Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 118333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
My mind cleared the second the car stopped. A second car had followed behind. More guards. My father had many enemies, and any trip out of the heavily guarded hacienda was a risk. My father kept me safe, but sometimes that safety was an iron cage. The trips to the village were one of my only outlets.
Vincente got out of the car and opened my door. Tanner followed and walked around the car to stand beside me. I had never been more aware of his presence than I was right now. Since yesterday. Since he’d put his hands on me. And I’d put mine on him. I regretted kissing him. I regretted giving him any of my attention these past few weeks.
Guards gathered around me as we walked to the village. The minute we entered the small square, people came out of their houses. I nodded to the guards to start handing out the money we had brought. They did, and the people reached for my hand in thanks. I hugged the children I saw each week, listening to their stories of what they had been learning in school. Money went to the teachers, the parents, and the elderly.
I looked behind me, wondering where Tanner had gone. He was standing at the back of the crowd, watching. His arms were crossed over his wide chest, his tight white shirt stretched over the heavy muscles. He wore a scowl on his face, yet there was almost an echo of bewilderment in his expression too. People stared at the large American who was covered in ink. Some of the children even tried to speak to him. He ignored them. I had expected nothing less.
He was silent, hanging at the back, as we walked through the factory, then in the school. He didn’t say a thing the entire time. No slights or slurs. Tanner just watched with fierce intensity. I had no idea what he was thinking.
It bothered me that I seemed to care.
When we climbed into the back of the car and pulled away, I glanced over to him. He was watching the outside world go by. Dusk was falling, casting the rolling golden fields in a shroud of orange light. “My favorite time of the day,” I whispered. I saw him tense as I spoke. I didn’t care. I would speak when I wanted to. I was Adelita Quintana. And I had a voice. I was sick and tired of men telling me when I could and couldn’t speak. That my thoughts and opinions did not matter in this world. “You may feel that we Mexicans are nothing but the dirt on your so-called superior American shoes, but you are wrong. We are people of integrity, hard work, and family.” I pointed to the fields. “And even you, White Prince, cannot deny the beauty of this Mexican sunset.”
Tanner exhaled and slowly turned his head to me. I saw the hunger in his eyes the minute our gazes collided. I swallowed at the sudden thickness in my throat. I opened my mouth to say something—anything—else, when a deafening gunshot sounded outside. Suddenly, the car swerved and something crashed into us, feeling like a boulder smashing into a cliff and sounding like thunder deafening the sky. The metal of the car crunched and we were sent hurtling into the side of the road.
What the hell? I thought. What’s happening? I blinked, trying to see outside the car as we slammed into something that caused the car to stop and our bodies to thrash against the seatbelts. Looking up, head spinning, I saw blood on the glass that separated the front of the car from the back. Panic cut through me.
“You okay?” A voice was trying to push through the heavy white noise that was buzzing in my ears and the seemingly slow-motion visuals outside the car. Gunshots fired in quick succession somewhere in the near distance. My body quickly unfroze . . . but it was to a stark realization.
Tanner was lying across me.
Covering me.
Protecting me.
His blue eyes were looking into mine as he asked again, “Adelita? You okay? We have to move.”
His thick, tattooed arm was an iron seatbelt across my waist. He had kept me safe. He had made sure I wasn’t injured as the car veered into the ditch at the side of the road. Blood trickled from his nose and from a gash in his head. He’d been hurt. Hurt protecting me.
I could hardly breathe at that fact.
And he’d called me by my name. Even with all the chaos, the blood and gunshots, it occurred to me . . . he had called me by my name.
“We need to move,” Tanner said again, moving back from me. Shock rendered me speechless when he took my hand in his. He pulled me to his side of the car, and the door flew open. I held my breath, fearing it would be the attackers, but my fear was quelled when I saw it was Vincente.