Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59405 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59405 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
“Fuck,” Mateo muttered. His black eyes cut to me briefly before returning to the road. “There’s a Glock in the glove compartment.”
We hadn’t been allowed weapons at the wedding, but my friend never went anywhere unprepared. His paranoia had saved my life a few times.
I didn’t register gratitude or relief. I simply retrieved the weapon and rolled down the window.
“Slow down,” I ordered Mateo.
He eased off the gas, and we turned onto the highway. I leaned out the window as I got a clear shot at the yellow Ferrari behind us. If I didn’t end this chase quickly, we’d draw far too much attention heading into Bogotá. The last thing I needed was the police getting involved. Bribes could get us out of this mess, but not if my father’s men caught up to us because the cops got in our way.
In the split second I had to make my calculated shot, I blew out one of the Ferrari’s tires. The car spun, careening off the road.
A curse dropped from my lips. Another set of headlights appeared, turning sharply onto the highway behind us. This car was black, and I couldn’t get a good sight line on it.
“Get down!” I roared at Valentina, reaching back to tangle my fingers in her silky hair, forcing her head down right when the back window shattered.
Her scream made something icy race up my spine, but I did my best to ignore the sensation. I had to keep my focus.
“Your old man must be pissed,” Mateo remarked, as though our lives weren’t at stake.
I growled, because he was right. Hugo wouldn’t have been the one to send these men after us. He’d still be incapacitated in the library, where I’d left him bleeding on the floor.
No, my father must have been alerted to the fact that I’d carried Valentina out of the castle, stealing her away.
That was something he wouldn’t tolerate. He’d made that crystal clear ten years ago.
The fact that his men were shooting at us just confirmed it.
I supposed Vicente didn’t mind risking me, now that he had another heir.
Mateo weaved, avoiding more bullets. Luckily, this stretch of highway wasn’t heavily trafficked, but that would change as we got closer to the city.
“Head for Los Mártirez.”
“What?” Mateo demanded. “Go into Bogotá? They’ll chase us there. We should head for the airport.”
“Don’t question me,” I snapped. Mateo should know better by now.
“Sí, jefe.” He immediately fell in line.
I leaned back out the window and took a mostly-blind shot at the black car that followed us. I didn’t wait to see if I’d hit my mark; I let off two more rounds in rapid succession, peppering them with bullets to prevent them from returning fire.
The third shot must have hit the driver, because the car swerved, tires screaming as it spun off the road.
There wasn’t another set of headlights behind it. Vicente must not have been able to rally enough manpower so quickly.
I eased back into my seat and rolled up the window.
Mateo shifted gears and increased our speed, the Porsche snarling as we raced toward the city.
“What’s the plan?” he asked, cool and collected.
“We get into Los Mártirez and ditch the car. It’ll get stolen or dismantled quick enough there.” The impoverished neighborhood was notoriously crime-ridden, but it was on the cusp of tourist areas, where we could get lost in safer crowds.
“We need money and weapons,” I continued. “And a car that doesn’t stand out.”
“They’ll already be looking for us.”
My father had a network of thugs and lackeys throughout the city. We’d have to get what we needed and get out fast.
“They will,” I agreed. “We can check in to a tourist hotel. I’ll stay there with Valentina while you get the cash, guns, and a new ride. Then, we’ll head for Medellín. We can get the documents we need there.”
He nodded. “Yeah, they would flag us at the airport.”
Using our current passports to get out of Colombia and back to the States was out of the question. And Valentina didn’t have ID on her at all. There was no way she was hiding anything in that form-fitting dress she was wearing.
“I’m not going to Medellín.” Her voice shook, but the softly-spoken refusal made my ire spike.
I rounded on her with my most terrifying glare. Grown men had pissed themselves under the weight of my displeasure. Valentina shuddered, shrinking into the back seat.
“You’re coming with me,” I informed her, the words cold and crisp. “Do not argue. Do not struggle. Do not scream for help. No one will save you from me.”
For a moment, I stared into the dark eyes of the frightened young girl who had been brought to my family estate twelve years ago. Her brother had sold her to my father to pay a debt, and she’d feared everyone in our home, including me.