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Chapter 18
Lela was hauled into a low-riding car and lodged in the back seat between two big gorilla types. One kept his beefy arms around her, pinning her to his wall of a chest. She kicked, but couldn’t gain any leverage.
Her arms were pinned to her sides, and she couldn’t get air. Her captor had his hand over her mouth. She breathed through her nose, choking on the stench in the car. It smelled of sweaty bodies and urine. Trash was stuffed on the floorboards and between the seats, leftovers from their stakeout. She shuddered to think how long they’d been outside waiting.
As the car sped away, one gang member wrapped duct tape around her wrists then body so she was unable to move. She tried biting, but the behemoth only laughed. It was an evil, mirthless sound, confirmation of the kind of men these were.
The one on her right put tape over her mouth. “You’ll be doing some talking soon enough, chica.”
Lela’s pulse throbbed in her temples. She was in deep trouble. Interrogation by the cartel had such finality to it.
If she hoped to survive, she’d have to find an opportunity to escape. She was good at self-defense, but hadn’t expected to be in the company of a cartel army.
Rip would come for her if he could. Lela didn’t know what had happened to him. The cartel had nearly killed him already; maybe they’d finished the job.
She couldn’t allow thoughts of defeat. Her life depended on staying strong. This wasn’t over yet.
The driver spoke to the others in Spanish. He was taking her to the docks, which was bad news. The last thing she needed was to be transported by boat into cartel territory. Her future was draining away by the minute.
*****
Rip took a couple of hops back, then moved left in front of the gang member on the far end. The other three were a step back. He backhanded the first with the butt of his gun, so the metal impacted his temple rendering him unconscious.
The other three were in formation, but Rip couldn’t let them surround him. He attacked first, thrusting his shin up between one man’s legs so hard it crushed his balls. As he fell, Rip dodged the next one who lurched by, and Rip knifed the side of his palm across the back of the dude’s neck.
If it didn’t break his neck, it certainly did some serious damage, and he fell face first onto the concrete. Then number four pulled a gun, so Rip kicked it out of his hand. Before the attacker could react, Rip gave him a hard uppercut to the jaw.
The gangster’s head flew back and Rip leapt up, kicking both feet into the man’s gut. Then he sprinted away from them. He might have enjoyed finishing them off, but he had to get the hell out of there to rescue Lela.
Before his attackers stirred into action, Rip was long gone. He ran along the sidewalk, dodging pedestrians. Up ahead a man in a leather jacket was just getting off a motorcycle.
Rip came alongside of the vehicle then grabbed the guy’s jacket to pull him off the seat. He ignored the man’s shocked expression.
“Police business,” Rip said, then got on the bike and sped away. He didn’t look in the rearview mirror to see if the gangsters were following. He only looked ahead.
At first, he didn’t see any sign of the vehicle. Driving between cars and edging forward, Rip prayed he hadn’t lost the trail. With traffic as it was, speed was curtailed. That could work in his favor.
The gangsters couldn’t have gone too far, unless they’d hit the freeway. Since Rip had decked his attackers with expediency, little time had been lost.
He raced down the street as fast as traffic would allow, glancing down side streets. But there was no sign of Lela or her captors.
Then Rip spotted the black car several blocks up, tough to catch up to. So he swerved onto the sidewalk. He wove around the parking meters and the shoppers, paying no attention to the screams or a loud yell for him to stop.
At the freeway, the car soared up the onramp and Rip followed. He floored the motorcycle, then white-lined to catch up. A head emerged from the rear passenger window, and a round of shots were fired from an automatic.
Other cars slowed or changed lanes to get out of harm’s way. Rip got as close as he dared, and shot at the tires of the getaway car. But he missed. The vehicle was at a distance and moving too fast. It was dangerous to get closer.
Rip kept the car in sight, but stayed back. The vehicle merged onto Highway 225, heading toward the Port of Houston. He couldn’t lose them. If Lela was stowed aboard a ship and taken out of the country, Rip would have no hope of getting her back. Once Lela was secured in cartel territory, she’d be gone for good.
The car exited at Barbour’s Cut and made a left. At a cross street, the gangsters didn’t stop for the signal, and nearly clipped another car coming through. There was not a second to waste, so Rip followed without slowing.
Buildings to the right blocked visibility, and as Rip cruised through the intersection at top speed, a truck approached. Leaning into the corner to avoid collision, the motorcycle skidded, dragging Rip with it for a short distance. Then he flew off and the bike continued on its trajectory.
On the other side of the intersection, the truck ran over the bike, but Rip didn’t stop to survey damage. He was only blocks from the port, so he took off running. He sprinted like he was going for the hundred-yard dash record. At a corner, he stopped and grabbed his side.
His injury had healed enough for normal activities. Apparently, running as hard as he could wasn’t one of them. To hell with it—that was a minor concern. Lela’s life was all that counted.
Panting hard, Rip made it to the docks and hid behind a container. He spotted the black car, but no one was inside.
