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She did what she had to and left town.
We’re on the right fucking track.
And Natalia beat some impossible odds, getting away and leaving us a lead. We don’t know where she went but I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t stick around town. I thank the repair man and as I get back in the SUV, its engine rumbling to life, I have purpose again.
My men too. My men and I have been through so much together, brothers bound by danger and loyalty. We're a team, united in a single goal – and finally we’re making headway.
We set off, heading to Taos.
We’re coming, Natalia.
We’ll make it to you.
11
Natalia
The low hum of a sad,old country song leaks from the motel bar's crackling speaker system, punctuated by the occasional clink of glassware and stifled whispers, painting a picture of loneliness that hangs in the air like an unwelcome scent here.
Behind the bar, I stand on at the counter, my hands deftly polishing glasses to a shine while my eyes scanned the room under the shadow of my lashes. The atmosphere is subdued tonight, a few scattered patrons nursing their drinks in silence. I'm wearing my usual evening work attire - a simple black shirt and dark jeans, my hair tied back in a neat ponytail, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.
The door creaks open, ushering in a gust of dusty wind that rattles the window panes, and in walks a man who looks as worn out as his rumpled plaid skirt and faded jeans. As he sidles up to the bar and orders his first single-malt of what promises to be many, I tighten my grip on the rag and prepare for another long night under the flickering neon lighting.
A middle-aged man with slicked-back hair and a worn-out striped suit saunters into the bar right afterward, taking a seat on the worn stool closest to where I'm standing. He orders a whiskey and downs it quickly before signaling for another. As the night goes on, his words become slurred and his comments more suggestive. I try to keep my replies short and polite, but he persists in trying to engage me in conversation, his gaze lingering too long on my body with each passing comment. His eyes are glassy and unfocused, showing how far gone he is from the drinks he's consumed. It makes me uneasy, but I force myself to maintain composure and stay respectful.
A knot of discomfort tightens in my stomach, the uncomfortable feeling spreading like a vine throughout my body. This is exactly the kind of attention I've been trying to avoid, the kind that makes me feel small and unsafe and vulnerable.
I keep my answers brief, my tone neutral, but he doesn't seem to take the hint. His gaze is fixed on me, burning with an intensity that makes me want to shrink into myself.
He leans in closer, his breath heavy with the pungent scent of alcohol. The sharp tang of it stings my nose and I can feel its warmth against my skin.
"How about you join me for a drink after your shift?" he slurs out, his words coming out in a jumbled mess. My heart races at the sound of his voice, my mind already searching for an escape route.
I take a step back, creating distance between us over on top of the bar’s counter, but his leaning frame follows me even though he’s still seated. He’s undeterred. "I'm sorry, I can't," I say, my voice firm but trembling slightly. "I have to head straight home." As soon as the words leave my lips, I turn to walk to the other end of the bar before he can protest further. My heart pounds in my chest as I make myself busy with cleaning and wiping tasks, grateful to be free from his lingering gaze and unwanted advances.
With a quick glance across the bar I see him frowning, obviously not too pleased with my response. "Come on, don't be like that. You look like you need to relax a little. I can help you have a good time."
I feel my palms starting to sweat. This is turning into the kind of situation I've feared since I arrived here. I need to defuse this without causing a scene.
"Sir, I really can't. It's against motel policy," I insist, hoping he'll back down.
The man scoffs, leaning forward even more. "Motel policy? Who cares about that? I'm offering you a good time, sweetheart. Don't you want to have a little fun?"
"No, thank you. I'm here to do my job, not for personal entertainment."
He smirks, his gaze lingering on my lips. "Come on, baby. You're too pretty to be working in a place like this. Let me show you a better time."
I resist the urge to roll my eyes and keep my voice steady. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm not interested. Please respect my boundaries and leave me alone."
His laughter fills the air, grating on my nerves. "Boundaries? That's cute. I've never met a woman who didn't want a taste of what I have to offer."
I try to keep my professional composure. "I can assure you I'm not like those other women. Now please, let me get back to work."
His eyes narrow, the alcohol dulling his senses but not his persistence. "You're playing hard to get, huh? Well, I love a challenge."
He looks at me, his expression hardening. I brace myself, preparing for his next move. I need to be strong, to protect myself. Situations like these are the reason I started self-defense classes. But right now, I have to rely on my wits and hope that he'll back off without further incident.
The man gestures towards the bar stool a couple of spots away from him. "Hey, could you grab that bottle over there? Some guy left it," he says, and points to a discarded bottle lying near his stool.
