Page 95 of Miguel

At the sight of me, he blinked through his tears and stood to his feet, wailing a word I hadn’t even known he could say.

“Paaapááááá!”

He threw himself at my legs, wrapping them tightly around me, choking the feeling out of them until I pulled him up into my arms.

“Is this your son?” a bystander asked.

“Yeah.”

I held him close, hugging him to my chest like my life depended on it.

Lorena never would have left him alone. He never would have wandered off by himself. He was still frightened of certain things, still timid.

I pulled away so he could see my mouth move and watch as I signed her name, using the name sign Desiree had given her. “Zeke, where’s Lorena? Lorena?”

He began crying harder and made a series of gestures out at the street.

I let out a curse and turned away from the crowd. Nobody tried to stop me as I took my son away and jumped back into the SUV, strapping him into his seat.

“What’s going on over there, hermano?” Loco was still on the line.

“Those bastards took Lorena. Zeke got away. He’s in the car with me now.”

Loco got quiet, a rare thing for him. “We’ll get her back hermano,” he vowed.

That we would.

I just hoped it wouldn’t be too fucking late.

Chapter Thirty-eight

Lorena

Wedroveforwhatfelt like hours, nothing but my heavy breaths of fear piercing through the quiet of the vehicle. No one spoke again, and I tried not to move even as the SUV jostled me. Every time they went hard over a speed bump, I rammed into a body next to me, one that chuckled and slid hands suggestively over my bare legs.

I didn’t jerk away. I held still, grinding my back teeth and trying not to think of all the evil things they planned to do to me.

But my mind wandered, getting one idea after another. What else would men kidnap me for, other than fucking with Miguel?

They were going to rape me. Use me. Probably kill me.

I vowed then and there that I’d fight my way out of this situation.

No matter what it took.

When we finally stopped, I strained my ears trying to hear anything else, any words I could recognize, but they were silent as they opened the doors and hopped out, yanking my body out unceremoniously. I almost fell to the ground, scraping my legs against what felt like hard rocks. A fist collided against my spine, sending an electric jolt through my system.

“Walk, bitch,” they demanded.

A hand gripped my elbow and pulled me angrily. I followed blindly, tripping over my own feet through the harsh sun. When I felt my skin being shaded by a breeze, and then the cold hit, I knew we’d arrived inside a house of some sort.

I tried to gather my courage, steel my breaths for what was to come. But I was shoved down, pushed until I slid and fell onto the hard ground with a grunt. My skirt slid up my thighs and I heard somebody snicker.

A second later, the bag was yanked from my head. I blinked against the assault of images and the gun pointed straight at my face.

I held back my cry, biting down hard on my inner cheek to not let out a whimper of fear.

The man holding the weapon was kneeling in front of me, looking my body over. Never before had I felt more exposed.

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