Page 63 of Sinful
Through it, I hear voices.
Spanish, too fast and quiet for me to catch most of it.
Then her voice cuts through.
"I want to see my father. Now."
She sounds strong. Defiant. No fear in her voice.
But I heard the fear in the woods earlier. Saw the guilt eating her alive.
She's terrified.
Just really good at hiding it.
A man laughs—cruel, mocking. "You think you give orders here, little girl?"
"I think I'm the one you want. Not him. Let me see him, and we'll talk about terms."
"We talk now. Then maybe you see him. Maybe we cut off your hand too, send it to your mother. Would you like that? To match your father?"
I'm moving before the words finish.
Through the window—quick and quiet into a dark hallway that smells like mold and cigarette smoke, following the voices to a main room at the front of the house.
And there she is.
Standing in the center of maybe eight Los Coyotes members, all armed, all watching her like she's prey they're about to devour.
She's got her .380 in her hand, but it's down at her side. Not pointed at anyone.
Smart girl. Start shooting when you're outnumbered eight to one and you're dead before you hit the floor.
But she's also cornered. Surrounded. And so fucking stubborn she rode here anyway.
Our eyes meet across the room.
Hers widen—shock, then immediate fury.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" she hisses.
"Saving your stubborn ass. Let's go."
"I'm not leaving without my father."
"Then we'll get him together. But we need to?—"
The nearest Los Coyotes member—big guy, tattooscovering his neck and crawling up onto his face—grabs her arm and yanks her toward him.
"Who the fuck is this?"
She jerks away hard, stumbles back. "Nobody. He's leaving. Right now."
"Like hell I am." I raise my Glock, point it directly at tattoo neck's forehead. "Let her go. Last warning."
Everything freezes.
Eight guns swing toward me.
