Shock swallowed her gasp. Were they Montilla’s sicarios?

  “Victor!” she warned him. “Behind us.”

  He floored it, glancing in the rearview mirror. “Montilla is on my tail. At least you weren’t lying about that, puta. Where is your phone?”

  She patted her skirt pocket. Empty. “It must have fallen out of my pocket during the commotion.”

  With a curse, he fumbled in his pocket and thrust his phone at her. “Call Estevan. Tell him we need a new truck and men to cover us right now. Tell him to meet us at…” He scowled, obviously thinking. “Fuck, I don’t know. Tell him to start driving north. We’ll head south and meet along the way.”

  That would never work. The assassins would catch up to them too quickly. But she didn’t correct Victor, simply took the phone from him dutifully while shoving back her worry and sorrow. “Passcode?”

  Victor scowled.

  “I cannot dial anyone without it.”

  He spit out a six-digit number, focused on rumbling the top-heavy vehicle down twisting dirt roads without toppling over. Behind them, the little blue sedan closed in.

  After the fourth ring, voicemail picked up. She relayed Victor’s message, then hung up. “Should I try someone else?”

  “My brother would have had my back.” He turned another sharp corner at insane speeds, and the truck teetered on two wheels. Sweat rolled down his brow.

  If Montilla’s men didn’t kill her, Victor’s driving probably would. With Trees gone, she almost didn’t care.

  There were no such things as miracles. But if there were and Trees had survived, she had to stay alive so she could keep him safe from Victor.

  The world was a better place with Trees. He had friends and loved ones who would miss and mourn him. He had refused to see her as expendable, even though everyone else did. Other than Valeria, he was the only other person who would truly care if she was gone.

  “Fuck!” Victor growled, correcting his steering as he came out of the turn.

  Thankfully, the truck set down on all four wheels again.

  “Should I try another number?”

  “Call Miguel. He shouldn’t be far away, and he owes me for fucking up last time. If he fucks me now, I’ll cut out his tongue.” He turned and shot her a dark stare. “Which I will do to you if you lie to me again. Do you understand?”

  She nodded, trying to make herself as small as possible against the passenger door.

  Laila hated falling into these old patterns. When EM Security Management had extracted her from her brother-in-law’s compound last September, she’d sworn she would never be Victor’s slave again. But here she was, back in his clutches, about to suffer…what? Days, weeks, months, years with him?

  No. She would fight. She would get out. She would avenge Trees. She would never give up.

  Scrolling through Victor’s contacts, she dialed Miguel as Victor swerved at the last minute down a dirt road, fishtailing to kick up dust. But the truck was white and way too massive to hide. The sedan easily followed, now almost directly on their tail.

  They opened fire.

  Laila shrieked involuntarily, then forced herself to do something more active. “Give me your gun.”

  “What?” he shot back as if her demand was absurd.

  “I will shoot back at them.”

  Victor hesitated, then snarled just before ripping the weapon from his holster and slapping it in her palm. “Aim carefully. This is all the ammo I have. The rest is back at the villa.”

  Along with the only other clothes she owned and Trees’s semiautomatics.

  She handed Victor his phone, disengaged the safety, took a deep breath, then leaned out the window, staring into the faces of Geraldo Montilla’s men. Once she pulled the trigger, she would become their enemy, too. They would hunt her as relentlessly. They would not stop until she was dead.

  She was tempted to turn the gun on Victor, end his vile existence, along with her torment, then run back to Trees and forget her rapist ever existed. But she would be sacrificing her family for her happiness, because Geraldo Montilla would still be out there, wanting to kill her sister and kidnap her nephew.

  As much as she hated it, Laila needed Victor to be her shield against the narcotics king. He might still be her pawn, too, weakening Montilla while engaging in a futile attempt to take him down. Of course, Montilla would kill him. Victor was merely a gnat to such a powerful drug lord. But if she could learn Kimber’s location, EM Security could save the poor woman and finish off Montilla. Only then would she and her loved ones have any hope of a future.

  Beside her, she heard Victor bark at Miguel. She turned to find more sweat dripping down his brow as he navigated the winding road with both hands, his phone wedged between his shoulder and his ear.

  Laila swallowed, clandestinely engaged the safety again, then pretended to struggle with the weapon.

  Victor ended the call and scowled her way. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “I cannot fire the gun. I do not know why.” She huffed for effect.

  “Because you’re a stupid whore. Give me that.” He yanked the weapon from her grip and flipped the safety off. “Hold the wheel.”

  Was he crazy? They were driving over a hundred miles an hour, bouncing painfully down something that seemed more like a twisting dirt path than an actual road, and he wanted her to steer with one hand?

  Still, what choice did she have?

  “All right.” She gripped the wheel, hoping this wasn’t where and how her life ended.

  Victor leaned out the window and started firing. A glance in the rearview mirror told her he hit nothing. He let out an ugly curse.

  Up ahead, she saw a river that looked at least a few feet deep. “Victor, I have an idea.”

  “What the fuck do you want?” he shouted as he took his next potshot at the hitmen.

