Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
I slow as the Aston Martin gets closer because it’s not Marco behind the wheel. It’s Santiago.
It takes that moment for Abel to catch up with me, recapture me, and drag me back toward the open passenger door.
“Please, Abel!”
I fight him. I fight with all I have because if I get into that car, I’m dead. I know it. He would rather drive us into an oncoming truck and kill himself along with me and my baby than let my husband win.
Because Abel has nothing to lose. He’s forfeited his life, and he knows it.
And as he forces me toward the car, I give an almighty shove and somehow, someway, manage to trip him, and I run. I run faster than I’ve ever run in my life, and Santiago’s almost here. He’s turning into the lot. I can make it. He’s so close, I can make it.
I can see his face now. Santiago is so near I can see his face.
And it’s that that has me stop.
His expression of horror. His open mouth. I think he’s screaming. I think it’s a scream I see. But he’s too far away, and Abel... oh my God, Abel... But before I can finish that thought, there’s a sound like I’ve never heard before, and I feel a pain that I’ve never felt before. Intense and abrupt and propelling me at an impossible speed.
I don’t register the screech of tires. I don’t hear the screaming of horns. And when I open my eyes, I see my hat. It’s down the road caught under the tire of a car. The veil is torn, blowing in a breeze.
And I realize all the noise has stopped. No one is screaming. Not Abel. Not Santiago. Not even me.
31
Santiago
Time does not slow for tragedy. It's something I know intimately, how quickly a life can be extinguished. A blink of an eye. A single breath. A split second. There one moment and gone the next.
I'm helpless to stop it as I watch Abel's car collide with Ivy's body from behind. The impact is a blur, a fraction of a moment when she is propelled into the air and then onto the pavement, rolling to a stop with such finality, it feels like I'm dying too.
Nothing can prepare you for such an event. No amount of adrenaline in the world can force your body to cooperate as the shock of what you're witnessing threatens to freeze you.
My car comes to a stop. I struggle to release my seat belt, howling in frustration as my eyes connect with Abel's for one split second. He doesn’t look at his sister as he directs the car forward without slowing. He only has eyes for me. A sneer on his face, as if to say he won.
I force myself to follow a series of simple commands, even as every muscle in my body goes rigid. One is to take a deep breath. Two is to pull the brake. Finally, I manage to untangle my seat belt, flinging open the door just as Abel veers around me and speeds off toward the exit.
I glance at his taillights and then back at Ivy. As soon as I saw Ivy’s phone location on the GPS, I didn’t think. I just took off, Marco and the rest of the guards scrambling to catch up with me. They were following me as I wove through traffic, but they are still a few seconds behind. It's just me, standing between my past and my future. My chance to kill Abel or save my wife. It's not even a choice.
I tear my gaze away from the squealing tires as Abel turns the corner and disappears from sight. I'm running. Lungs burning. Heart pounding. Fists clenching. When I reach her, the sight drops me to my knees.
Her head is lolled to the side, blood-streaked across her face.
"Ivy." My voice is barely a whisper when I reach out to touch her, hesitant. "Wake up, angel. Please wake up."
I'm not supposed to move her, but it's the only thing I want to do. I want to cradle her in my arms and tell her it's going to be okay. I will find a way to save her. Instead, I reach for her hand, only to realize her arm and several of her fingers have been broken. They are already starting to swell, bruises forming along the skin. Her dress is torn down the side, scrapes and gashes marring her legs and her arms. She's bleeding from her lip and possibly somewhere else. I can't tell.
I'm trying to drag my phone from my pocket when I hear Marco's voice, his hand coming to rest on my shoulder. "I already called, boss. They’re on their way."
I look up at him, a desperation I've never known altering my voice beyond all comprehension. "What do we do?"