Page 154 of Resisting Isaac
I see nothing, no soul, no concern for anyone but himself in his eyes.
He must see the truth in mine.
“You better make good on your promise, you fucking bitch. Or I promise when I get out of here, you’re—” the guard tases him and he goes down on his knees.
I stare at him from above. “Don’t worry, Diego. I’m going to tell my husband and his brotherseverythingyou said to me. Then we’ll see if they want to help you out.”
“You’re dead,” he hisses at me. “You’re all fucking dead.”
I wave his threat off with the flick of my wrist and check the time. “Well, this has been lovely. Looks like our time is up. Speaking of running out of time, I think we both know the type of people you were involved with will take you out the minute they know you squealed on them for a reduced sentence. You’ll never make it to Montana before they get to you.”
He twitches and glares daggers at me. If looks could kill, I’d be dead a dozen times over.
“Just wait patiently in here, Diego. Wait for me to see if I can get you some help. You know, like you told those underage girls you left to die in that shipping container.”
The surprise that I know about this is clear on his face.
“You lowlife trafficking piece of shit,” I add in Spanish.
He tries to speak, to curse me back in Spanish, I think. But the guard tases him again.
This time, I walk away and don’t look back.
By the time I get home, the Montana sky’s gone indigo. I land the plane beside the hangar, perform the necessary actions to shut it off, and take a deep breath. Though I received my pilot’s license recently, I’ve never flown without Isaac. And I didn’t tell him where I was going.
I’ve done everything I could to shake off the negative energy of my visit to the prison. Prayed, scrolled through pictures of my husband and daughter on my phone. Looked at silly celebrity memes from Sutton and a million wedding ideas from Ivy. I even perused Eli and Willow’s vacation pictures. The few they’ve posted to our private family chat.
They still don’t admit they’re a couple. But they spend a hell of a lot of time together.
I feel marginally better, but nothing heals me like the sight of my husband once I step inside our home.
He’s in the kitchen, barefoot, shirtless, and wearing an old pair of gray sweats. My favorites.
He turns, takes one look at my face, and pulls me into his arms.
“Christ, baby. I called you twenty times. Where did you go?”
“I went to see Diego.”
He pulls back, eyes flashing, but doesn’t let go of me. “You what? Elena?—”
“I had to. He had information. Aboutyour dad. About those ranch hands. They were hired hitmen, Isaac. You and your brothers were right. It was a hit.”
“I thought Antonio took the plane to get it serviced. If I had known it was you?—”
“You would’ve told me not to go and we might have never known what happened to your dad.”
“My brave fearless girl.” He cups my face in his hands, his eyes roaming every inch of my face. “You could’ve told me. You don’t go into a place like that alone?—”
“I handled it,” I say, voice trembling now. “I’m okay. And he wouldn’t have talked to me if you were there. And who knows how much longer he’ll be alive. I heard him the night he grabbed me. I knew he had information you needed. I couldn’t risk never finding out.” For the next five minutes, I detail everything Diego told me, including that those boys were last seen in Vegas before they were murdered.
“I can’t say I’m sad they’re no longer alive. But that does make finding out who hired them harder.” He stares at me, breathing hard. “Don’t ever do that to me again, spitfire. I can't lose you.”
“You won’t.”
“Rayne needs you too,” he says, stepping closer, one hand cupping my jaw, the other wrapping around my waist. “We need you. You are my whole damn life, baby. What would I do if something happened to you?”
Tears prick the corners of my eyes, but he kisses them away, slow and reverent.
