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)
I sigh, looking at the barely breathing agent. His face is paler now, his hand pressing into the wound just below his chest. I push out of my seat, taking the one across from him and crossing my legs. His hooded eyes sluggishly drag up to meet mine.
I study him carefully; his breaths are heavy, labored. Sweat sprinkles his chalky white forehead and the side of his face. He’s literally fighting for his life right now, clinging to every breath.
“It’s better if you let go and let yourself die, rather than letting one of us take care of it.” I watch the crimson leak through his already bloodstained fingers. “That’s what will happen in the end, anyway. Either way, you’ll have to go.” I sit forward, and he flinches, nostrils flaring. I blink rapidly. “Are you afraid?” I ask.
“Are you taking me to The Jefe?” His voice is gruff and dry.
My head goes into a slight tilt. “Why would I do that?” He doesn’t answer me, turning his head to look out of the window, so I place my gun down on top of the dead guard’s lap beside me, looking him hard in the eyes. “I don’t need The Jefe to fight my battles. You two came for me, thinking I would just give in and go to her.” I cluck my tongue against my teeth. “You were wrong. If there’s one thing he taught me, it was to fight for myself. End all threats. I couldn’t let you stop me, and I damn sure wasn’t going to let Yessica prevent me from doing what I need to do.”
He breathes harder. “I have a family,” he grunts. “I—I was just doing this for the money. I want to get back to them. I—if you let me go, I will never come for you again. You will never see my face, and I’ll even say Matt, here, went off the grid and disappeared on me. I’ll be a ghost to you.”
My head lifts, air filling my lungs.
I look over my shoulder at Clark, who has his arms folded, his brows strewn together, and his lips pinched tight.
“Have you ever met Yessica?” I ask.
“Only once, and it was to give us our pay to find you.”
I huff a laugh. “Where did you meet her and when?”
“A motel close to the border,” he answers hurriedly, head bobbing. “I—it was called La Grandioso. About a week ago, she reached out to us—that’s it.”
Silence reigns, and I push out of my seat.
“Wait—please,” the agent begs, sitting forward and then moaning in pain, squeezing his eyes shut. “I swear, I was only doing this for my family. Please. You two are family. You can understand, right?”
Clark scoffs. “Desperate move, asshole.”
“If we keep him alive and hold him hostage, he might be able to get us to her,” I murmur. “She won’t question an agent on her payroll if he says he has a lead on me. We can use that against her.”
“What?” Clark’s frown deepens and he drops his arms. “Are you kidding? He’s just saying this shit to get out alive. He has to fucking die, Gianna. Look at him—you can’t trust a piece of shit like him. Like you said, he’s a dirty agent. He’ll say anything to get out clean.”
I glance over my shoulder at the agent, whose eyes are wet and desperate, and then I see something familiar—something that should have been a clear sign to me from the very beginning.
This has happened to me before.
This is exactly why I was sent away.
For being lenient. For trusting. For thinking there are actually selfless people in this world who want to do right.
Images of the bombs going off on Jefe’s cars and killing his men, the guns sparking, and the blood splattering on me, resurface.
Thiago, shot. Gone. Dead. Just like that. All because of a man like this…
A tunnel vision of what I thought was true and real hits me so hard my gut clenches, and my mouth fills with moisture.
I lift my gun, aiming it at his head. “Where’s your wallet?” I demand, and his eyes stretch wide, full of horror now.
“M-my back pocket,” he answers, voice panicked.
“Get up.” I grab his shirt, yanking him up, not giving a damn how much pain he’s in. Clark steps up to my side, assisting me. I dig into his back pocket, retrieving the hard, square wallet.
With my gun still pointed at him, I place the wallet on top of the seat in front of me and open it with my free hand. I sift through it, finding IDs, hotel key cards, and cash. I see everything that belongs in an official DEA agent’s wallet—all but one thing.
Family portraits.
Every family man has at least one picture in his wallet.
“If you love your family so much, why aren’t there any pictures of them in here?” I ask, frowning now.