  “What if we drove through that river? The truck is much taller than the sedan. Perhaps we will make it?”

  He slammed back into the driver’s seat, tossed the gun between them, and jerked the wheel from her grasp as he scanned ahead. “And they will get stuck. It might work. Perhaps you’ll eat tonight after all. Hold on to something.”

  Laila did, clinging to the door with one hand, the dash with another, her teeth jarring as they rumbled down the road, straight toward the river. A bullet pinged off the door inches from her. She bit her lip to hold in a scream.

  Finally, they reached the water and plowed into it, sending up a big splash that doused the windshield. Water poured in through the window Victor neglected to close, and he let out another frustrated curse. The gun between them bounced and slid across the seat. She grabbed it.

  He ripped it from her hand. “Don’t get smart. Sit there and don’t move until we lose them.”

  She would do what he said—until she figured out how to either gain the upper hand or slit his throat.

  Beside them the water rose along the sides of the truck, first covering the rims, then the tires, before the tide inched up the doors. Would they be swimming to the shore and abandoning the fifty-million-dollar car—while dodging Montilla’s bullets? The engine made noises that weren’t encouraging, and the tires wheezed and spun in the silt.

  If circumstances forced them to give up the Ferrari and swim, Victor’s punishment would be swift and severe.

  Panicked, Laila started looking for other ways out of this mess when she realized two things. First, as they inched forward, the water level was beginning to recede. Second, the sedan remained impotently on the other side of the river, its profile too low to travel across. Thankfully, she saw no bridge in sight.

  Finally, they made it onto the shore, plodded down a dirt path littered with vegetation, then finally found the remnants of an old road.

  They were free—for now.

  “That was too fucking close.” Victor swiped at his sweating forehead.

  Laila seized the opportunity. “I told you Montilla’s men were in town.”

  “But you lied to me about your feelings.”

  “I simply do not want anyone’s death on my hands.” She tried to shrug him off. “Besides, you have never cared about them before. And you lied to me about yours as well.”

  “What do you mean?” he snapped, rattling the truck forward.

  He was still obsessed with her, and it would be stupid to remind him that he’d been dishonest about that. “You said you had everything under control and that no one in your hometown would betray you. Someone obviously did.”

  “Gustavo warned me that his father had been acting oddly all afternoon. For that, I will have him killed.”

  His cavalier attitude about life and death shouldn’t horrify her anymore, but it did. “Gustavo or his father?”

  “Both. Neither are of use to me anymore. Now shut up. I need to think.”

  Laila said nothing for hours, not as they wandered into another town, finally met Miguel with another truck, transferred the car, then made their way to another village, where he found a cheap motel room. From the glove box, he produced a zip tie. Then he grabbed his gun and skipped dinner, buying a bottle of tequila instead.

  Now that the adrenaline rush and chaos were over, all she could think about was Trees. Was there any chance Matt or a bystander had helped him? Or had they all simply let him be tortured by Gustavo’s blowtorch while he bled out and died?

  How would she ever know? Maybe she didn’t want the terrible details. The thought of him being tortured and killed filled her with an empty, aching hole. Laila didn’t know how she would ever plug up that horrible well of grief.

  Inside the roach-infested motel, Victor zip-tied one of her wrists to the headboard attached to the wall. Then he flipped on the TV. “Something for you to watch while I take a shower. Then you’ll take yours.” He looked her up and down. “And lose those clothes.”

  “I have nothing else to wear.”

  His sly smile said that was completely on purpose. “Oh, well.”

  She shuddered as he disappeared into the bathroom. Then she saw his phone on the nearby table. It was a stretch, but she could reach it.

  Laila scraped half the skin off her hand getting to Victor’s phone, but she managed. Thankfully, she’d made a mental note of his passcode during their getaway. Though she knew her sister’s number by heart, Laila didn’t dare call her. Victor would know. And he would have a direct line to reach her. It was too dangerous. Instead, she reached out in the same way she had once used to escape Emilo’s compound.

  She launched the game Valeria loved to play and found the connect feature. Fingers shaking and tears streaming, she typed out a message.

  Hermana, I am with Victor in a motel in Mexico, south of La Pesca, inland from the coast. He killed Trees. Tell EM Security I am sorry. I will touch base again when I can. Know I am trying to escape. Do not worry about me. Protect yourself and Jorge. I love you.

  She hit send and stared at the message string. It was foolish to hope Valeria would answer now. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next week. Her sister didn’t play this game every day, and it was late.

  To her shock, a bubble with three dots inside appeared next to her sister’s screen name. Laila swiped at her tears, her heart racing as she waited.

  The water cut off in the shower. Victor stepped out of the enclosure.

  Type faster, she silently demanded of her sister.

  She had maybe a minute—no more—before he emerged from the bathroom. She needed this message almost more than she needed to breathe. She would mourn Trees for the rest of her life. Avenge him, of course. As soon as she could put a bullet in Victor and get out of the country safely, she would. But right now she needed to know that her family was safe.

  I am so relieved you are alive, but I will not let you suffer Victor again. When you pinpoint your location, tell me. I will get word to Trees. He did not die. He is still in Mexico, planning to rescue you tonight.

