Page 171 of Sins of the Orchid
I opened my mouth, the words demanding his love, not just his desire, on the tip of my tongue when from the corner of my eye I noticed a black SUV. The vehicle approached fast, then suddenly slammed on its brakes.
Santi’s curses filled the car. “Fuck!” The alarm in his voice scared me more than anything else in a very long time.
In the next second, he pushed me down, my face slamming against his thigh and a lungful of air escaped me at the impact.
“Fuck,” he shouted, as he pressed a button and his body cocooned mine.
Before I took the next breath, machine guns started blazing, the sound around us deafening. Glass shattered all around us, the car alarm blasting through the air and piercing my ears. Santi’s body covered mine, his arms around me as glass shattered and gunfire sparked around us.
Santi grunted in pain, but he never moved, his hard body a shield over mine. I grabbed his hand pressed over my ears and felt a sticky, hot liquid. Fear gripped my heart that thundered with terror. I could taste it on my tongue, unpleasant and thick.
Chaos played all around us, reminding me of the battlefield in Venezuela, and I wondered if finally George had caught up to me. He’d already cost me my mother. Would he cost me the man I loved too?
Suddenly, the importance of telling Santi how much I loved him seemed like a life and death situation now.
I love you, Santi. I have always loved you.
My lips moved. I felt them move, but I couldn’t hear my own voice though the words screamed in my head. Maybe the gunshots drowned it all out.
I didn’t want to die without telling him that I loved him. I had loved him for so long; I wasn’t even sure when the crush changed into love. Maybe that night he held my head as I threw up a bottle of tequila in his strip club. Or when he saved me at the college party while I hid in the bathroom stall. A kid’s hero turned into a major crush then a hard-core love.
I squeezed his hand, praying to God, anyone that would hear me.
Let us live. Don’t let us die here.
The seatbelt dug into me, but the pain didn’t register. My heartbeat drummed in my ears, and my breathing was heavy. Santi enveloped me in safety, but my mind screamed in worry for him. Without him, my life meant nothing.
I pressed myself further into his thigh, pulling him closer down on me. The gunshots went on forever, at least that’s how it felt, before stillness fell over the night. I turned my head sideways, scared to lift it and get Santi killed. I was startled by the little I saw. The car windshield was completely shattered, there wasn’t a single surface in my sight of vision that didn’t have a bullet hole.
“Stai bene?”Are you okay?Santi’s words were a soft whisper in my ear. The same words he asked the thirteen-year-old me. Even if Santi didn’t love me, I knew he’d always keep me safe.Always!
I felt his hands run down my body, checking for injuries. “I’m good,” I rasped, squeezing his hand that stayed on my head. “You?”
“Yes.” He ran a thumb across my cheek. “I need you to be brave. Okay?”
“God, Santi,” I murmured. “Those were the same words Mamma told me before she died. You better not fucking die on me.”
I felt his lips on the crown of my head. “I won’t.”
I wasn’t sure if he had any business making that promise, but I took it anyhow. We were sitting ducks if we remained, but if Santi attempted to drive off, he could get shot. Assuming the car would even drive in this shot up state.
Santi must have been thinking the same thing because he produced a knife out of somewhere and cut my seatbelt, then leaned over my lap and pulled the handle of the door on my side. It would make sense since it faced woods rather than the highway where the gunmen were.
“We’ve got to run, baby,” he muttered. “I pressed the alarm button, but my men won’t get here fast enough.”
“Oh shit,” I mumbled. “I didn’t bring my running shoes nor my own gun.”
I felt his mouth against my temple curve into a smile, despite our situation. This must be a walk in the park for him. I kicked off my shoes and climbed out of the car, Santi right behind me. He crawled over the console, to the passenger seat and then joined me in the dirt.
Voices traveled through the night air. Words in Spanish and my heart thundered. These men were after me.
Santi took my hand, stickiness soaking my fingers. I lowered my gaze and noted through the darkness Santi’s hand covered in blood. I could barely see the ink on his skin. I raised my eyes to him, but he just shook his head, pressing a finger against his lips.
Tugging me along, we followed the shadow of the tree line and the coverage it afforded us. Once we reached a certain spot, we started running. Gunshots fired after us as we ran into the woods but we never stopped. To stop running was to die.
It was too dark to see where I stepped to avoid spiky holly leaves or sticks. Being barefoot, pain shot through the sole of my feet with each step, but I ignored it.
The voices of men, words in Spanish, were within earshot. The danger too close. Yet, despite the peril at our heels, I felt safe with Santi at my side. I wished he wasn’t in danger because of me, but I couldn’t regret the protection he offered. While DeAngelo did an amazing job at training me and helped me pursue revenge against my mother’s killers, it didn’t make me competent and ruthless like Santi. It wasn’t something I could ever thrive in.
