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“Shit,” she mutters.
“Look,” I tell her. “If we don’t make it out, I want you to know I am so sorry. I am so goddamn sorry I brought you into this. I’ve been putting you in danger for so long without even fully realizing it. I knew my father was trouble. I knew the mafia and its counterparts were dangerous, but fuck…Remi…I never expected…”
My voice cracks, and tears slide down both of our cheeks.
“Don’t get all sappy on me, babe.” She tries to wipe her face on her shirt but just stumbles and relents. “And don’t apologize. There’s no one else I’d rather be locked in an abandoned shack thing with.”
She tries to wink, and I force a smile.
I spend the next who knows how long filling her in on the cartel and the wars that have been forged since I last saw her. It’s a lot for an outsider to take in, so I answer her questions and do my best to explain things in a way someonenotin the life can understand.
By the time I’m done, or at least as finished as I can be, Remi’s right eye is practically bulging out of her head.
“I thought your original story was HBO worthy, but you left out a lot of the details. Jesus H. Christ, Giana. We’re certifiably fucked, aren’t we?”
I shrug. “I mean, things are a bit bleak. But like you said…we’re going to figure this out. We just need to be strategic.”
Remi twists up the half of her face that looks semi-normal. “I don’t wanna be a Debbie Downer, but I was a bit more optimistic prior to all of those added details.”
Gunfire erupts, and on instinct, we both slam our bodies to the cement. The loud blast shatters through the small space, the metal walls only intensifying the noise.
I search for the origin of the sound, but before I can find it, someone kicks open the entryway door of the unit, and a man with an assault rifle in his right hand and a pistol in his left walks through.
A sneer crosses his face as he stops in his tracks, his eyes bouncing from me to Remi and back again.
“A two-for-one deal,” he declares calmly, and I realize it’s Roberto Martínez.
Santiago’s father. The head of the family I was promised to.
The father of the man Dante and I signed the death certificate for.
And he’s got payback, wrath, and determination carved into the features on his face.
Those shots? They were clear warning shots. Or a sick foreshadowing of what’s to come.
“Such delicate flowers, you two. What a fun little game I have on my hands.”
His words break the pit of my stomach open and remake it much bigger and scalding. The hollow throbbing inside me intensifies as his dark, beady little eyes bore into me.
I feel Remi’s terror even though I’m not looking at her, unable to peel my eyes off the man holding our lives in his palms. My hands tremble as he steps closer, and I’m thankful they’re positioned behind my back so he can’t read into the sheer panic radiating through my bones. Despite the cold, sweat trickles down my neck as I wait for his next move.
“Lay on your stomach, you fucking two-bit whore.” His words are laced with venom and pure hatred as he points the pistol at me.
I do as he says, unwilling to die today. I refuse to fucking die here.
I refuseto fucking die here.
Remi screams while the unmistakable sound of his zipper penetrates my ears. I can no longer prevent him from seeing my panic when he yanks my pants down in one motion. I can’t contain my sobs as they leave my body, my guttural cries echoing off the walls.
I do my best to telepathically urge Remi to stop screaming. Not when this crazed man hell-bent on revenge has guns at his disposal.
Martínez rips my panties from my ass, and I push my cheek into the cement, searching for any kind of pain to take my mind off what’s inevitably coming. I struggle and thrash beneath him, but he silently positions the butt of his gun against the side of my head.
I stop. I am willing to let him take this part of me if it means I’m buying Dante time. And that’s exactly what these moments are doing.
I refuse to fucking die here.
He parts my legs as much as possible—my ankles bound—and sidles up between my thighs. My gut twists and turns, and the contents of my stomach inch their way up my throat little by little.
