Page 93 of Miguel

Chapter Thirty-six

Lorena

Thesunbeatadreadful heat against the pavement, without even a gust of wind to chill the sweat sticking against my body.

I hated the hotter days when not even my skirt was enough to bring relief against the harsh sun. The good thing was Zeke and I were just waiting on Miguel to pick us up. We’d go for ice cream and then shop for his new school uniform so he could go to N.I.S.E. next week.

All the other kids had already gone and Miguel had texted saying he was on his way.

There was no longer any need to have a prospect guarding us, according to Miguel. That was something I was thankful for, considering it meant we were safe. I didn’t want to know what Miguel and his club had done to ensure that. I wasn’t sure I could stomach the truth. I knew it had to have been bad, considering he’d come home beaten to shit.

Have they murdered? Yes.Xiomara’s words echoed in my head.

That didn’t matter though. What mattered was that I felt safe, and so did Zeke. There would be no more bombs and fear.

I could breathe a sigh of relief.

Smiling to myself and seeing Miguel’s dark SUV pull up towards the school, I tugged Zeke forward to the edge of the sidewalk just as it screeched to a halt in front of us.

Unease slid down my spine as the back door flew open.

I didn’t even have time to cry out as men jumped out and reached for us. Strong hands yanked me towards the vehicle and my hold on Zeke’s hand slipped.

“Run!” I screamed, turning in his direction, hoping he understood what I meant. “Zeke, run!”

I thrashed against my captors as wildly as a bull, praying Zeke understood enough to do what I’d asked. My legs kicked out, fighting with all my might. And I watched, wide eyed, as Zeke turned and bolted down the street, not once looking back.

My relief made me almost limp and that split second was enough to have my captors clamping palms down against my mouth, grip tightening into a vice. They yanked me, throwing me inside of the vehicle. I collided against more bodies and couldn’t even scream before they were tugging a bag over my head, blocking out my sight.

Voices spoke around me in a language I could only partly understand. I cried for them to let me go, hands reaching to fight my way out before they were pulled unceremoniously at my back. An ache spread through my shoulders and a punch hit me in the gut, having me doubling over and gasping in the seat.

“Shut the fuck up, bitch, and stop struggling.” The voice cursed me out in broken Spanish. And then when I could only struggle harder in my attempts, a fist collided against the side of my head.

Bile rose in the back of my throat as the pain spread.

I’d never been punched before, and a wave of dizziness and nausea washed over me. I tried to take a deep breath, to get a single second of clarity at the situation. When I could, I could only blame myself.

Why hadn’t I paid better attention? I’d seen an SUV and immediately assumed it had been Miguel. I shouldn’t have been so trusting just because he’d told me we were safe. That didn’t actually mean we were.

Fuck!

Tears pooled in the corners of my eyes but I blinked them away. The only reassurance I could get from all of this was that Zeke got away. Hopefully he hid somewhere. Hopefully Miguel would find him.

The sudden urge to cry gripped me. I wanted to rage. I wanted to fight my way out of this, but I feared if I did anything they’d kill me. I had to remain docile. At least for now.

At least until I could make a plan of escape.

Or until Los Diablos came to save me.

Chapter Thirty-seven

Miguel

Trafficwasafuckingbitch. It made me late, and so did the bullshit with our late night activities. Cleaning up bodies was almost second nature to us at this point and got easier over time. All we had to do was grease a few pockets, dump them, or bury them in places where they wouldn’t be found.

Besides, the cops wouldn’t be looking too closely into the deaths of several gringos in Mexico. They weren’t well liked over here because they brought with them their entitlement and their stench.

Still, we’d pulled our all-nighters, and everything was fucking solved. Everyone who had been captured by the police were probably rotting in a prison now, waiting for freedom that would never come.

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