Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 71949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
My vision tunnels. “Shut up.”
He shrugs. “I know about the one you chose. The one who screamed.” His lips curl. “When I met your precious Belinda, I noticed she bore quite a resemblance.”
For a second, the world goes soundless. Then I lunge forward, fists balled, ready to strike, but he doesn’t even flinch. His eyes gleam with satisfaction. “There it is,” he says. “There’s the fire.”
I freeze, forcing myself to inhale, to remember why I’m here.
Belinda. It’s about Belinda. Not about the past.
Not about me.
“What do you want?” I whisper again.
He closes in on the little space remaining between us, and I notice his cologne—something subtle and expensive, the kind of scent that hides malice beneath sophistication.
It makes me want to puke.
“I needed to see what kind of woman would trade herself for another.”
My pulse spikes, though I keep my face neutral.
He studies me as if I’m a specimen. “There are pieces moving, Miss Agudelo. Pieces you don’t understand. Vega, your father, Hawk—they’re all connected, threads of the same web.”
My skin crawls. “You’re insane.”
“Maybe,” he says simply. “Or maybe I’m the only one telling you the truth.”
The porch creaks beneath us. Somewhere in the distance, a crow caws.
I glance past him into the house. It’s dark inside, but I can make out the faint outlines of furniture draped in white sheets. No movement. No sound. No Belinda.
I weigh my options. I could reach for the knife now, end him here. But if Belinda really is alive, killing him could kill her too.
So I smile. It feels unnatural on my face. “Fine,” I say softly. “Let’s talk.”
Reyes’s expression changes. “Good,” he says. “Come inside, Daniela.”
He steps back and holds the door open. I hesitate only a second before entering, still carrying my belongings.
The air inside smells faintly of dust. The floors creak. Sunlight filters weakly through yellowed curtains. There’s a grand staircase, its banister broken in two places.
Reyes gestures toward a sitting room. “After you.”
I walk ahead of him, every sense on high alert.
The room is sparse—a few old chairs, a fireplace with blackened bricks, a table with a single glass of water. No other doors. No movement.
I stop in the center of the room. “Now what?”
He closes the door behind us. The click echoes through the silence.
“Now,” he says, “we find out how much you’re willing to sacrifice for the people you love.”
“Where’s the chef?” I ask, my voice flat. I don’t let the tremor in my throat give anything away.
He doesn’t reply.
“What about Belinda? Where’s Belinda?”
His laugh is pure amusement this time. “She’s fine. You’re always so dramatic.” He pulls a cell phone from his pocket and hands it to me, palm up. The screen is bright in the dull morning light.
There she is in a photo—Belinda, tiny against the seatback, hair in a messy ponytail. The timestamp ticks across the corner. An hour ago.
She’s on a bus. She’s moving away from here.
My breath goes thin. “What is this?”
“You wanted proof,” Reyes says. “She’s on her way to Austin.” He taps the phone screen. “The Chef planned it. He was confident you’d come. So confident he left no loose ends.”
I stare at the photo until my eyes sting.
“Why would he send her?” The question is way too small for everything I feel. “Why would he leave her on a bus? What kind of—”
Reyes’s face hardens. “You can run back to your car,” he says. “You can make a dash for it, try to get to Austin and stop the bus. I imagine you’d be very quick about it.” He shrugs. “But the chef is not an idiot.”
My hands fly to my mouth before I can stop them. “What did you do to the bus?”
He leans in close now, voice low as if sharing a secret. “If you give me the keys to your car and walk down into the basement, Belinda will make it the last five miles in one piece,” he says. “If you try anything else, there are consequences. He planned for that. Even once she’s off the bus, she’ll still be in harm’s way if you don’t cooperate.”
My heart punches against my ribs so hard I think it will break free.
Chef planted a live grenade inside a teddy bear. He could have easily planted a remote-controlled bomb on a bus. And then have someone posted at the bus station to keep an eye on her in case I get any ideas.
Fear courses through me, but I’m determined not to show it.
“You want my keys,” I say.
He barks a laugh. “Yes. Give me your keys and go to the basement. Be sweet. Put on the blue thing.” He gestures to the garment bag.
Everything inside me collapses. The world tilts and doesn't right itself. I think of Hawk’s face when he said he loved me. I think of the way his hand fit mine. Of our bodies joined, and the feeling that at last I found where I belong.