Page 30 of Stricken

The dinner concludes, tension thrumming beneath the polite farewells. I hardly touched any food that made it onto my platter. My mind couldn't concentrate on anything but the target—the reason I flew into Mexico.

I retreat to my room, dark thoughts racing a million miles an hour. I know there will be no rest for me tonight, but I get in bed, trying to persuade myself that worrying about things I can't control is useless. Sleep eludes me for hours, but exhaustion eventually claims me in the early hours.

Finally. I fall into the restless void.

* * *

I jolt awake, gasping, disoriented. Then I realize thick fingers are crushing my windpipe. Panic floods my system as I claw at the hands choking the life from me. My first thought is the Arellanos flipped and want me gone, but there is no time to dissect the cartel politics. My attacker's weight pins me down, decimating my chest and my lungs with it, but adrenaline pushes through my veins like gunpowder.

Not tonight, motherfucker.

With a desperate heave, I manage to throw him off-balance.

We collapse in a chaotic heap, our limbs intertwined. I pivot with all my might, driving my elbow into his solar plexus with a satisfying thud. I can hear him gasping as my fingers claw at his eyes. He lets out a primal howl of agony as I push in, his grip on me loosening in his pain-induced daze.

I seize the opportunity, flipping our positions. My fist connects with his jaw once, twice, three times. Blood sprays from his mouth, but he keeps fighting. Somewhere in the background there's noise.

The door bursts open. Light from the hallway floods the room as Esteban's men pour in, weapons drawn. Sergei and his guys are among them as well.

"The party is over!" I rasp out, glancing at them over my shoulder.

Mayhem ensues inside the bedroom. Men shout in both Spanish and Russian.

"Who sent you?" I snarl, gripping the assassin's collar as Sergei and one of Esteban's men hold him down.

His eyes meet mine, defiant. "Te vas a morir antes o después, puto." Before I can react, he bites down hard. A sickening crunch.

"Get his mouth!" someone yells. Fingers reach for the man's jaw but it's too late. White foam bubbles from between his lips.

"Este pendejo! He's got a kill-pill!" another voice rumbles off to the side.

The assassin's body convulses on the floor, then goes still.

"Fuck!" I stumble back, rage and frustration boiling over. My hands are all bloody as I touch my neck. Red smears across my night shirt and skin but I don't notice. I'm wired to the point of no return, my brain on fire, stomach churning, breathing still ragged. Deep down I know it hurts but I can't feel it. Can't feel anything just yet.

Esteban pushes through the crowd. "Que paso?" he spits out. The terror on his face is real and not part of the act. His gaze lands on me. "What happened?"

"Someone tried to kill me," I hiss out, my eyes meeting his eyes. "That's what happened."

Sergei and his guys position themselves strategically around me, reading the room with precision.

A moment of suffocating silence ensues as Esteban and I are locked into a battle of stares.

"You do not think I sent a man to kill you, Mr. Solovey?" he grits out a second later. "You are a guest of mine.'"

"Forgive me if I'm skeptical about everything right now. I almost lost my life while in your house."

More silence.

Esteban's shoulders slump just a bit—enough to tell me he is willing to yield. "Please accept my apologies, Vlad," he offers in a slightly softer tone. "What happened is unacceptable and I give you my word we will get to the bottom of it. Meanwhile, let me get a doctor for you."

"I'm fine," I hoarse out. "Just a minor thing. I'd rather be left alone."

"Understood. I'll have my people move you to another room."

"No need."

"I see." He shouts several orders in Spanish and the body of the assassin is hauled out of the room. A woman slips in with a towel to clean up the blood. Another woman straightens out whatever she can inside the room before Esteban shouts more orders and everyone spills out into the hallway.

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