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That’s when I remember the gunshot wound I believe I received before falling into the river. I touch the spot, finding only a thin, straight scar.
“¡Mierda!”
It doesn’t matter. Santos could be lying, or he could be telling me a twisted truth, because I don’t for one second believe he’s capable of being honest. Regardless, I can’t remain here. I need to leave. I need to find my father.
Grabbing for the ring on my finger, I make to pull it off but reconsider when it reaches my knuckle. I can sell it.
I go back to the window I tried to open earlier, this time giving it a hard tug upward. The paint cracks and the window is freed. With one last glance toward the door to make sure it’s locked, I climb through the opening. But before my feet touch the ground, strong arms come around me, pinning me to a hard chest.
“Let me go,¡cabron!”I kick at the same time as I attempt to break free.
Santos’s familiar deep voice reverberates through me as he chuckles. “I see windows are still your favorite means of escape. You haven’t changed one bit.” He carries me like that to the front door, with my body in an upright position and his arms clamped tightly around mine. Several armed guards come into view, all stifling laughter, while my cheeks flame and I’m sure they’re bright red, which makes me angrier.
“You haven’t changed either. Still just as brutish.” It occurs to me to relax fully so that I’m dead weight, heavier, but how much I weigh doesn’t seem to make a difference. “Ugh!” I scream in exasperation. “I hate you.”
“That’s what you used to say, and just like before, you’ve fallen straight into my arms.”
