Chapter Twenty-Three
Dios sálvame, Lourdes prayed and swallowed as much as the meaty arm squeezing her windpipe allowed.
Her heart thrashed against her ribs like a trapped bird.
Through sheer will, she steadied her knocking knees and gripped Diego’s arm in a fruitless effort to pull it back.
The remote-controlled explosives strapped to her chest weighed more than a bulldozer mowing her down.
Nauseous and fighting to keep from passing out in terror, she squinted against the blinding sun and the dust stinging her eyes.
Long shadows spilled across the earth as though to drag her into the abyss.
Five vehicles spanned the desert with Enrique’s beloved car, now scratched from its trek across the rocky ground, at the forefront. He stood behind it, gun raised.
A marble bust had nothing on his pinched face. Eyes colder than glaciers, he was calm. Controlled. Heartless. The second-in-command cartel leader he kept hidden from her. But she knew him better than that. Beneath the ice brewed fiery rage. Shame and desperation. All masked under years of training.
“Zayas,” Enrique called, his voice sharper than ever. “Look around. You’re outnumbered. This is over. Let her go.”
“Over? Bullshit. We’re just getting started. I have the best bargaining chip in the world.” Diego raised his hand, showing off the remote. “Guns on the ground. You and the boys might get itchy trigger fingers.”
“Kill her, you’ll kill yourself,” Enrique snapped at him.
“And I’ll take you with me.”
“You really are fucking crazy.”
“Damn right, you arrogant ass.” He squeezed her tighter against him as though he thought his bulletproof vest would protect him from the explosive packs.
“You want this bitch to live? Do as I say. Throw down your gun. Knives, too. I know you got some, El Tajador,” he mocked.
“I don’t want to see a fucking weapon anywhere near you. ”
Lourdes blinked away a sheen of tears. Just a few short hours earlier, she had joked with Rascón about her husband’s alias. Now, she needed The Cutter to save her life.
Enrique tossed his handgun and his black knife over the hood of his car.
Fresh anger flooded her veins as the weapons thudded on impact. Enough manipulation. Enough fear. She wasn’t a weak, helpless woman Diego could exploit. As Enrique’s tatted, scowling comrades followed his lead, she eyed the gleaming guns and knives scattered around the impromptu arena.
Chuckling, Diego loosened his grip around her throat just enough so that she sucked in great mouthfuls of air. He clicked his tongue. “What a shame. You guys once answered to me. Would have done anything for me. Are you my replacement, Gimenez?”
She craned her neck to follow Diego’s line of sight to a short, muscled man who would probably have light sunburn on his bald head before the fight was through.
“You said it,” Gimenez replied with a sneer. “The Nogales plaza, the shipping network, the prestige—now mine. Only a fool would give that up.”
Diego snorted, rolled his eyes, and faced Enrique again. “Keys, Briceno. We’re leaving. If anyone tries to follow, I’ll press this button.” He waved the device beside her head and pushed her a few steps forward.
Lourdes grimaced, plodding along. Diego’s chest heaved against her. His rank breath skirted one side of her face and shot another wave of nausea through her middle.
“How about a trade?” Enrique raised his hand, palm out. “Take me instead.”
Diego barked a harsh laugh. “I don’t fuck men.”
“And I don’t fuck assholes,” she muttered, shuddering in repugnance.
Enrique shifted his scowl to her captor’s henchmen. “You swore an oath to the Lozano Cartel to follow the jefe. Yet here you are, assisting a walking dead man in using an innocent woman as a bomber. My woman. What did he promise you? Money? Power?”
“I told them the truth,” Diego shouted, his guttural voice ringing out, the fine hold on his temper fraying. “You and Rubén were going to kill me. Them. We had to act first. Now, stop stalling. Give me the keys!”
“If they were stupid enough to believe that, then they deserve to die.” Enrique lifted his arms to his sides as he stepped around the vehicle.
“Let Lourdes go. I promise, I will not retaliate. No one will. You and your guys can drive off into the fucking sunset for all I care. Just get out of here, but leave my wife. Zayas, please.”
“Begging? Well, I’ll be damned. Never thought I’d see the day, and all it took was a goddamn woman.” He flexed his arm tighter around her.
Lourdes hissed from the renewed pressure across her windpipe.
A flash of white snagged her gaze as the sunlight glinted off the circling helicopter.
The whoop whoop of spinning blades sliced through the heavy cloak of tension.
As the chopper dropped lower and vibrated the earth, a maelstrom of dirt kicked up and nearly blinded her.
A rush of wind whipped at her clothes and stung her sweat-slicked skin like a thousand pinpricks.
The chopper landed across the dried, cracked riverbed in a swirling cloud of sienna.
Out of the haze, Rubén, Santiago, Domingo, and Muniz emerged from the belly of the beast, guns drawn and heads down to ward off the flying dust cloud. Breaking up into twos, they sprinted toward the nearest cars and hunkered down with the other men.
“Shit! What do we do?” one of the panicking thugs shouted.
“Stay calm, Salcido. All of you!” Diego lashed out. “We still have the upper hand.”
The rumbling engine fell silent with a long hiss-pop.
Lourdes closed her eyes, so damn sick of being the victim. She deserved happiness, a better life, a future of her choosing. Enrique was hers, and she was his.
A steady calm flowed through her and snapped her eyelids open.
As the blades slowed and the flying dirt settled, Diego’s arm around her throat slackened.
Now or never. She stomped on his foot, wrenched free, and lunged for Enrique’s weapons.
Grit scraped her palms as her knees struck the ground.
