Page 122 of Drawn Blue Lines

“Don’t tell me how I felt about Mari! Maybe I was never in love with her, but I’ll fight to the death for her. Adriana and my mother are the only two women who have ever given me love without wanting something in return, and Ignacio Vergara ruined both their lives. He only deserves the same.”

I was sick of his declarations. Any asshole could say words. It took a man to back them up. I’d crawled to the lowest level of hell for love. I wondered if Cristiano Vergara would do the same.

I flashed a cold smile. “Let’s put that theory to the test, shall we?”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Adriana

Tlajomulco de Zuñiga, Jalisco, Mexico

My head felt like it’d been stuffed with a bag of cotton balls.

I rubbed my eyes, trying to force them open while fighting through the fuzzy cloud blocking my memory. Nothing made sense, as if my brain were a giant puzzle that had been scattered about. Nothing fit, and there was no discernible pattern.

Everything hurt. An aching, stinging, heavy hurt that made me want to give up and sink back down into the black nothingness I just came from. Frustrated, I tried to move, but my limbs felt numb and uncooperative. I blinked, the room dark except for two overhead swinging lights. It looked industrial. Almost like a…

Warehouse.

Ignoring the pain, I pressed my palms onto the cold concrete and pushed myself up, praying the images flashing through my head were residual pieces of a nightmare and not memories. But the clearer they became, the more I remembered, and the more I remembered, the harder I shook.

The late-night text that came through on my phone from Cristiano.

Running to the back door to meet him, only to come face-to-face with Ignacio.

The sting of the needle as he plunged it into my neck.

Then pain when I awoke to the burning orange ember of a lit cigar inside a different warehouse.

And the moment I wanted to die as I heard Santiago’s faint cry.

I closed my eyes, remembering how Ignacio took sadistic pleasure in telling me no matter what I did, the people I tried to protect were going to die right along with me.

All because I’d been played for a fool.

Cristiano was Ignacio Vergara’s son, and even he was a pawn.

I tried to block out his words, but he tied my hands behind my back, forcing me to listen. His boy. His heir. His pride. For years, he’d lied to me. He knew I was Adriana Carrera.

I brought all this to Val’s door. That hurt worse than any pain Ignacio could inflict.

I’d lose my family again.

It was too late to save me, but I’d die a thousand deaths before I’d let a damn thing happen to Santiago. No child should ever suffer like I did.

Or because of what I did.

Someone would come for me. Ignacio enjoyed playing with his puppet too much to leave me alone much longer. I only had one shot. One chance to find Val’s son, and I refused to fail him twice.

I needed a weapon. Unfortunately, captors didn’t make a habit of leaving sharp objects lying around their captive’s cages. I’d have to improvise, but there wasn’t even a chair to break. No table. No window.

I scrubbed a blood caked hand across my forehead. “Great. Any more bright ideas, Adriana?”

I stilled, my hand sliding down my face.

Bright.

Rolling my eyes toward the ceiling, I watched as the two hanging lights swung back and forth.

---