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I'm swallowing convulsively. The man nears me, and I wonder if I throw my legs up, if I can kick him with my knees despite my tied up ankles. He scrutinizes my face and then he reaches for my chest.
As his hand comes down to grope me, I experience my first real moment of hopelessness. What if this is really my new life? His fingers are inches from my breast when I close my eyes, but his hand never makes it. He crashed to the floor, knocking me off the bed, and his two sidekicks start yelling. The buyer jumps up as I fumble onto my knees, leaning my shoulders on the bed. I'm shocked to see Cross standing, clutching a handgun.
It must belong to the buyer, because the buyer's face is a mask of shock as he reaches into his shirt.
For the longest moment in the history of moments, Cross and the buyer stare each other down. Then, out of nowhere, Lockwood fires a shot at Cross. Cross ducks, and the guards at the door come in and start screaming. One of them has Lockwood on the ground in seconds, aiming what looks like an AK-47 at his face. Priscilla is screaming, sticking her arms in the air, her huge boobs bouncing as she jumps in place. “I give blow jobs! Don't hurt me! I'll give you a blow job!”
At first I think she must have lost her mind, but one of the gunmen actually lowers his rifle and makes a grab at her crotch.
She thrusts toward him, leaving Lockwood, me, Cross and the buyer in our standoff. I shift my attention to translating Cross's Spanish, and I'm stunned to realize he's negotiating some kind of deal.
I catch something about, “Giant stockpile of guns” and “American airplane, not far from here” before my eyes and my attention drift to the buyer.
Part of me will always regret that I don't get to see that play out. When the guards start going berserk again, Priscilla is on her knees, Lockwood is on his back, and Cross, only days out of a coma, has elicited a respectful—if skeptical—expression from the buyer, who is obviously more interested in getting an airplane loaded with weapons than he is in whatever money he could make from us.
The buyer is wearing his skeptical-but-coming-around expression, and Cross is owning it, and I am just sitting there, not like a badass heroine at all, wondering if they're just going to kill us when they realize there’s no plane, when another man with a big machine gun runs into the room and cries, “Chota!”
“Chota?” the buyer says.
“Chota!”
“CHOTA!”
And, just like that, the buyer, his sidekicks, and his gunmen run like hell.
I'm freaking out now, too, so I struggle to stand up, and Cross grabs me and pushes me under the bed. Right before my face mashes into the dirty, tile floor, I notice Cross's ankles are still bound, and he's balancing on the outside of his soles.
Then there's a gunshot...but it's not Cross firing. He's in the process of crouching down behind me; I can feel something sharp between my skin and the rope, first on my hands and then my ankles. Then I turn to find Cross freeing his feet. Then he stands and whirls toward the door, where the sound of footsteps echoes.
He mutters a confused-sounding curse. “Hunter West?”
I jump up and get a glimpse of Hunter, leaning in the doorway. I know the exact moment he sees me, because relief makes his eyes widen and his mouth fall open. His gaze flies over me, and he rushes toward me. I'm already anticipating his arms around me. I can practically feel them. But before he reaches me, a loud boom wrenches the air, and Hunter flies into the wall.
“OH MY GOD!”
I watch in horror as he slumps down to the floor, his face twisting in agony as his right hand fumbles toward his bright red, left shoulder. He lifts his head, and his wild eyes comb the room until they settle on my face.
“Hunter!” I rush him, noting dimly as I fly across the room that Cross is on top of Lockwood, pummeling his face.
“Hunter! HUNTER! NO, no, no, no, please!” I grab his body, shocked and terrified by how limp he is already.
“Libby.” His hands grab at me as he starts panting, which quickly turns to horrible choking. “Libby...” he gasps, “you...okay?”
That's the last thing he says before his eyes roll back into his head.
I start to scream, and somewhere far away, I hear one of my would-be kidnappers cry: “Chota!”
Chapter Forty-Two
~HUNTER~
I must have died and gone to hell, because I'm burning. The fire spreads through my upper body, quickly overwhelming all my senses. Then I'm dragged down into darkness. How many layers of hell are there supposed to be? I can't remember, but I must be going deep.
The burning is more intense now. I hear a man moaning and wonder if it’s me. I hear a woman moan, too, and I’m worried the woman is Libby. I scream her name over and over, but I don’t get an answer. Libby's not here. Michael Lockwood took her.
I relive the moments after she disappeared from my vineyard. I'm outside screaming her name, and Dave is there almost immediately. By chance he’d picked up Lockwood’s trail that morning and eventually followed him to my home.
When Lockwood was able to gain easy entry—because I didn't lock the door behind Libby when she came inside—Dave hid his bike and tried to get a peek. He was at the side of the house when he heard two cars pull up, and he got to the front just in time to see a silver Audi he didn’t recognize spirit Cross and Libby away.
