Page 75 of Reckless Woman

Her face creases in confusion. “What’s Vindicta?”

“Go,” I roar, losing my temper. “You have exactly ten minutes to pack before I change my mind.”

Her green gaze dances across my face, searching for the confirmation that this is what I really want. “What if I can’t move past this in a week?”

“That’s not even a fucking option.” My mouth stretches into a grim smile. “In seven days, I’m coming for you, Anna, whether you still want me or not.”

Hurt and anger flare in her eyes. It’s this image that lingers as she turns and runs up the stairs, her bare feet sounding like liberty on the white marble.

“Your twister’s heading in the wrong direction, Joey,” comes a mocking taunt behind me.

Cash is back.

I stand there, motionless, as his cigarette smoke curls around my face and neck.

“Thought you were dead again,” I grit out, hearing screams from the direction of the guest bedrooms as Rick extracts the truth from his bartender.

“Nah.” Cash’s voice is thick with malice and dirt again. “Not me, little brother. I’m only just getting started.”

Chapter Twenty

Viviana

Survival is a contract and a dirty knife.

It’s an agreement you make with yourself to keep sucking in air and moving forward, and you sign it in blood—slashing lines across your palm and tracing your name through the crimson drips on the paper.

I’ve signed that contract more than once.

First, when I was a child and thrust into a fate worse than death.

Second, when my world crumbled again, before Papá found me in the ruins.

Third, when I ran from the devil across three continents and straight into a living, breathing nightmare.

I don’t know that yet, though.

Right now, I’m still running.

* * *

I waituntil the door closes and the rope loosens a notch. That’s when I slam the back of my skull against Sofía’s face. She falls down with a cry and I’m finally free. Lurching forward to grab Santiago’s knife from the coffee table, I have it pressed against her throat before she can open her treacherous mouth and scream.

“Puta,” I hiss again. “You’ll pay for this.”

“Do what you want to me, but you’ll never get off this island alive,” she spits back, savoring her taunt as she clutches her bleeding nose. “You’re trapped like a rat here, and you know it.”

“Watch me. Rats desert sinking shipsandfalling kingdoms.”

I decide not to kill her. Her time will come when I have the hours and the means to exact my proper revenge. Instead, I knock her out cold, and then I run from the mansion as fast as my shaking legs will carry me.

I stumble in the dark. I fall down. My muscles ache, and my mouth is filled with silent screams, but I made that agreement with myself so dying isn’t an option today.

The sea breeze lifts my dark hair and whips tears from my eyes. I replay the last hour in my head:

Santiago had a daughter who shared my pain and suffering.

Why didn’t Papá tell me?

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