Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 118333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
My legs were tiring and the incline became steep. My arms were heavy, my feet stumbling the more exhaustion set in, the more I lost energy. A twig suddenly snapped somewhere beside us. Before we even had a chance to hide, a series of gunshots rang out, cutting into bark and dead leaves. We dropped to the ground, I assumed for coverage, but when Tanner exhaled a pained breath I realized something was wrong. A gap in the high tree above let in enough moonlight for me to see blood trickling from his bicep. “Tanner,” I whispered, just as the guard got to his feet and started firing.
Footsteps drew near. My heart beat faster as the attacker approached. And then a gurgled sound came from the guard. Fear held me in its grip. My heartbeat echoed in my ears. Then the guard dropped to the ground, immediately fighting to get back up like a wounded animal would do. Tanner scrambled to where the guard lay. “How far to the safe house?” he asked him. The guard held onto Tanner, trying to fight, to cling onto life, but then he lost strength and something like acceptance settled in his dark eyes. Acceptance that he wasn’t going to survive. My chest tightened in sympathy. In sadness.
“One more mile . . . that way . . .” the guard managed, pointing west. He handed Tanner a key from his suit pocket. I could see the guard was dying; his labored breathing echoed like cracks of thunder in the silent forest. Tanner took the gun from the guard’s hand, then reached for me, pushing me to hide in the nearby trees. He waited, like a statue, for the gunman to betray his location. Breath held, I watched Tanner, heart firing in my chest. In the area we were in, blood was everywhere, red blotting out the green of the grass and trees. I could see the blood running down Tanner’s arm. Blood had stained his face from the impact of the crash. His hands were soaked in blood from the guard’s wound. I glanced at the guard to see his eyes were closed and his chest no longer rose and fell.
The sound of rustling leaves came from opposite where I hid. Tanner didn’t even wait to see what the attacker would do. He darted from the ground and dived into the coverage of the trees. I froze, eyes wide as I heard the sound of fighting. I tried to follow the brief flashes of arms and legs, until two bodies came barreling from the bushes. I blinked, trying to focus. Tanner was holding the attacker in his grip, a knife pressed to the man’s throat. The attacker flailed, trying to get away, but Tanner held him tightly in his strong arms.
“Tell me who the fuck you work for.” He yanked the attacker’s head up by his hair.
The attacker smiled in defiance, his teeth stained with blood. It only infuriated Tanner more. Taking the knife, he stabbed it into the attacker’s shoulder. The man paled. Tanner pulled the knife out, put his mouth to the man’s ear, and repeated, “Tell me who the fuck you work for.”
Noticing a pin on the attacker’s suit, I stepped out of the trees. The man’s mouth curled in disgust as he saw me. I walked to him and met his eyes. I flicked my gaze to Tanner to see a surprised expression flash across his face. “Valdez,” I said and ripped the pin from his suit. I held it out to Tanner, showing him the emblem that I knew all too well. “He works for Valdez.” Valdez was my father’s biggest opponent. I wasn’t surprised this was all due to him.
“You fucking bitch!” the attacker snarled. “You’re gonna die. The Quintana family will all die—”
Before he could even finish the threat, Tanner sliced the knife across his throat. Blood poured from the wound. I watched him die with a detached fascination. I had grown up with threats and death and blood as part of my life. The sight of death didn’t haunt me at night. These days, it barely inspired any reaction in me at all.
When the man dropped to his knees, Tanner used his heavy boot to kick his back and send him sprawling across the floor while his body drained of blood.
“You understood what he said?” I asked. Of course, the man had spoken in Spanish. Tanner shook his head. I frowned. “Then why—”
“I didn’t like his motherfucking tone.” Tanner only held my questioning gaze for a moment before he ducked his head and stepped away from me. “We have to move.”
But as I followed him up the hill, toward the safe house, all I could think about was why he had chosen to kill the man then. Why, when he had spoken to me so badly, had Tanner cut off his words? Tanner hated me. Hated Mexicans, hated my family. Why would he care if someone talked badly of us?