My gut roils with sick dread. I don’t want to be the reason he sacrifices himself, because this asshole clearly wants him dead. But on the other hand, I don’t want to die. Maybe he wouldn’t kill me. Maybe he’d only beat me until I was disfigured, but I can’t see this scenario ending without bloodshed, and the realization makes me nauseous.
Get a grip, I tell myself. You’ve got an iron constitution for stress. Treat this like surgery and you’ll be fine. I close my eyes and breathe, and finally manage to stop shaking from fear.
He notices and smirks. “Don’t get your hopes up, hermosa. If he gets here on time, you get to watch while I take him apart, piece by piece. Maybe I’ll leave your favorite part for last so you can have something to remember him by.”
God, I want to spit in this asshole’s face. I struggle again, roaring in incoherent rage through my gag.
“You have something to say, let’s hear it, chica.”
The second he pulls down the gag, I let fly a bolus of saliva that smacks right onto his left cheek. “Fuck you!”
His hand is a sudden blur of brown skin and gold aimed at my face. My head flies back, and for a second I’m too stunned to tell which hurts worse: the impact of my skull into the concrete wall behind me, or the crush of his weapon into my cheekbone. My vision wavers from the agony and the gag goes back in my mouth before I can say anything else.
The pain leaves me dazed and unable to focus on much besides my own misery. Wetness creeps down my cheek from the cut his brass knuckles made. Time crawls with interminable slowness, the blood cooling on my skin.
“Watch her,” he demands a little later before disappearing up some unseen stairs. I’m alone now with two disinterested lackeys who lean against the wall, sharing a joint while they stare at me.
When I hear footsteps somewhere above, my heart leaps into my throat and I stare at the ceiling. I’m terrified and relieved in equal measure.
If Mason’s here, I’m safe.
But if Mason’s here, he might be about to die.
Heavy feet rattle down the wooden stairs, several pairs this time. Gustavo appears first, looking extremely disgruntled. Then my eyes widen as Mason appears, the black baby carrier I bought earlier today strapped to his body, a sleeping baby ensconced within. I can’t help but make a muffled sound of pleased surprise. But the feeling evaporates with the reminder of why he’s here and what Gustavo plans to do.
When I shake my head, giving Mason an anguished look, then glancing at Zoe, he merely winks. I hope to hell that means he has a plan because if he’s putting his daughter at risk for me too, I’ll never be able to live with myself.
But Mason’s serene look turns livid when he sees my face. I can’t imagine what it must look like. If it looks as bad as it feels, I’m probably not a pretty sight.
“I came on time, you a-hole. What the heck?”
I can’t help but blink at the toned-down language, so out of sync with the situation and Mason’s obvious anger. Gustavo gives him an odd look too, then grits his teeth and snorts.
“She mouthed off. It’s her fault.”
When Mason looks at me, I give a slight shrug and glare at Gustavo, hoping that’s enough to confirm what he said. Not that I deserved to be hit over it.
“You okay other than your cheek, baby?” he asks.
Before I get a chance to nod, Gustavo jumps in. “She’s good. Now get that baby off and get them out of here. You’re mine now, motherfucker.”
Mason scowls and covers Zoe’s ears with both hands. “Language. She’s impressionable.”
One of the lackeys cuts the duct tape securing me to the chair and removes the gag. He holds my arms as I rise and hauls me across the room, stopping a few feet away from Mason.
Gustavo has a gun in one hand, aimed at Mason. “Give her the baby.”
“Not a chance. This is what’s going to happen now,” Mason says, jabbing a finger in Gustavo’s face, ignoring the gun completely. “The three of us are walking out of here in a few minutes. You and your posse are staying behind, and from now on, you’re going to leave us the heck alone.”
Gustavo lets out a derisive snort. “I made it my mission to end you, Santos. I’m not about to let that go without a good reason.”
“March 15th, 2000,” Mason shoots back. “How’s that for a good reason?”
I have no idea what he means, but he says the date with such conviction, I know it must be important. The way Gustavo goes completely still and silent, the only movement the muscle in his jaw spasming, tells me it struck a nerve.
“What about it?” he asks through gritted teeth.
Mason glances around at the handful of other men in the room and tilts his head. “Do you really want me to explain it to you with all these ears? How on March 15th, 2000, you took a little trip to—”
“Get out,” Gustavo snaps, looking at his men and pointing to the stairs. They eye Mason warily, but leave one by one. A door latches shut up above. I take advantage of the resulting freedom and rush toward Mason, curling into his one outstretched arm and slinging my arms around his neck from the side, careful not to disturb the oblivious baby girl attached to his chest.
“Thank you. But if we don’t get out, he’s going to kill you,” I say, my voice quavering.
He turns toward me and brushes his lips over mine, his jaw flexing as his eyes stray to the cut on my cheek. “I’ve got this, baby. Just sit tight.”
“What the fuck do
