Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84181 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84181 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
“Yeah.” I smile, doing my best to show my appreciation. “I’m glad to be here. Thank you, guys, again. I know having me around is a huge risk.”
“We’re always at risk, sweetie,” she teases, waving a hand. “That’ll never get old. Why do you think we live out here, in the middle of nowhere?”
Everyone at the table laughs—well, everyone except Clark. Clark smashes his lips together.
“Wouldn’t have it any other way.” Uncle Jack rubs his belly. “It’s quiet. Peaceful. Every room has a great view. Don’t plan on moving from here any time soon.”
“I hear that.” Aunt Minnie stands, grabbing Uncle Jack’s empty plate. “Hope you guys have saved room for dessert. It’s my favorite walnut and caramel cheesecake from Heidi’s!”
“Oh, I love that place!” Jen squeals, hopping out of her chair with her plate in hand. “I’ll grab more plates, Mom.”
A hand grips my shoulder, and I tense up, looking up to see Uncle Jack hovering over me. He notices my reaction to his touch and pulls his hand away quickly. “Hey, you have nothing to be afraid of, Gia. You won’t get hurt again. Not on my watch.”
I swallow thickly.
“I’ll be watching you, too,” Clark says. “There isn’t anything that can get past me. If they come here, they’re asking for a death wish.”
I expect Uncle Jack to say something in disagreement, but he doesn’t. Instead, as I look back at him, he gives me a small nod. “The Jefe won’t touch you ever again.”
See, months ago that comment would have given me hope, but instead, it only fills me with despair. Suddenly, I’m not hungry, but I force myself to eat Aunt Minnie’s favorite cheesecake anyway.
As soon as we’re allowed to leave the table, I head back to my room, shutting the door, climbing on the bed, pressing my back to the headboard, and drawing my knees up to my chest.
I want to cry, but I don’t.
Instead, I think about ways to get back.
Ways to fight.
Ways to be there for him again.
I’m at a loss. All of it will require help, and a plane ticket, and even a cellphone. All of that is traceable, and it will only put Uncle Jack in danger if he tries to come after me again.
I need another way out.
I need to get back to Jefe.
By nightfall, the house is way too quiet.
It’s not eerie. It’s not awkward.
It’s just . . . way too serene. Though I know I don’t need to look over my shoulder every single second, I can’t help myself. Every little noise sends me into survival mode. Every creak, drip, rustle has me on edge.
Sighing, I roll out of bed, turning on the lamp beside the bed and then going for my suitcases. I unzip one of them, taking out the black case inside of it.
Opening the case, I take out the wads of cash and then draw out the small handgun. Inside the case is a note—one I couldn’t read earlier because I was interrupted.
I pick it up and read it.
Por si acaso. Just in case.
I sigh, knowing the handwriting. He did promise me a gun.
After counting the money from the case and the money in the large pocket of my suitcase, which totals to $350,000, I go to the vanity with the gun in hand, shutting the light off and then walking to the terrace, but not before grabbing the coat Uncle Jack gave to me. I wrap it around my shoulders, stepping barefoot onto the cold cement.
The moon seems much closer.
Crickets chirp and owls hoot.
Like I said, too serene.
I drop my gaze to the gun, studying it. It’s small, like a pocket gun. Fits my hand perfectly. I would have gone with something bigger, with way more power, but I guess beggars can’t be choosers. If Uncle Jack or Aunt Minnie knew about it, I’m sure they’d have taken it.
My eyes prickle and sting, but the tears don’t bother reaching the surface.
Because something clicks behind me and then there is something hard and cold pressing into the back of my head.
15
GIANNA
“We have one rule,” the familiar voice says. “No guns in the fucking house. Went through your bags. You should have gotten rid of that gun as soon you saw it.”
My heart doubles in speed, but not out of fear. A thrill—a rush I haven’t felt in a long, long time consumes me. A challenge.
“That’s obviously a bullshit rule. You’re holding one to my head right now.”
“Put it on the ground.”
“No.”
“Now,” he demands, pressing the gun into my head. “They don’t want you dead, but I don’t give a fuck if you die. Won’t shed a fucking tear. I don’t trust you. Put the gun down.”
I sigh and slowly start to squat with both arms stretched. He pulls back just a fraction, and that’s when I turn, pointing my gun in Clark’s face, just as he points his at mine.