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I’ve been recouping for a week without another word of Josephine slipping past Esteban’s lips. I fear the worst some days when he refuses to give me more information. My woman was only thirty-four weeks along—too soon to be giving birth. I damn near begged Doctor Gomez to find out what he could and report it back to me, but it seems the doctor cannot shake anything out of Esteban either.
My wounds are healing and I’m able to move around without pain. I saw the mess bio-pop made of my back in the bathroom mirror. Darnel is going to have his work cut out for him re-inking my wings. It’s going to hurt like amotherfuckergoing over my scars, but it will be worth it to erase the memories of this place. I’ll have it done as soon as I get home.
Home.I haven’t given up on the goal of getting back to my family. If Josephine has given birth, the twins are most likely back home safe with her or safe in a NICU somewhere. I need to get back to her.
The tracker in my arm itches like a bitch, but at least it’s still there. As long as I have it, my crew still has a chance of finding me alive.
I spend most of my time pacing my room, looking out the windows to the foliage below. This place is a goddamn palace in the middle of nowhere. I wonder if this is the same room where Josephine was held. Did she sleep in the same bed as me? Shower in the same bathroom? Gaze out the same window for hours on end ‘till she went mad with worry?
Esteban comes every night to have dinner with me and engage in a one-sided conversation. He fills the time with stories about how much he loved my mother, how I will like training his men, how thrilled he is to have me with him.
Burns my belly to sit across from him, restrained in my chair so only my arms can move to eat. But I don’t eat with him—I fucking refuse. I wait until he’s left before I clean my plate. I can’t starve myself. What good would it do me if I allow myself to go weak from hunger? I need to stay healthy if I want a fighting chance of escaping.
The lock turns in my door, and I stop pacing. I peek at the sky. It’s way too early for dinner.
Doctor Gomez enters, wheeling a cart of medical supplies. Once through the door, the lock turns over again. “I’ve come to check your wounds and see how they’re healing.”
Not sure what the hell could be different since he last checked the day before, but no matter. If he wants to treat me, so be it.
With a grunt, I lift my shirt over my head and sit on the bed. The doctor leans over his cart and grabs the forceps. As he works to remove the tape and gauze from my back, he clears his throat to get my attention. “Don’t make a sound,” he whispers. “I bring news of your wife and children.”
My heart tumbles in my chest.
“I reached out in my network to see if any hospitals in Argentina had an American woman with twins come in. I found nothing. But then an old colleague of mine went a step further. He found out an American had come into Clinica Alemana near Santiago with two newborns.”
Santiago? Chile?
“When I reached out to the hospital, they were very hush-hush, but then the call was intercepted by another American. He asked me to get a message to you.”
Chase.
“Your twins are doing well. But Josefina…she suffered a lot of blood loss. Her blood type is not common in Chile—O negative—only about one percent of Chileans have it. Good for donating to everyone, but can only receive the same type.”
My body begins to shake, fear washing over me.
“One of your men was a match. She’s alive because of him.”
I suck air into my lungs.
She’s alive. The boys are alive. Thank God.
I wasn’t sure if Esteban had been screwing with me when he mentioned bringing her back into the equation that first day I woke up. But hearing the doctor mention Chase intercepting his call to the hospital could not be fabricated—it’s too distinctly detailed to be false.
“Your team knows where you are and they’re on their way. They would have been here sooner, but Esteban’s men forced them to retreat over the border to Chile. The man said to tell you all are well.”
“Where am I?” I grit through my teeth.
“San Martín de los Andes.”
My eyebrows rise. That’s way further south than I anticipated. No wonder it looks like Colorado out the window. We’re in ski country.
Doctor Gomez works tirelessly over me, moving between me and the medical cart. He tugs at the tender flesh at my back. As he works over me and fumbles with the tools on his cart, he deftly places a scalpel on the bed next to my hand. “You may be wondering why I’m helping you. The answer is simple. He threatened to go after my sister’s family if I didn’t comply. I have a young niece…”
My fingers circle the scalpel, hope blooming in my chest.
“Your men will be here tonight. You won’t have much time to carry out your plans before you must leave. I have removed your stitches so you can engage in hand to hand combat without ripping your skin open.” He finishes cleaning up his mess before saying, “Good luck, Maceo. Please, take good care of your family.”
Doctor Gomes leaves, pushing his cart to the door before disappearing on the other side. I’m alone again, but holding the first real weapon I can use on the offense.
