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CHAPTER22
Antonio was still shaking when he turned to his boss and his Chihuahua.
El Cuchillo had a broad smile on his face, but Hector pouted, like Antonio had stolen his candy.
“I was wondering how you were faring with our gift to you.”
“Your test, you mean?” His reason to live?
“Yes, she was a test. But you’ve done well with her. I was afraid you’d softened and wanted out to start a family with her when I first learned of her.” El Cuchillo sat at the table, uninvited, while Hector stood at attention behind him.
A family.
“Family is a boyhood fantasy. Not something I’ve thought of in years.” It wasn’t a lie, but he delivered the words like the true soldier he wanted them to see. The blindly loyal soldier.
“You have no desire to leave a legacy?” El Cuchillo looked surprised.
“A legacy of what? Someone who can’t even work his way up the ranks? A legacy of a servant to the most powerful man in Honduras?” He couldn’t resist the sarcasm that dripped off his tongue.
His smile faltered as he understood Antonio’s meaning.
“You won’t leave this place,” Hector spat at him.
“I have no desire to,” Antonio lied. He would leave. As soon as they left his house, he would get Katie out of here. He’d made sure she would hate him forever, and he’d probably spend some time in jail while everything was sorted out, but she would be safe. And then he would disappear.
“Imelda has been asking about you. I don’t know what you did to spurn her so much, but she wants you dead.” El Cuchillo laughed, a deep booming sound that didn’t fit with the thoughts running rampant in Antonio’s brain. “Better you than me, brother.”
He smiled vaguely; he was nobody’s brother.
When they finally left, the shower was still running, and Antonio’s inner alarm bells had been going off for twenty minutes, at least. He managed to get the men to leave, with the promise of a possibility of sharing his present sometime in the future.
Like, when hell froze over.
Antonio knocked on the door and when no response met him, he slammed his shoulder into it, breaking the doorjamb.
He didn’t believe what he saw at first, but then, everything crashed into him at once.
Katie lay on the floor, still wearing the rags he’d reduced her clothing to, vomit all around her.
His pills were scattered all over the vanity and floor.
Dropping to the floor, he ignored the panic rushing through him as he gathered her in his arms.
“Cariño. Lo siento. Love. I’m so sorry.” She was painfully pale, but still had a pulse. He opened the bottom drawer under the sink and shoved his hand into the back of it. Abuela had left him four syringes of the drug that would help get the opioids out of her system, and he’d only used one, so he shoved it into her shoulder and cradled her tighter to his chest. “You can’t die. I swear I will get you out of this. If you die, you will kill me.”
He would have no other reason to live in this hellhole if she was gone.
Antonio rose, still cradling her, and went into the other room. He wrapped her in a blanket, took her pulse again, and gathered some things. He needed to get her out of this place.
He threw things into a bag—a change of clothes, some water for Katie, an extra gun and clip for him, his k-bar, and what was left of his pills. He hoped they had what they would need.
It had gotten dark outside with El Cuchillo’s visit, and with that as his cloak, he carried Katie to the hangar where the vehicles were kept.
