Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
“I get you.” She swallowed. “Does Tate know I’m with you?”
“No.” He unlocked the door and found Arturo waiting on the other side, as expected.
The six guards on-site spoke both English and Spanish. Tiago was fluent in many languages but primarily used English.
“When she’s outside of this room, she doesn’t leave your sight.” He strode past Arturo and took the stairs to the ground floor.
The wooden steps groaned beneath his boots, and dry heat seeped from the cracks in the stone walls. More stone greeted him on the main level. Old and musty, the building was erected to withstand the arid climate, without comfort in mind. It was barely habitable, let alone anesthetically pleasing.
When he purchased it years ago, he updated the utilities and brought in enough mattresses to house an army. The isolation of the desert made it ideal for a temporary hideaway, and its solid stone exterior should hold up against gunfire. Hopefully, the latter wouldn’t be tested during his stay.
A peek through the gap in one of the covered, barred windows confirmed everyone on patrol was positioned appropriately. Spread out around the perimeter, three men vigilantly watched the horizon.
He crossed the main room, passing a row of mattresses. The night shift occupied two of the beds, both guards sleeping soundly.
The large space opened to the kitchen, where Boones sat at the table with his gaze on a laptop.
“You’re still on bed rest,” the old man said in perfect English. His eyes didn’t lift from the screen as he switched to Tigrayit, the Afroasiatic language of his people. “Go back to your room before I—”
“Before you what?” he asked in the same tongue. “Are you going to hit me with those brittle, antique sticks you call arms?”
“Idiot. Suit yourself. When you die—”
“Yeah, I know. You’re taking all my money and moving to Florida.”
Boones laughed softly, a deep comforting sound. “Where’s the girl?”
“Bleeding all over the bed.”
The laptop slammed shut, and Boones shoved to his feet. “You’ve been out of your room all of five minutes, and you’re already butchering—”
“She’s alive, asshole.” He smirked, enjoying the opportunity to rile Boones. “She bleeds every month.”
Boones studied him with dark, incisive eyes. Had things gone differently with Kate last night, they would be having a different conversation. Nevertheless, Boones knew her life still hung on a fragile leash. He didn’t like it, but it was the way of this world. He accepted that the day he fled Eritrea.
“I’ll take care of it.” Boones approached, his expression morphing into that of a doctor as he looked over Tiago’s head. “You need to sit.”
“I need clothes, for her and me.” He remained standing. “Jeans, t-shirts…”
Boones made a humming noise and prodded a finger around the skull wounds. “Any dizziness this morning? Double vision?”
“No. Add gym shorts and running shoes to the list.”
“I didn’t approve exercise. Your body needs time to heal and—”
“I need my strength back.” He pulled away from Boones’ examination. “Stop coddling.”
The stairs creaked, and he turned toward the sound.
Kate descended with tentative steps, her eyes taking in her surroundings as Arturo followed closely behind. When she reached the kitchen, Tiago gestured at the massive man at her back.
“Arturo will be your constant shadow when you’re out of your room.” He clamped a hand on the old man’s bony shoulder. “You met Boones.”
She offered a tight smile that faded quickly.
“I have a closet stocked with supplies,” Boones said in English and motioned for her to follow him to the back wall.
She trailed after him, her movements lissome and unintentionally seductive. She was surrounded by violent criminals, her future dark and nebulous, yet she held her shoulders back and spine straight.
As Boones filled a plastic bag with feminine products, she stood beside him, discreetly scanning the kitchen from beneath the veil of her hair. It wouldn’t be hard to find knives, scissors, or any number of things scattered around that could be used to stab or strangle.
Arturo would be on her before she managed to slip even the smallest needle beneath her dress. But Tiago appreciated the fight blazing inside her. He savored it, riveted by the way her hand twitched at her side and how her small toes gripped the stone floor. She had grit.
“I put some weights in the backroom,” Arturo said, breaking his trance. “When you’re ready to work out again.”
Boones glanced back at that, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening with disapproval. But he bit his tongue. He never berated or argued with Tiago in front of others, because he understood the importance of setting an example. Respect was paramount in running a gang.
When Boones shooed her away, she carried her supplies back to her room with Arturo on her heels.
Tiago waited for the door to shut upstairs and switched back to Boones’ native language. “Do you have an update on Lucia?”