Page 77 of Vaquero
There was no sense talking. Julio gritted his teeth and held onto the suicide belt for dear life. Fragments of his past flashed before his eyes. The day he’d rescued Bianca and Tomas. He had saved them, and he’d done all a husband and father could humanly do to ensure they lived. That they’d died was not on his head. It never had been. Bianca had made the choice to kill herself, and Tomas had died simply because he’d lived too long in Hell. A tender child simply didn’t have the inner strength to overcome what a monster like Domingo and a mother like Bianca had done to him.
But Meg would cry herself sick if he died today. At this speed, the chopper would surely break apart upon impact. His body might never be found. She’d be devastated. Heartsick. After living through What’s-His-Name’s rejection, the ex whose name Julio could not for the life of him remember, and after suffering a life-changing stroke, Meg, more than anyone, deserved a happy ending. Julio didn’t want her to waste the rest of her life wondering what happened to him. Whether he’d survived the crash, or whether he was living somewhere else, with someone else. Or if he’d forgotten her and the love they’d made. As if he could ever forget those sweet moments.
Tears brimmed, but he blinked them away. More than anything, Julio wanted to be the man who put stars back in her eyes. He wanted to see her face light up when some doctor or nurse on some future day put Julio’s baby in Meg’s hands. He wanted to watch her cry tears of happiness, not sorrow.Madre de Dios!He wanted to give her hope. The life she should’ve had. Julio knew it then beyond all doubt. His life had always been important. His lifewasdear. Very dear. He wanted to live! With Meg.God, please. Let me live! I promise to be a better man!
“You still there?” Trevor asked suddenly.
Julio blurted, “I’m deeply in love with your sister, Chief Duncan. I can’t—don’t—want to live without Meg. I love her. Please… keep us alive.”
A rumbling, “Hmmmmm…” came back to Julio as the bird leveled out at what had to be the very last second before impact. Trevor Duncan had cut it damned close. The helo’s skids turned into skis as they skimmed rough ocean waves for a few frightening seconds. At last, the bird leveled off into an abrupt, shuddering hover.
“Gracias, Padre Celestial,” Julio breathed, his heart pounding up his throat, possibly out the top of his head, too.Thank you, Heavenly Father.
“You’re welcome,” Trevor Duncan growled, “but I’m not God, and Chief’s a better handle for me. Don’t want to ever step on the Big Guy Upstairs’ toes, you know. So… You love my sister, huh? Precisely how on earth do you know Meg? Did you serve with her? Are you Army?”
Julio bowed his head to his chest, thankful the Blackhawks heads-up display didn’t include live video. Thankful there was no way Trevor could see him crying like a baby. Sucking in a deep gut-full of I’m-still-alive, he told Meg’s big brother, “No, sir. Former Navy. I work for Senator Sullivan. When your sister requested an assist for the orphans she served, I helped them get away from Orlando Zapata. You might’ve heard of him.”
“Yeah, I know the bastard,” Trevor growled. “But he’s dead? You ended that son-of-a-bitch. You’re sure?”
“Yes,” Julio replied, still breathing hard and finding it hard to believe he was alive. “I’m sure he’s dead. Check your satellite feeds over Minas Gerais, Brazil, for the last couple days. You’ll see smoke from his gravel pit. The Zapatas’ reign of terror is over. Oz is dead, and Domingo’s incarcerated in America’s most secure federal prison.”
“No shit? Dom’s doing time up north, in the Arctic Circle penitentiary?”
Dom. Dom. Dom…
“Y-y-yesss,” Julio stuttered as his mind went cold, like someone had just walked on his grave. Why did the nickname that Domingo Zapata shared with the sweetest little orphan in the world, make the tiny hairs on the back of Julio’s neck stand up? Why had his throat gone even drier than it had been just micro-seconds earlier when he’d been staring Death down?
No. Not only no, but hell no! It wasn’t possible. There was no way a child as pure and innocent as Dominic could ever share DNA with Domingo Zapata. Absolutely not. Never!
“Where he will die,” Julio offered weakly, even as his heart screamed,‘Dominic is not Domingo’s son. He couldn’t be. Could he? No. Just no. God wouldn’t be that cruel.’
Yet even as Julio railed against the sheer happenstance of a fate so vile, he knew now why Meg had found Dominic tossed out of Oz’s mine and lying on a garbage heap. God might not be that cruel, but Orlando Zapata had been. It was the law of the jungle, a heinous, bloodletting ritual that military conquerors the world over had practiced for eons.
Burn thy enemy at the stake for all the world to see.
Pillage his treasury so all the world would know.
Salt his fields.
Rape, defile, and murder his women, daughters, and concubines.
Hunt every last one of his children, bastards, every living relative, to the ends of the earth. Torture them to death. Leave no trace that enemy had ever existed. Or ruled. Or breathed.
Spread the word of his demise, near and far.
Declare yourself better, greater, and grander.
Build monuments over his.
Rewrite history.
God knew the ancient Egyptians had certainly done enough of that. As were certain Americans even now, in these modern, supposedly enlightened times, rewriting history to match their political agendas. Leaving legacies of lies and whitewashed half-truths for future generations.
A heathen warrior the likes of Orlando would’ve surely applied that same fate to any niece or nephew who might—someday—have become his formidable adversaries. Talk about a dysfunctional family. The Zapata brothers had crafted dysfunction into an art. It was in their blood. Could it also be in Dominic’s?
“There’s an island a couple clicks due north,” Trevor said as the helo lifted just high enough out of the waves and accelerated on a much more orderly course. “I’ll get you there, but it’ll be up to you to stay out of trouble. Can you do that?”
“Yes, sir,” Julio replied, his mind numb, still on the boy he now believed was, in fact, Domingo’s son. God, where was Dominic’s mother? Julio needed to find her. Or did he? Was that unlucky woman even alive?
