Chapter Forty-One - Rachel
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Rachel
The relief that floods my veins at the sight of those two black cars would bring me to my knees if Diaz didn’t have a death grip on me.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Diaz mutters.
He drags me back, holding the gun to my temple. I brace myself to fight against him when we reach the base of the steps, but he doesn’t attempt to pull me up, and I’m sure it’s only because he doesn’t want to risk dividing his attention.
I want—more than anything—to turn to see if Ryder was forced inside the plane, but my current position doesn’t allow me to.
Diaz’s body tenses as he focuses on the cars, or rather, the people climbing out of them and aiming their weapons at our captors.
And, consequently, us.
Moreno leads the group, his weapon pointed at Diaz and his signature blank expression in place. Donovan and Kade follow, standing at his side. Harris and Knox wordlessly join their group.
“Ethan Diaz,” Moreno spits. “Always a displeasure. I suggest you release my family before things get out of hand.”
“How do you see this going? Because from where I’m standing, we’re five-to-five—and I’m the one with leverage,” he says, leaning in so close that his cheek presses to mine.
He’s right. Moreno might be here, but Diaz has just as many men, leverage, and a plane.
Unless I can do something about it.
Any distraction could help give Moreno the upper hand.
The knife Diaz held to my throat only minutes ago isn’t in either of his hands. He’d had it on his right side, and I’m willing to bet it’s strapped to his waist now.
I stretch my fingers as far as I can in my compromised position and start feeling around as inconspicuously as I can manage.
“You’re in my territory. Abducting my underboss is an act of war, and I will retaliate with the support of every other family. Let them go, now,” Moreno orders, and I don’t miss the gravitational pull laced in his words—like some kind of hypnosis.
“Former underboss.” Diaz flicks a quick look over his shoulder to Ryder. “Isn’t that right?”
The twist of his body, as slight as it is, gives me the room I need, and I’m able to reach far enough to feel the strap holding the knife in place.
Only a little closer, and I’ll be able to get it…
“Let Rachel go with Moreno,” Ryder says, a steadfast conviction in each word, “and I’ll go with you.”
I jerk in Diaz’s hold, barely able to see Ryder’s sure expression directed at the man who holds me.
“Ryder, don’t,” Moreno clips, but Ryder doesn’t even look to his boss.
“You let her go and take me. Everyone walks away from this.”
“No!” I shout, the mere idea sounding like a new form of torture altogether. I writhe in Diaz’s arms, and he retaliates by knocking the barrel of the gun against my temple in a warning, though we both know he can’t shoot. If he did, there’d be nothing stopping Moreno from taking him out.
“Let her go,” Ryder bites out. “Release her, and Moreno will let us leave.”
“No!” I ignore my throbbing head and use all the force I have to jerk against Diaz as I reach around him.
I need this knife now more than ever.
But when I catch Ryder’s gaze in my struggle, the look there gives me pause. The admiration, awe, and love that stares back at me feels far too much like a goodbye.
“I didn’t agree to that,” Moreno states.
Ryder rips his gaze away from mine and looks to Moreno. I have no idea what silent conversation passes between them, but the hope I had that Moreno wouldn’t allow this slowly dissipates as his stony features lock on Diaz. With a firm nod, Moreno confirms his acceptance of Ryder’s conditions.
No. No. No.
“Fine,” Diaz grates. “You can have the toy, but Bates is mine.”
The gun trails slowly down my body, but I barely recognize the danger of the weapon.
“Ryder,” I say through the thick lump climbing up my throat, “please, don’t do this. I can’t do it alone.”
“You can, Rebel. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.”
“Well, isn’t this sweet,” Diaz mocks. I feel his eyes ravish my body like he can commit it to memory, and the idea sickens me. The only upside is that he finally removes the gun from my body.
“I do regret that we won’t have our fun together.”
When I look up at Diaz, I let all the confidence that Ryder has helped me build in the last few weeks shine through my gaze.
“Who says it has to end?” I ask and wish I had the time to appreciate his bewilderment.
But I don’t because I swing my hands—still bound behind my back but now armed with Diaz’s knife—upward until I feel the resistance of the blade digging into his wrist.
That’s when all hell breaks loose.
Guns fire, and since a brief glance assures me that Ryder wasn’t a target—but is currently fighting against the soldiers that hold him—I focus on my own attacker.
I dive for the gun Diaz drops with his pained howl, and he dives with me. At first, I think his only goal is to get the gun, and—though he certainly tries—he’s really mimicking my movements to use me as a shield between him and Moreno.
