Page 8 of Lethal Vengeance
Rodrigo? I still. “Who?” I ask in a slightly bewildered tone. I can’t afford to admit knowing that psycho.
“Your boss’ right-hand man, Rodrigo. What happened? Did you mess up your last job?” the voice taunts behind me. This time it’s filled with a tinge of anger.
Is it a ploy to get me to admit I work for Armando? “I am the boss. If you’re telling the truth about someone following me, prove it.”
I shove backwards, but he doesn’t budge.
The hand moves from my thigh.
Taking advantage of the freedom, I whip my knife out of its sheath and thrust backward. It slides into muscle. I yank it out to do it again.
A harsh breath whistles through his teeth, but not a single word or scream escapes him. A shiver runs up my spine. Who takes a knife to the thigh without even a whimper?
Before I can think of the answer, he moves like lightning. Clamping down on my fist with his hand, he brings my arm up, spins me around, and slams me back against the wall.
“Look,” he orders, holding a phone up to my face.
I stare into his intense brown eyes for a second before lowering them to the phone. It’s him and the blond man he was sitting with earlier. They’re taking a selfie. For a second, I’m captivated by the image of the two handsome men.
Puzzled, I stare up at him.
“In the background,” he replies impatiently.
Startled, I study the picture but shift my focus to the people behind Cruz and his friend. Ten feet behind the bar, sitting at a table, is Rodrigo. He’s staring intently at something in front of him. Given the direction, I’d say it’s me.
“Shit,” I mutter. Of all nights to be out drinking tequila, Rodrigo wants to have a chat.
“He’s been following you for a couple of weeks,” he informs me.
Since the meeting at the park.
Damn it.
“Thanks for the warning. Now that I know who it is, I can handle the situation myself,” I state confidently.
He grips my chin. “He’s hunting you, you fool. Trust me. I recognize the signs. Whatever you think will stop him won’t work tonight. Unless you’re prepared to put a bullet in him?”
Soon.
“Not yet,” I reply. Wait a minute. “The only way you could know he’s been following me is if you’ve been doing the same. Who are you?” I grip the knife tighter.
“Cruz,” he murmurs, eyes darting around the corridor. “Where were you headed?”
I shake my head. “Uh uh. Answers first. Why have you been following me, and where is your friend?”
He cocks his head to the side. “Damn it. Rodrigo is heading back into the restaurant. You need to get out of here. Now.” He yanks me off the wall and shoves me in the direction of the kitchen door. “Go.”
“What about you?” I ask, walking backward.
He holds up a finger. “Wait. Sterling, repeat.” With two steps, he grabs my wrist and scans the hall. “He’s coming fast. We need to hide.”
My heart pounds while my fuzzy brain tries to play catch up. I point to the door on the right. “Try that one.”
He rushes over and finds it unlocked. Motioning to me, he stands in the doorway waiting for me to join him.
I step forward, then stop. What am I doing? I don’t even know this guy and suddenly I trust him? With a shake of my head, I turn to run in the opposite direction, but I don’t get far before an arm sweeps around my stomach and pulls me off my feet. We stumble sideways into a door, and it swings open from the force.
As soon as we’re inside, he lets go. I frantically glance around for an exit but realize we’re in the restroom. We’re trapped. I try to dart past him, but he shuts the door.
