CHAPTER 5 #2
Battered and bruised, he sat with his arms behind his back, his manacles locked to a thick chain that was bolted to the wall, his skin smudged with dirt and covered with burn marks. Had he sat like this all night? She couldn’t imagine how uncomfortable he was, how much he had suffered.
“The key for the manacles will be small and very simple.”
But Natalie wasn’t looking at the keys. She was looking at his face with its thick growth of stubble, bruises, and streaks of dirt, pain, and exhaustion etched on every feature. Acting on instinct, she reached behind his head, untied the humiliating blindfold and let it fall.
Gray eyes stared intently into hers, and she forgot to breathe.
ZACH’S GAZE FIXED on Natalie’s—and his mind went blank just as it had the first time he saw her.
Her face only inches from his, she was even more beautiful than he remembered, her dark lashes long and thick, her pupils dilated by the darkness and adrenaline, the bruises on her face making her seem fragile.
And out of nowhere, he felt an insane urge to kiss her.
Are you losing your fucking mind, McBride?
“Which . . . which key?” She looked down at the keys in her palm.
“The little one in the center.”
He turned to give her access to his wrists, felt the key click, the bite of steel falling away, his wrists finally free. He tried to move his arms, only to be blindsided by pain.
Unable to stop himself, he let out a groan and slumped forward, his arms hanging, lifeless and aching, from shoulders that screamed.
She caught his weight, his head falling onto her shoulder. “I’m so sorry. What they did to you—it’s terrible.”
“Yeah. It sucked.” He croaked out the words, fighting the pain, willing himself to sit upright. Then he slowly rolled his shoulders and flexed his elbows to work the stiffness out of his joints and muscles. “Now it’s payback time.”
Big talk for a guy who can’t get off his ass, McBride.
From across the courtyard came the sound of two Zetas arguing.
“How many men did you see last night?”
“Six, I think.” She looked toward the half-open door. “They’re coming.”
“Not yet. They’re arguing over who should drive the hookers back to town.” He took the keys and unlocked the cuff that still held her right wrist, dropping both cuffs and keys to the floor. “Give me the pistol. Keep the knife, and don’t hesitate to use it.”
“Okay.” She pressed cold steel into his right palm.
A Norinco M-77B—a Chinese military pistol.
How it had ended up in Juárez, he could only guess.
He turned the weapon over, testing its weight in his hand.
Then he checked the magazine and found it fully loaded—nine 9mm rounds.
“Listen to me, Natalie. From here on out, you’ll do exactly what I tell you to do when I tell you to do it. Is that understood?”
She nodded.
It was the response he wanted, so he barely registered the surprise on her face at this abrupt change in his manner. “Good. Let’s get out of here.”
But that was easier said than done.
Pressing his left hand against the wall to brace himself, he rose unsteadily to his feet, his heart pounding at the effort, his head spinning, legs shaky.
He thought for a moment he was going to fall on his face, then he felt her duck under his left arm, her slender arm encircling his waist, the feel of her solid beside him. “Damn.”
Man up, McBride. Or maybe you’re hoping she’ll carry you back to Juárez.
“You can still aim the gun, right?”
Did he look that weak? “Of course I can aim the damned gun!”
They walked together toward the shaft of daylight that spilled through the door, Zach glancing over at the Zeta lying still on the floor in front of Natalie’s cell.
Her gaze followed his. “I . . . I’ve never killed anyone before.”
As if there were any doubt on that score, angel.
Trying not to look too much like his knees were giving out, which they more or less were, Zach sank down beside the unconscious man, felt for a pulse, and found one. “I hate to break it to you, but you still haven’t killed anyone.”
“He’s . . . he’s alive?”
“Not for long.” Unwilling to risk the noise of gunfire, Zach tucked the gun into his pants, caught the Zeta’s head between his left hand and right forearm, and gave it a quick twist, breaking the man’s neck with an audible crack.
He searched the body, finding a fistful of bills in one pocket and a sweet Ka-Bar rig on the man’s ankle.