With my wrists still restrained, I’m at a severe disadvantage, and Diaz knows it. I inch toward the gun, using the knife to try to cut my bonds loose as I do. Luckily, Diaz is more focused on reaching for the gun than he is attacking me.
From where we lay on the ground, he reaches up past my head to reach the weapon that lies a few feet away. The sound of a ricocheting bullet resonates far too close, and Diaz draws his hand back fast as lightning.
He shouts a curse through bared teeth, clutching his bloodied hand just as I start to feel the blade slicing the tape.
The failed attempt to reach the gun prompts Diaz to try a new tactic.
His newly marred hand reaches over my waist to pull me to him.
I cry out as my skin scrapes against the concrete, splitting in a half dozen places.
What’s even worse than the pain is the fact that, as I’m tugged forward, I lose my grip on the knife.
I tug at my wrists, trying desperately to force the tape off, but I can’t get the momentum I need while lying on my side.
Diaz’s face contorts, but without the knife or gun, his only option is to use me as a human shield.
“Give up now,” I tell him with a heaved breath. “You won’t win this.”
Dead eyes lock on mine long enough for a horrific fear to hit me soul-deep. “You better start praying that you don’t make it out of this alive because I will, and I won’t be killing you after all. I have plenty of ways to make you wish you were dead.”
Footsteps come from behind, and I know it’s help coming for me. Diaz realizes it too, because he uses his grip on my waist and another around my throat to drag my body upward against the concrete.
My open wounds scrape against the ground with each tug, and the white-hot burn steals the breath from my lungs, but the same inhumane strength that possessed me the day Lyla was born hits me with incredible force.
I rock my head forward, nailing Diaz’s nose with the motion and relishing in his anguished wail.
In the same moment, I kick my foot up behind me and hit the half-broken duct tape twice before it finally breaks, then extend my arm as far up as I can.
I don’t grab the gun when my fingers meet the cool metal and instead shove it as hard as I can.
A moment later, a bullet flies through the air, hitting the weapon and sending it hopelessly out of Diaz’s reach.
“That’s it,” Diaz growls in a feral voice that doesn’t sound human. One hand squeezes my throat with deadly force, and the hand on my waist reaches back to grab the knife.
He squeezes so tightly I can’t bring a single breath to my lungs, let alone fight, as Diaz slings one leg over my stomach, then climbs on top of me. My body screams for breath so violently that black spots form in my vision, and I feel consciousness slipping away from me.
That’s when I notice the knife digging into the tender skin over my heart.
“Stop!” Diaz roars.
I let myself take a second to look around me. Moreno, Donovan, and Kade are closer but still several yards away from us. Knox lies by the car, Harris at his side assessing some injury.
Then there’s Ryder.
He has single-handedly taken care of one of the men who held him in place, and the other—who seems to be the only remaining Diaz soldier—looks on the brink of consciousness with his gun aimed at Ryder, who stopped fighting to lock eyes with me.
Though it’s the last thing I want to do, I force my eyes from the man I love and look to his boss.
“Kill. Him,” I grunt, still barely able to breathe from the weight of Diaz’s body covering mine.
“If they kill me, this knife goes into your pretty little heart, and we go out together,” he sneers.
“Do it,” I grit, sending my pleading gaze to Moreno.
I can’t read whatever emotions hide behind his blank features, but there’s a sinking in my heart when I realize, for the second time, that he won’t listen to me.
Diaz nods to his only remaining soldier. “Take him inside the plane.”
“Please,” I beg with all the desperation I have left. “Kill him, Moreno!”
But he doesn’t so much as lift his gun.
“Here’s how this is going to work,” Diaz grits. “We’re going to stand, walk to the plane, and climb up the steps. If you behave yourself, I’ll consider releasing you.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer and instead hauls me to my feet with his grip on my throat. When we’re standing, he has to readjust his hold so the arm that holds the knife is briefly wrapped around my waist.
The idea hits me with such clarity that I don’t consider other options. I don’t consider consequences. I don’t consider anything except the fact that this is the very last shot I have at saving Ryder.
I look to the only man I’ve ever loved, and a million unsaid words pass between us.
We should’ve had more time. We should’ve told each other how we felt from the beginning. We should’ve tried harder, given everything we had to protect the once-in-a-lifetime love we share.
I know the exact moment when Ryder realizes what I’m about to do, and his admiration turns to horror.
Because this moment isn’t about soaking in memories.
It’s goodbye.
My hands take hold of the knife, but instead of wrenching it away from Diaz, I stab the blade into my own stomach.