Page 95 of Vaquero
“Just lost the tail rotor,” the pilot yelled over the crying children. “Weapons are in the overhead bins! Might want to arm yourselves.”
But Meg was already in that overhead cabinet, frantically pulling out one of those MK18 assault rifles. Handing it to Craig, who looked damned perplexed there among all those frightened kids, she told him, “This is loaded. Aim to kill, Mr. Brunner. It’s the only way you’re going home to Marta.”
She no more than touched the grip of the rifle she intended to claim, when the door crashed open. One uglier than hell, troll stood there, his rifle pointed inside at Craig, who instantly dropped his MK18 and raised both hands.
Oh. My. God!Meg wanted to kick his ass! He couldn’t have looked more stupid and weak if he’d pointed at her and said, “She made me do it.”
One massive black tattoo covered the guy at the door, from head to toe. Black crosses and swastikas. Strings of black sixes and chains. Symbols she’d never seen before. All over his bald head, face, neck, even, when he blinked, on his eyelids. Tattoos covered every inch, even the skin of his feet showing through his orange sandals. That was weird. Orange sandals. Who did that?!
He sneered at Craig, but he was obviously looking for something. Or someone. It couldn’t be one of these children. But when his gaze landed on Dominic, now snuggled under Meg’s chin with his skinny little legs wrapped around her like he was a monkey and she was his mama—which she damned well was—this creep’s black eyes glittered. All black eyes. No sparkle and no white showed around his pupils.
A shiver rattled over Meg. This troll looked like the spawn of Satan. Or Satan himself.
“What do you want?” she asked like she had a right to question him, shaking as hard as she was.Belligerence. Always lead with plenty of attitude and fuck ’em to hell belligerence, Trevor had always said.Never go down easy. Make ’em pay for every last inch.
Instinctively, Meg turned her shoulder to this asshat at the door, blocking his view of Dominic. God, she wished Trevor were there now.
The ugly guy’s face cracked. It wasn’t so much a smile as a grin of cruel vulgarity. And Meg knew. This was him. Teeth sharpened to points. Enough ink that he looked black instead of Brazilian. He could only be Domingo Zapata. Orlando’s brother. The older brother of the bastard Julio had killed. What was he doing here? Wasn’t he supposed to be locked away in some Arctic prison for the rest of his life?Oh, shit. Oh, shit!
“You,” he grunted, singling her out with the business end of the sub-compact machine gun in his hand. “Come. Now.”
Oh, crap,Meg thought, but she said,“Madre de Dios!”Julio’s words. For good luck or for God’s intervention, she didn’t know. Oh, heck. Just for the hell of it!
“I said come!” Domingo bellowed, frightening the kids even more. Maria buried her face in Craig’s shirt, sobbing.
Backing away from the door, Meg eased sweet little Dominic off her hip and handed him over to Craig—
“No!” Zapata spat. “He comes with you. The boy comes. Now.”
Trembling and scared witless, barely able to breathe, Meg nodded at the ugly man who would soon be her captor. “I’ll go with you, but please, let this little boy stay,” she begged, still determined Dominic stay with Craig. “He’s all I have and—”
“Allyouhave?” Domingo’s dark eyes turning darker. Flatter. Continually scanning the airfield, it was obvious he knew he hadn’t much time before help arrived. “He isn’t yours,cadela,” he spat.
Meg knew enough Portuguese to know he’d just called her slut. Well, two could play that game. “How would you know he’s not mine, you ass?” He would make her pay for this. She knew it, but she wouldn’t go easy.
Just when she thought Zapata couldn’t get uglier, he did. All that atrocious ink turned his features into a demonic mask. “Because he is my son! My boy! Now come. You and him. Quick! Or I kill all thesecrianças.”All her children.
Meg’s heart fell. God, no. This monster was Dominic’s father?
Julio! Where are you?