He transferred the knife to his own ankle, stuffed the dinero into his pocket, then picked the scattered grapes up off the floor and, ignoring the dirt, tossed them into his mouth.
Electrolytes. Calories.
He was in dire need of both.
He rose unsteadily to his feet again, only to find Natalie watching him, a look of shock on her pretty face. Still chewing, he explained. “I didn’t want him sneaking up behind us or warning the others, and we’re going to need the money.”
But she said nothing, still staring.
“Is this about the grapes? I should have saved some for you. Sorry.”
She pressed a hand against her stomach as if she thought she might be sick, then shook her head. “N-no, that’s fine.”
“Stay behind me, and don’t make a sound. Is that clear?”
“Yes.”
Still shaken by what she’d just witnessed, Natalie followed Zach, her view blocked by his broad shoulders as he slowly nudged the door to their little prison wider and scanned the courtyard, pistol gripped in both hands.
She half expected him to collapse, but somehow he stayed upright.
Walking on bare feet, he crouched down, motioning for her to do the same.
She followed him into the shadow of the car she’d arrived in, then behind the vehicle to the side of the old church, men’s voices audible from inside.
He drew her behind him, pressed himself up against the wall—then waited.
Standing so close to him, Natalie was struck by how tall and strong he truly was.
Even weak and unsteady on his feet, he seemed dangerous.
A few inches over six feet, he was muscular without being bulky, broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, slabs of lean muscle bisected by the groove of his spine.
And she knew all that muscle wasn’t just for show.
There was a scar that could only have been made by a bullet on his lower back, not far from his spine, proving that violence was nothing new in his life.
And the way the pistol seemed to belong in his grasp, the way he moved, the way he’d broken that Zeta’s neck without blinking—he’d obviously been trained to fight. He had even admitted to killing.
If she’d been sitting in a nightclub in Denver, he probably would have scared the hell out of her.
But stranded in the Mexican desert with men who intended to hand her over to be raped and murdered, he was the closest thing she had to the cavalry.
Maybe he was some kind of underworld criminal, but right now he was on her side.
Heavy hinges squeaked, and boots hit gravel, bringing her thoughts to a halt.
“?Eh, Diego! ?Qué demonios estás haciendo?” What the hell are you doing? A man in military fatigues started across the courtyard, clearly trying to figure out what was taking his friend so long.
In front of her, Zach silently retrieved the knife he’d strapped to his ankle, still a bit wobbly on his feet. Then he rose to his full height, steadied himself, and with a speed that amazed her, threw it, hitting the Zeta just below the base of his skull, the knife sinking to the hilt.
The man’s legs turned to water beneath him, and he fell lifeless to the ground.
Zach held up four fingers, his meaning clear.
Four Zetas remained.
Motioning for her to stay where she was, he hurried out into the open and stripped the body of its weapons, including the knife, which he wiped clean on the dead man’s pants and returned to its sheath.
When he reached her side, he had two more pistols, one of which he handed to her, the other of which he tucked into the waistband of his pants.
He bent down and whispered, “Do you know how to use one of these?”
She looked at the weapon in her hands. It was heavier than she’d imagined—and cold. “You point it and pull the trigger.”
The look on his face told her there was more to it than that. “This is the safety. As long as it’s in this position, the gun won’t fire. Flick it down like this before you pull the trigger. Aim for the chest.”
“Can’t we just hot-wire the car and go?”
But Zach was already moving, walking on silent feet around the corner and toward the church’s front door.
Made of thick planks of weathered wood with iron hinges that opened outward, it had no windows to enable them to see if anyone was standing on the other side—which is why it took her by surprise when it began to swing outward toward them.
Natalie found herself thrust back against the wall behind Zach, the door concealing them both as it opened.
She saw Zach raise his pistol, then heard him swear beneath his breath as two scantily clad young women—prostitutes, not Zetas—stepped outside.
They didn’t see Zach or Natalie, but they did see the dead body.
And they screamed.