Pain ricocheted through her limbs and jarred her teeth.
“Stupid bitch.” Diego snatched her arm and hauled her halfway up. “Do you really think I won’t blow you up?”
“No!” She stabbed him in the thigh, jerked out Enrique’s huge black knife, and plunged it back in. A cry of beautiful pain ripped from her tormentor’s lips. Hot, oily blood slicked her hand, forever staining her. Drawing her deeper into the shadows.
She welcomed it.
The remote fell from his slackened hand and landed with a defiant clatter on the ground.
“No, I don’t think you will blow me up,” Lourdes spat and yanked out the knife.
Diego stumbled back, somehow still standing. Shock and anguish morphed his flushed face into something savage. Inhuman. Eyes bulging, he shouted and hurtled toward her.
She ducked his flying fist and slashed the blade across his arm.
“Aargh!” Blood sprayed from the wound. He fumbled for the knife on his belt with his non-dominant hand.
The tether of her rage snapped like gossamer threads.
She screamed in wordless, primal fury and tackled Diego to the ground.
His fist connected with her chin. Her bottom lip split, and her head wrenched to the side.
Somehow, she managed to hang on to him. Blood soured her mouth, and she spat it out.
The pain barely registered. Her vision tunneled.
She stabbed him in the neck and ripped out the blade. Liquid gushed like a geyser.
Gurgled cries spewed from Diego’s lips in crimson sprays. His hands grappled at his neck. Color leached from his face.
She ripped away the straps of his protective vest and plunged the blade into his black heart. Then she yanked it out and stabbed him again. And again. The stench of urine raked her nostrils.
Jacobo’s face flashed before her eyes. His snide laughter rang in her ears as though he’d returned from beyond the grave to taunt her.
Selfish. Foolish. Slut. The memory of her father’s vitriol carved into her, but she didn’t bleed. Oh, no. She was done with bleeding. Hurting. Hating herself.
Blood splattered her hands, her chest, her face, fueling the fire of hate imprinting on her bones. No, not hate. Cleansing her of her past. Jacobo’s abuse. Her father’s cruelty. She was a stronger woman than Gerardo Villegas would ever be a man.
“Lourdes!”
Enrique’s voice broke through the furious haze in her mind. Footsteps resounded until he filled her vision.
“Stop. He’s dead.”
She stared at her red-soaked hands and dropped the knife as though it scorched her. The blood pooling beneath Diego’s lifeless body soaked into the unforgiving earth and stained her clothes. She scrambled off him and jerked on the bomber vest.
“Wait.” Her husband knelt and stilled her shaking hands. “Is it connected to any other trigger? Will removing it set off the bomb?”
She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. Diego said it was remote-controlled only.”
Enrique eased the vest off her arms before he hugged her close.
Her breath hitched. Her throat burned, raw from screaming. From Diego’s manhandling. She clung to Enrique and cried, grounding herself in his citrus-and-sweat scent and the safety of his embrace. “I had to stop him. Couldn’t leave you.”
“I know.” Enrique palmed her cheeks and feathered kisses across her forehead and nose. Then he brushed his lips across hers and drew a drop of her blood into his mouth. “You did what you had to, my brave fucking woman.”
She stared into his eyes. So much emotion. Pain, shock, fury. Pride. All directed at her. And love. She could bask in his love forever.
He wiped away her tears. “You’re free now.”
The tightness in her chest eased. A breathless laugh escaped her mouth. “Therapy was helpful. This was better. How did you find me?”
“Your watch. Where is it?” He grasped her left hand and lightly trailed his touch over the rope burn around her wrist. “Your rings?”
“In Diego’s pants pocket. He wanted to sell them.”
“Figures.” Enrique leaned over the dead man, fished out the jewelry, and returned everything to where it belonged.
Then he stood and pulled her up with him.
“I had Domingo install a tracker in the watch,” he confessed, nodding toward the computer genius who now stood watch over the kneeling prisoners, Diego’s henchmen.
Lourdes blinked hard, drawing back. “You put a tracker on me without asking?”
“That’s how I got to you in time. I’m not removing it.”
She opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. He wasn’t bluffing. She wouldn’t win this battle, and maybe, she didn’t want to. An extra layer of protection wouldn’t hurt.
Gunfire blasted.
She jumped and clutched Enrique’s arm.
One of the prisoners fell face-first in the dirt. Blood seeped out from the wound in his skull.
The other three kidnappers continued kneeling in a row, gazes down and hands linked on the back of their heads.
Bang! Rubén shot another man.
Blood sprayed the dirt. The body collapsed in a lifeless heap.
“Stay here, princess.” Enrique snatched up his discarded gun and joined his comrades. “My turn, Rubén.”
His friend stepped back, nodding in deference.
Heart pounding, Lourdes watched in a mixture of dread and sick fascination.
Enrique stood behind a trembling man and executed him without blinking an eye. As the body fell, he lined up his next shot and blasted a hole in Salcido, the last man.
The gunfire carried in thunderous applause. The sun finally sank, bearing witness no more. Deep shades of purple turned the jagged hills on the horizon into black teeth.
A strange peace settled over Lourdes. The cool breeze soothed her inner fire.
Enrique had offered no mercy. Asked no questions. Just delivered the swift, cold brutality of cartel justice.
He holstered the gun to his chest and returned to her. “Are you all right?” A hint of ice laced his voice as though he braced himself for her condemnation.
“I’m more than all right. I’m exactly where I belong—with you, my love.” She wrapped her arms around him. “Now, take me home.”