Page 48 of For Cowgirls and Kings
I’m jolted awake by angry voices, muffled but rising in volume. I blink rapidly, trying to clear the haze of sleep from my exhausted mind. All at once, memories of the last twenty-four hours slam into me, arresting the breath in my throat.
I bite down hard on my cheek to keep a sob from breaking loose and alerting those at the top of the stairs. I work to calm my racing heart enough that I can hear their words above the pounding filling my ears. I lean forward, the chair groaning beneath me.
“We outta left a note or somethin’ for ‘em. I can’t believe he hasn’t come lookin’ for ‘er yet. Maybe she ain’t the right one.” Javier’s thick accent filters through, each word laced with both frustration and panic.
“Oh, she’s the right one, Javier,” Marco snaps, and then someone shuffles.
“We should take a video of ‘er bein’ attacked, somethin’ that’ll really provoke ‘em though.” The excitement in Javier’s voice fills me with dread—settling like ice over my bones. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know what he’s referring to.
“Maybe she isn’t the right one to draw them out. Maybe if we’d stayed there waitin’ for him,” Javier challenges, but before he can finish, a slap resounds through the door and I lean away, feeling the force of the blow not even intended for me.
“It’s that dumb bitch of a sister that’s the problem,” Marco hisses. “She knew we was comin’ but prolly never told herbrother. He prolly doesn’ even know where to start lookin’ for her.”
“Well, Marco, how will we get them if they don’t even know where to find the girl?” Rafael hisses.
Panic rises in my throat once more. I don’t know who they’re talking about, but it’s clear they’re growing desperate. And desperate men do unimaginable things to get what they want.
“If ya’d grabbed her phone like yer was supposed to, we could have sent ‘em somethin’ from it. As it is, we’ll have to be more strategic.”
“What if we go to ‘em instead?” Javier asks, ever the eager one.
“Are ya fuckin’ stupid?” Marco’s voice booms through the door, the thin wood rattling. For a small man, he’s full of the kind of rage that comes from being evil down to one’s core. It can’t be made or manufactured through shitty life experiences—you’re either born with that kind of rage or you’re not.
“The trap’s here. They have to come here.”
The door swings open, and a scream tears from my throat as I’m met with three venomous faces glaring down at me from the top of the stairs.
“Tsk, tsk, princessa. Spying is naughty. But I guess ya’ll have yer answers for yer punishment this time.” And then if releasing dogs off a lease, Marco flicks his wrists and his brothers pounce down the stairs.
The room is inky black, darker swirls filling the corners. Isuck in painful breaths, my lungs on fire, even as the rest of me feels closer to frozen. My lips are cracked and bleeding, and only one of my eyes fully opens at this point—tears sit dried up in the corners.
I groan, rolling my head to the side. I open my mouth to scream, the sound ripping from my raw throat, only to be halted by an enormous hand clamping over my swollen lips.
“Shut up,” he hisses, and I freeze, sobbing into the cup of his palm. “If I drop this hand can you keep from screamin’? I won’t hurt you.”
Even as his voice is laced with venom, I sense the truth there. So I nod, a single shake of my aching head, and his hand instantly leaves my skin.
“Are you going to hurt me?” I plead, instantly hating how weak I sound, yet unable to restrain my fear.
He hisses, shifting toward the faint light filtering through the window, and I’m able to make out his tall frame. “I haven’t hurt you once yet. Why would I start now?”
I blink into the darkness. What’s he even saying?
“But you and Javier—” He steps toward me, a growl ripping from his throat, halting my words.
“I don’t hit defenseless women. Not my style. I don’t even like havin’ to hold you down, but you’ve done this to yourself.”
I think back to each previous beating, finding his words to be true. Rafael never did hit me, only Javier. But so what? He helped. He held me down.
“So what, you’re the good brother?” I argue, even as the word comes out closer to a sob.
“No. The good brother died. The bitch made sure of that. Just like you’re the good one. And you’ll die too. Blood for blood.”
I shiver at the hatred in his words, the motion making myrestraints creak and I groan as the ropes bite deeper into my skin.
“Why do you pull on them? Why do you provoke him?” He steps toward me, kneeling between my legs before loosening the rope slightly. I nearly groan at the release of pressure on my ankles, but bite down on my tongue instead.
“If you’re going to kill me anyway, what does it matter?”
