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She’ll recognize Brock, sound the alarm, have my man killed before I lay eyes on his handsome face again, see that seductive mix of danger and desire in his green eyes, feel his rough lips on my mouth, his thick fingers grinding my clit, his heavy cock entering my slit.
There’s no time to think, and suddenly my foot comes off the brake and my other foot slams down on the gas and the car roars and jumps, leaping out of my hiding place in the side-street and racing across the road.
Right at Mother Kazi.
“Die, you bitch!” I scream as adrenaline takes over and my mind almost breaks as Mother Kazi turns just in time for me to see the mask of shocked fear turn to raw agony as the car rams into her midsection, slamming her into the concrete side of the building, crushing her hips and backbone to powder. “Die! Die! Die!”
My vision splinters as Mother Kazi howls something in Russian and collapses face-first onto the hood of my car, her dying body convulsing as she coughs up red blood and pukes out green bile. She’s still pinned against the wall, and now I back up a few feet and ram her into the concrete again just to make sure she can’t bring any more pain and suffering to the world. The feeling is darkly exhilarating, and I’m screaming and sobbing at the same time, like I’ve totally lost my mind, am spiraling down to that dark underworld Brock warned me about.
And suddenly Brock is there, standing in the open doorway, Marybeth squinting in the sun by his side. “What the fuck?!” Brock shouts when he sees Mother Kazi’s crumpled body on the sidewalk. “Yolanda, are you all right? Shit. Shit. Shit!”
Without waiting for a reply Brock pulls open the back door, pushes the pale-faced, dehydrated, totally bewildered Marybeth into the backseat. He slams the door shut, gets into the front with me, gesturing wildly for me to drive away, then pulling out a black handgun that I know for sure he didn’t have before going in there.
“Go, Yolanda!” Brock shouts, aiming the weapon at the red door, then firing off three rounds as it begins to open. The door shuts again as I screech the car away from the scene, turning the corner so fast the little hatchback car almost flips over. Brock grabs the wheel to keep the car steady, then sweeps his concerned gaze up and down my face and body. “Are you hurt?” he asks urgently.
I shake my head, unable to talk from the adrenaline that’s making my entire body shake like I’m about to go into shook. Somehow I’m still driving, but I have no idea where I’m going and how to get there.
“Slow down, babe,” Brock whispers now, his voice close to my face, one of his hands holding the steering wheel, the other gently massaging the back of my tensed-up neck. “Pull over near that empty lot. I’ll take over. You get in the backseat and take care of your friend. She needs you right now, OK, Yolanda? Can you focus, baby? It’s all right if you can’t. It’s all right if you—”
“I’m good,” comes my adrenaline-fueled response as I slam on the brakes even though the street is empty and nobody seems to be chasing us. The car bucks to a halt. Brock puts it into PARK, then pulls me into a reassuring embrace before letting me get out of the car and get into the backseat with Marybeth. “Drive, Brock. I’m good. Just drive.”
Brock gazes at me with pure admiration, absolute adoration, then nods, shifts over to the driver’s side, and gets us moving again. My attention goes right to Marybeth, who’s shivering in silence, her natural exuberance ripped away by the horror of what she must have been through.
“You’re safe, sweetie,” I whisper against her clammy cheek, hugging Marybeth into my bosom, stroking her hair to calm her down. “You’re going to be all right, sweetheart. We’re going home, Marybeth. You’re safe now. It’s over.”
Marybeth sobs into my bosom like a broken child, and it takes all my willpower to not start bawling too. But there’s a strength in me now, a certain hardness that I feel in my core, like I’m a new person now, my innocent virginity stripped away in more ways than just the physical.
Physically Marybeth looks all right, and I’m grateful for that. The emotional and psychic wounds will heal too, I decide when Marybeth finally looks up at me and flashes a tiny smile as she begins to recognize that she really is safe, that this really is me, that she’s no longer in that nightmare.
“What the hell happened?”
Brock and I both ask each other the same question at the same time. It’s enough to make me giggle, make Brock chuckle.
“You first,” I say to him. “Because it’s pretty obvious what happened outside the building.”
Brock takes a left turn, heading towards the border bridge. He huffs out a breath, then shakes his head grimly. “Couple of those Russian thugs from last night were there to fuck. They recognized me as I was taking Marybeth out the side door.” He shakes his head again, curses under his breath. “Knocked one of them out. Took his gun and killed the other guy. But now Kazi will know it was me who got Marybeth out.” He glances at my reflection in the rearview mirror. “And killed his mother.” Now Brock turns his head and shoots me another look of admiration mixed with adoration topped with surprise. “You did good, baby. Real good.”
My cheeks burn with something that resembles embarrassed pride. It’s quickly followed by a wave of shocked self-loathing, a sickening wrenching in my gut as I wonder what kind of person I’ve become to be beaming with pride after committing what I think is called “vehicular homicide” in polite conversation.
There’s no more conversation as Brock takes the car onto the bridge. The adrenaline is draining from my system, allowing space for the anxiety to creep back in.
“This makes it worse for you, doesn’t it, Brock?” My voice is barely a whisper now when I see Brock’s grim expression as we slow down and join the line of cars and trucks and buses crawling towards the always-crowded border between El Paso and Juarez. “Now both Kazi and the Skulls will be out for your head.”
Brock says nothing. He glances at his side mirrors, then changes lanes, heading towards the last driving lane, the one right next to the walkway where we’d stopped last night.
“What are you doing, Brock?” I ask unsteadily. “You can’t possibly be thinking of going after Kazi now that he’s actively looking to hunt you down. You’re much better off crossing back to Texas with us. We . . . we’ll go underground, Brock. There are so many places we can disappear in the United States. Don’t be ridiculous, Brock. Get back in line and drive us all across the border!”
Brock shakes his head. “My only chance is to kill Kazi right now, hit him when the news of his mother is just sinking in, when he’s going wild with grief and rage and everything in between.” He glances at my stricken face as the car grinds to a halt beside that walkway which looks sharp like the razor of dread cutting through my heart. “He won’t have called the Skulls about Durand already. He’ll be too wild with rage to worry about getting them involved just yet. He wants my blood, and he’ll send every available man out to hunt me down. If they come up empty and it looks like I’ve crossed back into Texas, then he’ll call the Skulls and get them in on the hunt.” Brock turns and leans between the front seats, reaches out and strokes my cheek, smiles with more confidence than seems sensible. “In fact, you killing Mother Kazi might have made it easier for me. Remember, Kazi has no idea I was intending to come and kill him. He must have figured that you convinced me to rescue Marybeth, and now Kazi probably assumes we’re going to run as far away from his murderous rage as possible. He’ll have every goon out on the streets looking for me. Which means he’ll only have a couple of bodyguards with him at his auction-house headquarters.” He drags his thumb across my cheek, leans in and kisses me gently on the lips. “I’ve got a shot at getting away clean from this life, Yolanda. A shot at starting a whole new life with you. No way I’m passing up that chance. No fucking way.”
My lips don’t open for Brock’s kiss. I shake my head violently, lean back in my seat, cross my arms over my boobs and stare at him like I’m not going anywhere, my expression making it damn clear he’ll have to drag me across the border and even then I’ll just scurry back across like a stubborn little mouse that you cannot keep out of your home.
Because home is a feeling, not a place.
And my home is with Brock.
With my man.
“Even if Kazi has just a couple of guards, it still won’t be easy,” I say now, my mind spinning back up when I realize the way to convince Brock is to show him that I’m not going to be a distraction, not going to be a burden, not going to add to the danger of what needs to be done.
