Page 32 of Marco

Angry shouts arise as men pour out and find their incapacitated comrades. My heart sinks. They definitely know I've escaped by now. It's only a matter of time before they come looking.

I can't stay here. Keeping low, I sprint toward a stack of containers, looking for a place to hide. Their voices fade as I worm my way deep into the metallic maze. It's cooler here, but stifling.

Wedging myself between two containers, I try to control my breathing. I just need to stay hidden until nightfall. Then maybe I can slip away under the cover of darkness. I still feel exposed, so I make my way between the containers until I finally find an entrance into one of them. As I clamber through I gag. It smells like rotting flesh, the decay of what I hope are animal corpses but fear are actually human. I have no doubt that these men, whoever they are, are well-equipped for a human trafficking operation. And that industry is known for its tragedies.

One way or another, I will get back to Marco. I replay our last moment together in my mind—his lips crushing mine in a desperate kiss. The promise we made to each other. I cling to that memory like a lifeline, determined to survive. For him. For us.

I don't know how much time has passed curled up in this metal coffin. Minutes? Hours? My legs ache from crouching, but I don't dare move. Any noise could give me away.

Muffled voices drift through the containers, sending adrenaline coursing through my veins. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing them to pass by.

The heavy footfalls grow louder. They're close. Too close. I stop breathing, listening intently as they approach my hiding spot.

This is it. I brace myself, ready to fight. A loud clang makes me flinch. But it came from farther away—they're throwing open container doors, one by one.

My heart hammers against my ribs. I can't stay trapped like a rat. As their search nears, I slip out and creep along the edge of the container stack.

Up ahead, a dark gap between two stacks beckons. I move toward it just as a shout goes up behind me. They've spotted me. Shit.

I bolt for the opening, but skid to a halt—it's a dead end. Wheeling around, I see them charging straight for me, guns raised. Nowhere to run.

I back up against the containers, sizing up my pursuers. No more hiding. If I'm going down, it won't be without a fight. With a primal cry, I charge into the fray.

I barrel into the first man, driving my shoulder into his gut. He doubles over with a grunt as I rip the gun from his hands, suddenly grateful for the self defense classes my grandmother insisted I take when I was growing up. There's no time to aim—I swing it like a club against his temple. He collapses as he cries out in agony.

The others close in, shouting threats in what I recognize as Spanish. One grabs at me—I smash the gun into his face then kick hard at his knee. A sickening crack, and he crumples with a scream.

Two left. The biggest one charges, trying to tackle me. I sidestep, bringing the gun down on the back of his head. He faceplants into the asphalt.

The last man hesitates, eyeing his fallen comrades. Our eyes lock—his dark and venomous, mine blazing with adrenaline. In a heartbeat, he turns and runs.

My chest heaves as I watch him flee. The urge to give chase courses through me, but I know I can't stop now. Freedom is so close.

I drop the dented gun and sprint on, weaving between the maze of containers. Just ahead, the stacked rows give way to a tall chainlink fence—the perimeter. Freedom.

I scramble up and over, ignoring the bite of metal in my palms. As I drop to the ground on the other side, a burst of elation surges through me. I made it. I'm free.

But my relief is short-lived. Headlights flash at the far end of the shipping yard, followed by shouting. Reinforcements. Of course an operation as sophisticated as this would have a larger team.

I steel myself and run on. The fight for my life isn't over yet.

I take off into the night, my feet pounding on the cracked pavement. The shipping yard gives way to empty streets and shuttered warehouses. I don't know where I'm going, only that I need to get as far away as I can.

Glancing back, I see the headlights in the distance as my captors' men sweep the area looking for me. My lungs burn and my legs ache, but I push myself harder. I can't let them catch me again.

As I round a corner, the streets open up into a more populated area. Nightclubs and bars line the sidewalks, with groups of partygoers laughing and chatting outside. Civilization. I slow to a brisk walk, trying to blend into the crowds.

I feel exposed and vulnerable, but there's safety in numbers. I weave my way through the busy streets, keeping my head down. The sounds of the city surround me—music pulsing from club entrances, raucous laughter, honking horns. But all I can focus on is the pounding of my heart.

I'm so close to getting away, to my freedom, but I know the danger isn't over. The reach of Marco's enemies is long and their wrath endless. They won't stop until they take him down, which now includes finding me. He suggested this arrangement to save me, but it seems like my family background means I'm screwed either way.

As I pass by an alley, a black sedan screeches to a halt in front of me, blocking my path. My blood turns to ice. I turn to flee in the opposite direction, but it's too late. My captors' men jump out, grabbing at me. I twist and fight, but there are too many of them. A needle pricks my neck and my limbs go heavy. The world spins and fades to black.

When I come to, I'm in the back of the sedan, my hands bound. My head feels heavy and it's hard to keep my eyes open. We're speeding through the city, streetlights flashing by in a blur. Despair crashes over me. I was so close, but now I'm right back where I started. A prisoner of an unknown rival.

But as we drive on into the night, a tiny flicker of defiance still burns inside me. I won't give up. One way or another, I will have my freedom. Whoever has taken me can't keep me chained forever. And I will find my way back to Marco.

fourteen

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