Page 137 of Resisting Isaac
Besides, I need to focus. I need to get in touch with someone who can be trusted at the FBI or the DEA orwhoever handles guys like Diego and figure out how to bring him down sooner than later.
Isaac and his family would be in danger until he was behind bars.
In a way, this was my out. I knew it and I took it. But I’m wiping my tears and formulating a plan to let Isaac think I’m still angry, so I can get a hotel room and get in touch with my Uncle Emilio. He’s my father’s brother and has been a cop for as long as I can remember. He’ll know what to do, who I can contact to report Diego’s threats and illegal activities.
I’m still sniffling and ignoring Isaac calling my phone over and over as I pull up directions to the Wayfarer Inn.
It’s going to suck donkey balls,sorry Jasper, to stay in the hotel where Isaac and I had our first night together, but I can’t go back to the ranch. Not now.
Maybe not ever.
I’m so distracted trying to follow the Maps app walking directions, I don’t hear the SUV crawling along beside me until it’s too late. From the corner of my periphery, it whips around in front of me, tires screeching on pavement as it blocks the alleyway I was about to cross.
“Found you, little mouse,” Diego’s voice says as he emerges from the back as if he was being chauffeured around.
This motherfucker.
I glare at him as my heart rate triples. “What are you doing here?”
“I warned you what would happen if you didn’t come home to me.” He voices the threat in a sickeningly sweet sing-song voice.
“I’m leaving him, Diego,” I blurt out, panicking. “I’m on my way to a hotel right now. No need to do anything dramatic.” I wave my phone at him to show him the open directionsapp. I contemplate chucking it at his head, but then I have a better idea.
I press the button I use to record when I’m running lines and pray my battery is charged. I’m not great about remembering to plug my phone in.
He scratches his goatee as another man encircles me from behind. Where the hell did he come from?
These assholes have no idea how many years I’ve been practicing Krav Maga.
“Get in the truck, Elena,” Diego taunts me like he’s coaxing a child.
A child.
Oh God.
My child.
The thought of fighting back flees from my mind.
I can’t fight these men. I can’t risk that one of them will injure me badly enough to hurt my baby.
I nod. Overly animated but I can’t help it. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I should’ve listened.”
The words taste like lies and sound like them, too. So much for my acting skills.
Diego smirks like he knows I’m full of shit.
Fight or flight kicks in and I check the area for possible exits but I’m being herded.
Thanks to Rowdy and Blue, I recognize the behavior.
A pang of sadness strikes me in the chest when I realize I might never see them again. I text five words to Isaac as quickly as I can in hopes they’ll make sense. Or he’ll at least get closure if I never see him again either.
The thought brings moisture to my eyes. But before I have time to process the pain or plan an escape route, everything goes black.
Cold leather sticksto my cheek as I drift toward consciousness. My head pounds. My stomach rolls.
“. . . too bad the boys who took the dad out didn’t get the sons too,” a low voice says from the front.