  Laila’s eyes nearly popped from her head. Trees was alive? Shock pinged through her veins and her mouth gaped. How was that possible? Who had helped him? It didn’t matter; he was alive!

  New tears—happy ones—trembled on her lashes. But reason tempered her thrill. Trees must be injured; he had nearly been killed. He shouldn’t try to save her now. She couldn’t let him. The last time had nearly been his death. This time, Victor would leave nothing to chance.

  She had to stop Trees.

  Victor jiggled the handle of the doorknob. She wished she had time to reread her sister’s message—had she truly read it right?—but the door squeaked as he opened it.

  Biting back a gasp, she closed the app, darkened the phone, then settled the device on the table. She nudged it just beyond her reach, hoping that would allay Victor’s suspicions.

  As she sat on the bed again, he emerged around the corner, looking between her and his phone with narrowed eyes. “What are you up to?”

  “Nothing.” She fidgeted. “Trying to get comfortable.”

  As if the notion of her well-being bored him, he shrugged and produced a blade. She flinched as her fear spiked, but he merely cut the zip tie and gestured her toward the bathroom. “Shower now. Then you can get comfortable—on your back with your legs spread. I want that pussy.”

  Since he had the upper hand—for now—Laila nodded meekly as he opened his bottle of tequila and sat on the bed, watching her with a leer. Best not to infuriate him. It was more important to live another day so she could get revenge and escape.

  After she ensured Trees didn’t risk his life for her again.

  In the bathroom, she peeled off her clothes and climbed into the minuscule cubicle. No wonder Victor hadn’t demanded sex here. In this tiny space, violating her would be virtually impossible. But he wouldn’t deny his pleasure for long. Laila didn’t think she could endure his touch. She could barely stand the sight of him, the smell of him. Even the idea of him made her stomach turn.

  She’d have to deal with that, too. Keeping Trees from risking himself to rescue her came first. Since she couldn’t call him or contact him through the gaming app, she had to get clever. But even if she could warn him, what were the chances he would heed her?

  I will never leave you. I will never stop coming for you.

  He meant that. He’d already traveled all the way from Louisiana to rescue her. Why would he stop when he was less than two hours away, especially after Matt had likely told him that Victor had dragged her from him against her will?

  Laila sighed. How could she persuade a man determined to save her, who thought he was in love with her, from putting himself in harm’s way again?

  She couldn’t…unless she gave him a reason not to love her anymore.

  As she rinsed the blood and grime from her body, Laila turned over ideas in her head. Nothing came to her…until something terrible did.

  No. She couldn’t. There must be some other way that wouldn’t put Trees through hell.

  Like what?

  She had nothing else, and time was running out. This idea… Dios, could she actually find the fortitude to go through with it? Then again, what choice did she have? This was her last resort. The worst part was, after she risked everything to save Trees, he would never speak to her again.

  Laila clutched the wall and bowed her head, sobs wracking her as if someone had opened her chest and all the emotions she’d tried so hard to hide were spilling out. She gave herself over to the gaping wound of sorrow and mourned—for the breaking of her heart, for the happiness she and Trees would never share, for the damage she would do to the only man who had ever been good and kind to her. For knowing that he would soon look at her with hate.

  Everything she had ever wanted or treasured slipped through her fingers. First, her freedom. Then, her mother. And now Trees. God, would she ever stop losing?

  Laila dragged in a ragged breath and forced herself to stop wallowing in self-pity. Trees was more important than heartbreak. More important than pain and humiliation. Even more important than her own existence. No matter how much this plan devastated them both, she consoled herself with the knowledge that at least he would be alive to turn his back on her.

  Finally, she dried her tears. Then she forced herself to stop crying and accept what had to be done. Besides, she couldn’t go to Victor with puffy eyes and a red nose. He would be able to sniff out her scheme. As always, tears were a luxury she could not afford.

  Her first priority was to ensure Victor consumed too much tequila and focused on sex. She would handle the rest.

  “Buddy, you’ve got to lie down.” Matt pushed him back to the makeshift bed in the doctor’s back room.

  Trees resisted, trying to vault to his feet. “Like hell. Laila is out there, under Victor’s thumb, and I—”

  “Love her. And you’re worried about her. I know.” Matt shoved him back to the mattress, as if the guy knew he got dizzy and queasy every time he stood. “But you can’t help her if you don’t heal first.”

  Trees cursed the limits of his body. “I also can’t help her if Victor kills her.”

  “Given what I saw, he’s not going to.”

  Trees hoped not, but the asshole sure could make Laila wish he had. That’s what worried him most. “How much fucking longer am I going to feel like shit?”

  “I’m not a doctor and my Spanish sucks, but I’m pretty sure he said twenty-four hours. It’s been more like six. You’ll have to at least wait until morning.”

  No. Fuck no. According to Matt, Victor had dragged her away from his prone form by her hair, and Trees could only imagine all the awful things that monster could do to her overnight. “It can’t. Get that quack back here and make him give me something for this fucking headache so I can go and—”