Most of the time, I would’ve prepared better.
After all, it wasn’t my first rodeo.
But after the events of the previous days, I hadn’t recognized the signs and symptoms of the hell to come when they first started.
And it was all because of him…
James Cole.
In disbelief and left reeling from the confessions he’d made the night he found Jade and me hiding out at the mill, I’d been unable to focus on anything except the overwhelming urge to rip his eyes, as beautiful as they were, right out of his thick skull.
I didn’t care that the man had once been a drunken gambler. He’d gotten sober, a feat he had every right to be proud of. But it was the second confession he’d made, one which was a lot darker than the first, that no matter how hard I’d tried, I couldn’t get past.
He’d abused his son.
His beautiful son.
To me, it was an unforgivable act.
Maybe that made me a judgmental puta, but my feelings couldn’t be helped. I’d done a lot wrong in my life, but I had never, not once, raised my hand to someone who didn’t deserve it.
Never would either.
What kind of demons can make someone—
My thoughts shattered as my belly lurched and twisted for what had to have been the hundredth time.
Too weak to climb to my knees, I rolled to the side and pulled a cracked mop bucket toward me. Tears filled my bloodshot eyes as I found the strength, though it wavered, to prop myself onto one shaky elbow.
Body jerking, my toes curled as I heaved over the silver rim, head lolling from one side to the other.
“Carmen,” Chiquita cried, bursting into the small room. Panicked voice filled with alarm and heart-wrenching fear, she knelt beside me, tears of her own falling.
Placing a gentle but shaking hand on my sweat-soaked back, she rubbed small circles along my spine, doing her best to comfort me. “What do you need me to do? Just tell me and I’ll—”
“She doesn’t need a fuckin’ thing.”
Once more, my stomach revolted at the familiar voice, one which I hated with every fiber of my pathetic being. Half-lidded eyes finding El Diablo’s, my body trembled, quaking worse than before.
Standing just outside the bathroom door, muscular arms resting on each side of the worn frame, he smiled at me, his special brand of evil shining bright.
Tongue gliding over his bottom lip, he moved into the room and shoved Chiquita out of the way before squatting beside me.
My fear skyrocketed.
As weak as I was, if he tried to hurt me, there would be no stopping him. I was born a fighter and had remained that way into adulthood, but when I was in the throes of withdrawal and barely strong enough to continue breathing, I didn’t stand a chance of going toe-to-toe with anyone, much less a psychotic man who had a foot in height, along with a hundred pounds of weight on me.
I couldn’t throw a single punch.
Couldn’t even swing my knife.
As for running? It wasn’t possible.
“Fuckin’ answer me when I speak to you,” he growled, tone menacing.
A lone tear fell. “No,” I croaked, throat raw and dry. “Don’t need… n-nothing.”
A cruel smile tipped his lips, reaching his flat, black eyes. “But you want somethin’, don’t you?” Holding a small bag of dope between his fingers, he tilted his head to the side. “All it’ll take is one hit, Miss Colombia. One quick jab and all the pain will disappear.”
He was right.
It would disappear…
Until the next time.
Pushing the bucket out of the way, I scooted back on the cracked linoleum as far as I could manage. “I don’t… w-want it.” Like my body, my voice wasn’t strong. Shaking my head the slightest bit, I swallowed. “Not ever a-again.”
“You sure, baby? Because you know I’ll give it to you,” he whispered, eyes twinkling. “You were my first gift from Melendez, my living trophy for all the blood I spilled in his name. ’Cause of that, I’ll always take care of you.”
My chin wobbled.
Sickened by his words, I mustered every last ounce of energy I possessed and weakly smacked the bag out of his hand. It slid across the floor, stopping next to Chiquita’s stiletto-covered feet.
It was the wrong move to make. “No dope,” I grated out, determination solidifying in my chest. “No… m-more.” Wheezing a harsh exhale out of my battered body, I clenched my jaw, readying myself for the hit that was coming.
Any second now…
Blinding light flashed before my tired eyes as El Diablo’s knuckles slammed into my cheek, cracking bone and splitting my tender skin on impact. Explosive bolts of pain ricocheted through my aching skull down my neck and into my shoulder.
The agony was unbearable, and though I screamed in both anger and fear on the inside, my voice refused to work.
Barely holding on to consciousness, the world around me spun out of control, then tipped on its side as Chiquita’s terrified shrieks reverberated through the air, piercing my very soul.
She’s scared, and I can’t help her.
Not this time.
I’m failing…
Always failing.
My head left the floor as the pendejo grasped my chin, squeezing it so hard I was surprised it didn’t break. “Ungrateful cunt,” he growled, nose a mere inch from mine. “That is the last time you throw a gift I try to hand you back in my face!”
Letting whatever devil possessed him take hold, he dropped me back down and slammed my head onto the floor. Agony, red-hot and unending, careened through my brain and jaw as I gasped, then choked, fighting to pull in a single breath.
“Carmen!” Chiquita screamed, fighting against El Diablo with everything she had to reach me. “Let go of me, Dominic! She needs me!”
The sound of her back hitting the wall as he slammed her into it resounded in my ears, breaking apart my insides—heart and soul included.
“I need you!” he yelled in return, anger reaching a boiling point. “You understand?” Her answer came in the form of a gut-wrenching sob. “You need to decide where your loyalty lies, Tesoro. Is
