Page 48 of The Highwaymen

The suffocating darkness and bouncing of the van disoriented me, made it impossible to track how long we'd been driving or what direction we were going. It could have been minutes or hours, the city or the desert. The disorientation was a tactic, I knew, meant to keep us off balance and pliant. It was working.

Fear and anger warred for dominance in my gut - fear of what Romeo might have in store for us, anger at being trussed up and helpless like a sacrificial lamb. My mind raced, trying to plot an escape, but kept coming up blank. Stu and I were good, but even we couldn't fight our way out unarmed and outnumbered. Not without ending up very dead.

Sweat trickled down my spine, plastering my shirt to my skin. The recycled air grew thick and humid under the hood, each breath a labor. I tried to control my breathing, to not let the panic clawing at my throat take over. I needed to stay calm, stay sharp, if I wanted any chance of getting out of this alive.

The van lurched to a sudden stop, slamming me against the hard metal wall. Before I could orient myself, rough hands were hauling me up and out, dragging me, stumbling into the night.

Gravel crunched under my boots, the dry desert air hitting my lungs in a rush as the door slid open. The gun muzzle prodded me in the back, urging me forward until a boot hooked my ankle and sent mesprawling to my knees. I hit the ground hard, rocks biting into my skin through my jeans.

Beside me, I heard Stu grunt as he received the same treatment, his bulk thudding to the earth. Even blinded and bound, his presence was solid and seething at my side, barely restrained violence roiling off him in waves.

Fingers twisted in my hair, wrenching my head back at a painful angle before the hood was ripped away. I blinked rapidly in the sudden flood of light, momentarily blinded by the stark glare of headlights cutting through the desert night.

As my vision adjusted, I took in our surroundings - a lonely stretch of arid wasteland, the lights of the city a distant glow on the horizon. Sagebrush and scrub dotted the barren earth, silhouettes stark and twisted in the harsh illumination. The air was sharp with the scents of dust, creosote, and gun oil.

The armed men fanned out in a loose circle behind us.

Romeo himself emerged from the shadows, the stark headlights casting his angular features in harsh relief. His eyes glittered cold and black in the unforgiving glare, his mouth a grim slash. The left side of his head was a ruined mass of scar tissue where his ear used to be, the ragged flesh a vivid reminder of our last bloody encounter.

He moved with the lazy grace of a predator, all coiled menace and leashed aggression. The desert night wrapped around him like a cloak, the darkness clinging to his frame. Even the dry desert wind seemed to still in his presence, as if the very earth held its breath.

His men parted before him, averting their eyes in deference and fear as he stalked toward us. The gravel crunched beneath his boots, each step slow and measured, ratcheting up the tension. My pulse pounded in my ears, fight-or-flight instinct screaming through my veins.

But there was nowhere to run. Not with my hands bound and a small army of heavily armed men at my back. Even if we somehow fought through them, there were miles and miles of desert between us and the safety of the city.

He stopped before us, looming. Up close, I could see the scars on his knuckles, the prison ink snaking up his arms. The scent of his cologne mingled with the sharp tang of gun smoke and the coppery undertone of blood.

Romeo stared down at us with those cold, dead eyes, his ruined face impassive. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, broken only by the soft whisper of sand across stone. Beside me, Stu was a coiled spring of barely contained violence, the muscles in his arms bunching and flexing against his bonds.

I licked my lips, tasting the grit of sand and the coppery tang of my own blood. “Romeo,” I purred, forcing a smirk despite the hammering of my heart. “Miss me already? If you wanted to get me on my knees, all you had to do was throw me a fifty.”

Romeo's eyes flashed, his jaw tightening. I braced myself for the impact of his fist, but it never came. Instead, he crouched down until we were at eye level, his scarred visage filling my vision. This close, I could see the puckered ridges of scar tissue where I'd torn away his ear, the twisted flesh a macabre reminder of our last bloody tango.

“Still got that smart tongue, I see,” he growled, his breath hot against my face. His hand shot out, fingers sinking into my hair and wrenching my head back. I hissed in pain, tears springing to my eyes. He drew a knife and lightly ran the tip along my throat. “Maybe I’ll open up your throat and pull it out through the slit. You know what they call that? A Columbian neck tie, ese.”

The knife blade pressed into my skin, a stinging kiss that promised blood and pain. My breath hitched, pulse fluttering wildly beneaththe cold steel. Romeo's eyes bored into mine, fathomless pits swirling with dark promises. In their inky depths, I saw my own death reflected back at me, bloody and agonizing.

Fear clawed up my spine, sharp and visceral, but I shoved it down ruthlessly. I would not give this scarred bastard the satisfaction of seeing me cower. Lifting my chin, I met his gaze with a defiant smirk.

“Go ahead, papi,” I taunted, my voice steady despite the knife's sting. “Slice me open, paint the desert red with my blood. You might get your rocks off, but it won't change what I did to you. How I marked you. How I made you scream like a bitch when I ripped your ear off with my teeth.”

Romeo snarled, the knife digging deeper, a hot trickle of blood snaking down my neck. I didn't flinch, holding his gaze, daring him to do it. In that suspended moment, I saw my own feral hunger reflected back at me, the dark craving for violence that sang through my veins. We weren't so different, Romeo and I. Two rabid dogs chasing oblivion at the end of a blade or a bullet.

“No,” Stu's gruff voice shattered the tension. “Let the kid go, Romeo. He doesn’t know shit. I’m the one who can rat on you to the cartel. I’m the one you want. Not him.”

Romeo's eyes flicked to Stu, considering. I gaped at my partner, shocked. Self-sacrifice wasn't exactly Stu's style. He met my incredulous stare with a steady one of his own, something unreadable flickering in those icy blue depths. An apology, perhaps. Or a farewell.

“You expect me to show mercy, cabrón?” Romeo laughed, harsh and bitter. “After he bit off my fucking ear?”

My mind raced, trying to figure out Stu's play, but coming up blank. His face betrayed nothing, that grizzled mask as inscrutable as ever. Was he trying to save me? Distract Romeo? Some desperate gambit to buy time? I didn't know, and that scared me more than the knife at my throat.

Romeo's cold eyes flicked between us, calculating. The seconds stretched, filled only with the hollow whistle of wind over sand and the rapid thud of my own heart. Finally, he took a step toward Stu.

I let out a feral growl, fighting my restraints. “You fucking touch him, I’ll eat your entire fucking face!”

Romeo paused, lip curling into a cruel smile. “Well, ain’t this a fucking treat? Gentlemen, these two are in love! Is there anything sweeter than two fucking bloodstained killers in love?”

Romeo's mocking laughter scraped against my nerves like rusted barbed wire, fanning the flames of rage in my gut. How fucking dare he twist this thing between Stu and me, this blood-soaked and broken bond, into something as saccharine as love. What we had was so much darker, more primal. An unholy communion of gore-splattered souls, recognizing the monstrous kinship in each other.

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