Page 103 of Tainted Blood
“My husband—”
“Is dead, señora… Edier Grayson is dead… Your father’s private jet is rigged to blow in an hour, so soon your parents and sister will be dead…” Each of his vicious statements is elongated with a satisfied hiss. “I’ve made sure there'll be no one coming to rescue you this time.”
The agony I feel in that moment is indescribable. I’m hauled through another door, and then the brutal cold night air is whipping all the breath from my lungs and pinning my red dress to my aching body. We’re at the top of Legado, on the edge of a huge helipad I never even know existed. There’s a black helicopter waiting for us a hundred feet away, with spinning blades and a crimson key stamped on the side door.
The noise is so deafening I don’t hear the whine of bullets until the man next to Zaccaria drops to the ground. I don’t hear the voice of the man I believed to be dead until he’s yelling out words that slice the wind to ribbons.
“Stay the fuck where you are, Zaccaria! Let her go, and I’ll make it a quick death.”
I’m spun around with force. A merciless arm is crushing my chest, a Beretta APX pressed to the side of my head, but all I see is my whole world pieced back together again.
Santi’s standing twenty feet behind us, framed by a backdrop of a million shining stars. There’s murder in his eyes, and a gun pointing in our direction. I watch his gaze dip to the state of my face, and his expression hardens.
“What happened to Lisko?” I hear Zaccaria ask.
“He couldn’t handle his fucking food,” Santi snarls. “Let my wife go, Zaccaria. Last warning.”
He laughs, a loud and spiteful sound that rumbles unpleasantly against my back. “She’s coming with me, Carrera. I’m having a new maze built especially for her. I’m going to make her run it every day until she’s begging me to let her die.”
“¡Hijo de tu puta madre!” he roars, adjusting his grip on the gun.
“Shoot him, Santi!” I twist against Zaccaria’s arm, but in this position it’s like trying to wrestle my way out of an anaconda’s death grip. “Don’t let him take me back to hell!”
“You’re not going anywhere, muñequita.”
The love and strength in his voice makes me want to fight even harder for him.
For us.
“Remember the snow?” I scream, as a crazy idea filters in through my fear. “Ten years ago, Santi. Do you remember what you did for me?”
“Shut the fuck up, puttana,” Zaccaria hisses, dragging me backward toward the chopper, his gun still pressed against into the side of my head.
My eyes meet my husband’s. Pleading. Trusting. “Do you remember?” I repeat at a whisper, my stomach lurching when I see the faint nod as he finally understands.
This time, there’s a silent countdown going on in both of our heads.
Three
Two
One
When I hit the last number, I ram my elbow as hard as I can into Zaccaria’s stomach. The moment I feel his grip loosen, I’m throwing myself to the side, and knocking him off balance. A beat later, Santi’s bullet is ripping into Zaccaria’s chest as the Italian’s returning fire is slamming into him.
I scream again as I watch my husband go down.
Wrenching myself free, I half run, half crawl my way to where Santi is lying. There’s a red stain spreading out across his white shirt. “Oh my God!” I whimper.
“Thalia,” he hisses, sweeping aside my escalating panic as he slams his gun into the palm of my hand. “This is our one chance, muñequita. Don’t let him get away.”
Glancing over, I watch Zaccaria climbing across the back seat as the helicopter’s landing skids start to lift from the helipad. In that moment, I see all the women he’s hurt. I see all the women he’s going to hurt.
Gripping the gun, I rise up from the ground.
I rise up from my ashes.
“Do it, muñequita.”
