Page 81 of Fast Vengeance

Gripping the wheel tight he stomped down on the accelerator. The car shot forward, picking up speed as it hurtled toward the stopped vehicles ahead. It was going to be one hell of a crash, but he had to try. If he could just get through he could escape to a neighboring village, pay someone to get him to safety.

Men jumped out of the vehicles, raised their weapons.

Fernando sucked in a breath and braced himself, ducking down low in the seat.

Shots rang out, slamming into the hood like hail in a storm. They smashed the bullet-resistant windshield, blinding him. They kept coming, like angry bees, too fast for him to count.

The engine screamed as he raced toward the vehicles.

But the windshield finally gave way.

Bullets pierced the glass. He gasped as fire burned in his chest, the pain staggering. His hands dropped from the wheel. The vehicle skidded sideways. Crashed into something.

Stunned, blinded by pain and the blood on his face, he fumbled with the door handle, managed to shove it open. He fell out of the vehicle, tried to drag himself along the sidewalk.

To his right he caught a flash of movement. An elderly woman stood frozen in her doorway, her eyes wide with horror.

“Help me,” he begged, trying to drag himself toward her. They were coming for him. He needed to get inside. Hide.

She whirled away and slammed the door in his face.

Fernando groaned and pulled himself up onto the curb, his energy already fading. The burn from the bullet wounds was agonizing, far worse than he had imagined. It stole his breath, made his vision blur. The scent of his own blood filled his nostrils, making his stomach lurch.

Running footsteps echoed in his ears.

He was half-sprawled on the pavement, his arms struggling to bear his weight. Unable to summon the strength to go an inch farther. It was getting harder and harder to breathe now, his heart racing. Too fast.

Everything was happening too fast.

Rough hands grabbed him from behind. Shoved him flat on his stomach and wrenched his arms behind him. Someone flipped him over onto his back. He fought to breathe, stared up at the shadowy shapes converging around him. Blocking out the light.

One man crouched next to him, triumph in his dark eyes. He said something that Fernando didn’t catch.

Everything was fading now. His vision blurred, grew dark. The pain began to fade. He barely felt them poking and prodding as they tried to keep him alive.

It was better this way. Better for his family if he died.

A searing bolt of grief speared through him as he thought of his children. Of the empire they would inherit one day.

His body went limp. His eyes bulging as his lungs stopped working. But his mind kept going for a few seconds.

Enough time for him to be grateful that at least the cartel wouldn’t die with him. Because contrary to what people thought, he wasn’t the head.

No. So even as he lay dying on the sidewalk in this tiny, remote village, el Escorpion was still very much alive.

Chapter Twenty-One

Seated next to Brock’s hospital bed, Victoria curled her fingers around his, her heart aching at what he’d been through. She wished she could make all of this go away, heal him with her touch, but of course that was impossible.

Right now, he was out cold from whatever medication they’d put into his IV an hour ago and she was glad he was getting some sleep and no longer in pain. His body needed the reprieve. He was a mess.

Both his eyes were completely swollen shut now, the lids shiny and deep purple. The jagged scar across his nose and upper cheek looked sore as hell with all the stitches holding his skin together.

His whole chest and ribs were a mass of welts and bruises. She hadn’t seen his wrists without the bandages, but she already knew what they would look like because hers had been the same. It would take weeks for him to heal, even if it turned out he didn’t need surgery for his shoulder.

At least the evil son of a bitch responsible for the damage was dead. Well, him and Nieto. It wouldn’t make Brock heal any faster, but it would help him mentally moving forward. He was strong. She wasn’t worried about him recovering from this, she just wished she could be there for him while he did.

He still had some dried blood on his face and chest. She hated seeing it on his skin.

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