sides of the truck, first covering the rims, then the tires, before the tide inched up the doors. Would they be swimming to the shore and abandoning the fifty-million-dollar car—while dodging Montilla’s bullets? The engine made noises that weren’t encouraging, and the tires wheezed and spun in the silt.
If circumstances forced them to give up the Ferrari and swim, Victor’s punishment would be swift and severe.
Panicked, Laila started looking for other ways out of this mess when she realized two things. First, as they inched forward, the water level was beginning to recede. Second, the sedan remained impotently on the other side of the river, its profile too low to travel across. Thankfully, she saw no bridge in sight.
Finally, they made it onto the shore, plodded down a dirt path littered with vegetation, then finally found the remnants of an old road.
They were free—for now.
“That was too fucking close.” Victor swiped at his sweating forehead.
Laila seized the opportunity. “I told you Montilla’s men were in town.”
“But you lied to me about your feelings.”
“I simply do not want anyone’s death on my hands.” She tried to shrug him off. “Besides, you have never cared about them before. And you lied to me about yours as well.”
“What do you mean?” he snapped, rattling the truck forward.
He was still obsessed with her, and it would be stupid to remind him that he’d been dishonest about that. “You said you had everything under control and that no one in your hometown would betray you. Someone obviously did.”
“Gustavo warned me that his father had been acting oddly all afternoon. For that, I will have him killed.”
His cavalier attitude about life and death shouldn’t horrify her anymore, but it did. “Gustavo or his father?”
“Both. Neither are of use to me anymore. Now shut up. I need to think.”
Laila said nothing for hours, not as they wandered into another town, finally met Miguel with another truck, transferred the car, then made their way to another village, where he found a cheap motel room. From the glove box, he produced a zip tie. Then he grabbed his gun and skipped dinner, buying a bottle of tequila instead.
Now that the adrenaline rush and chaos were over, all she could think about was Trees. Was there any chance Matt or a bystander had helped him? Or had they all simply let him be tortured by Gustavo’s blowtorch while he bled out and died?
How would she ever know? Maybe she didn’t want the terrible details. The thought of him being tortured and killed filled her with an empty, aching hole. Laila didn’t know how she would ever plug up that horrible well of grief.
Inside the roach-infested motel, Victor zip-tied one of her wrists to the headboard attached to the wall. Then he flipped on the TV. “Something for you to watch while I take a shower. Then you’ll take yours.” He looked her up and down. “And lose those clothes.”
“I have nothing else to wear.”
His sly smile said that was completely on purpose. “Oh, well.”
She shuddered as he disappeared into the bathroom. Then she saw his phone on the nearby table. It was a stretch, but she could reach it.
Laila scraped half the skin off her hand getting to Victor’s phone, but she managed. Thankfully, she’d made a mental note of his passcode during their getaway. Though she knew her sister’s number by heart, Laila didn’t dare call her. Victor would know. And he would have a direct line to reach her. It was too dangerous. Instead, she reached out in the same way she had once used to escape Emilo’s compound.
She launched the game Valeria loved to play and found the connect feature. Fingers shaking and tears streaming, she typed out a message.
Hermana, I am with Victor in a motel in Mexico, south of La Pesca, inland from the coast. He killed Trees. Tell EM Security I am sorry. I will touch base again when I can. Know I am trying to escape. Do not worry about me. Protect yourself and Jorge. I love you.
