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The mere thought of Isabella being passed into the skin trade has me seeing red. She is strong as hell, but that’s not a life that any woman can endure.
There are not words to describe the slow, brutal death Eduardo is about to endure.
St. Francis
Ninety minutes
Come alone
“He’s going to kill you,” Andres is the first of us to speak.
“I know,” the words come through my still gritted teeth. “He has to. It’s the only way he can assume control, by taking it with force.”
“Saint Francis is a trap,” Andres paces, “It’s an hour from here. It won’t give us any time to prepare. He’ll be there waiting.”
Andres is right.
I’m willingly walking, no running, to my death.
Pulling off my shirt, I unzip the duffel bag and pull out a Kevlar vest. Fastening the Velcro, I pull my shirt back over my head.
“That isn’t going to do shit if he shoots you in the head,” Andres pulls his from the duffle bag as well and puts it on over his shirt.
“Then one of us better get to him first,” I pull two handguns from the bag and tuck them into the back of my pants. Andres does the same and also pulls out a Ruger AR-556.
“What?” He raises an eyebrow at me, “I like to be prepared.”
“I’m going to take the Land Rover,” I toss a set of keys to Andres, “You take the Jeep. It’ll blend better and hopefully he won’t see you coming.”
Within minutes, the two of us are in our respective vehicles and barreling toward the outskirts of Todos Santos.
Saint Francis is a place both Andres and I thought we would never have to see or visit again. With all I’ve seen and experienced in this life, my years in that hell of a boys’ home are some of the most prolific and painful.
The year Andres and I aged out and were placed on the streets, we freed the others from the brutality and abuse that happened behind those locked doors. A large fire destroyed the majority of the dormitories, resulting in the death of nearly all of the staff and clergy. The newspapers dubbed it a miracle that all of the children escaped without a single injury.
Yes.
A miracle.
When we are a few miles from Saint Francis, Andres’s car drops back from me. Within minutes, I am no longer able to see him in my rearview mirror.
This will be the first time since the day I was brought here that I will be facing it without Andres by my side.
While the town of Todos Santos has grown over the years, construction never seems to come in the direction of this place. With the view of town in the distance, I pull up to the dilapidated remains of the building. The years have not been kind to it, but it is somehow still standing.
Rectifying that will be next on my list.
Parking the Land Rover in the overgrown parking lot, I exit the SUV and cautiously make my way to the front of the building. I pull one of the guns from my waistband, then I crack the front door. Peering inside and listening, I am hoping not to be hit with an ambush the moment I step inside.
Pushing it further, it swings open with the loud creak of a door that hasn’t had its hinges oiled in decades.
thirty seven
ISABELLA
“Time to go, sweetheart,” the sweetness in Eddie’s voice makes me cringe as he stomps down the creaking steps.
Standing over me, he unties the rope from the post. I wince when he uses it to pull me to my feet. Since the make-shift shower, the tight, wet rope has nearly rubbed through my skin.
