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“And how are we going to get her to do that? From what I’ve heard, she doesn’t trust anyone. When she was with Alejandro, he tortured and killed people right in front of her, and she did nothing to aid them.”
“Self-preservation. He had nothing to offer her.”
“What about her freedom and safety?”
“She would know it’s a lie. She seems like a smart woman. She has to have figured out that whoever catches her will stick her in a gilded cage. And regardless of how much they revere her, it will still be a cage. The difference now is that we have something to bargain with.”
“We do?”
“Yes,” he says impatiently. “The men she came in with. They mean something to her.”
“How do you know it isn’t just gratitude?”
“I don’t. But she’ll feel some kind of loyalty to them.”
“That’s a big assumption to make. They could just be the only two assholes she had to keep her company.”
“Perhaps. And if that’s true, then we’ll dispose of them and find another way to get her to do our bidding. It’s really not that hard. After all, nobody even knows she’s alive. As far as the world knows, she died in that plane crash.”
“Meaning the cartel will be off our backs because if they think she’s dead, there will be no one left alive to miss her.”
“You catch on pretty quick for a rookie.”
They both carry on talking, but they’re moving away, so I don’t catch what they’re saying. I wait until I hear the door swish closed behind me before I blow out a breath, willing my racing heart to calm the fuck down. I’ve been in worse situations than this and survived. Still, I don’t move or open my eyes—not until I’m convinced they’re gone and I’m not being tricked. When I feel it’s safe, I crack them open and glance around the room, paying more attention to the details than before.
Instead of looking at it as a shell-shocked survivor, I’m looking at it like a prisoner needing to break free. First things first, I need a weapon. Something that I can conceal. I roll toward the cart beside the bed and see some gauze and tape on the top, as well as a pen and a little pad. The cart also has three drawers. The first doesn’t offer me anything, but the second contains a handful of syringes, much like the one the nurse used earlier. I grab one and check that the cap is on it before shoving it into my back pocket. I pray that I don’t stab myself in the ass with it.
I search the last drawer but don’t find anything else useful. Climbing from the bed as quietly as I can, I search the rest of the room. There is nothing I can use to help me, and I can’t help but assume that’s been done intentionally. Quietly walking back over to the bed, I take the pen sitting on top of the cart and slip it into my front pocket. I swallow and try not to think about going up against trained men with automatic weapons with a pen and a syringe. If I do, I might have a nervous breakdown, and I don’t have time for that right now. I need to keep my shit together and find Oz and Zig.
They said they would be within shouting distance—wait, no, it was Cooper that said that. For all I know, it could be bullshit. I know they trust the man, but I don’t know him. As far as I’m concerned, everyone here is involved. Whoever that man is, he has already figured out that the guys are my weakness, and I don’t want to give him any more ammunition than necessary.
“Think,” I mumble to myself.Before this turns into a fucking nightmare.
Wait. That’s it. Time to run a little test of my own.
I climb on the bed and lie back down on my side, take a deep breath, and start grunting before I roll around the bed. At first, I hear nothing, so I make sure I groan a little louder before throwing in a whimper or two. Hopefully, I sound like a woman in pain and not a sheep during mating season. When the door opens, I start thrashing on the bed, drawing the other person closer. As soon as I feel a hand on my foot, I scream. I scream long and loud, and I do it in a way that should alert the whole damn clinic to my presence.
But neither Oz nor Zig comes, confirming my suspicions. I know something is wrong.
Very, very wrong.
CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN
Zig
I’ve never wanted to be more wrong than I do right now. Despite the million excuses I can come up with, everything circles back to this. To him.
On the chopper here, he made a remark about us running out of fuel. Except I never reported the fuel loss. So how would he know about that? Still, I let it go because when the plane was going down, I was more focused on us not dying than what I was saying. It stands to reason that I could have said something over the radio without realizing it.
I’ve known this man for twelve years, and I would have picked a million other people to turn on us before him, but my subconscious must have seen what I didn’t want it to.
I’m not sure why I pocketed his cell and slipped it to Salem. A sixth sense, I guess, even though I was telling myself I was being paranoid.
And then he mentioned how valuable Salem is. Why would he say that if he didn’t know anything about her? Nobody on our end knows how valuable she is except me and Oz. The government sure as shit wouldn’t let that slip accidentally, so the only way he could know about Salem is if he’s working for them or if he’s working for the cartel. With how unstable Alejandro is reported to be, my money is on Uncle Sam.
“You said we were going to get checked out and could head back to Salem?”
“Doc will be here soon. There was an incident with the locals. A few needed patching up.”
