Page 112 of Twisted Revelations

“Switch. Get in the back with the wild one,” he commanded.

The men assumed they’d resolved the problem by switching out our babysitters, but I knew Laura, and she wasn’t done by a long shot.

After things were settled, Mr. Busted Face kept glaring over the seat and staring daggers at Laura, who returned them back to him with the full force of her wicked gaze. Figuring I was as crazy as Laura, he avoided glancing in my direction.

“I’m Luis Dominquez, ladies,” came the voice of the man in charge from the front seat. “You could have saved yourselves a lot of trouble by telling us where Megan was. We tried to be civil with you in Florida, posed the same question in the same manner as I am now. This time, I suggest you answer it,” he warned.

His pause left the cab of the SUV filled with charged silence.

“We know that her boyfriend escaped with Regina and fled to California. We know that Regina has been recaptured. However, your slippery little friend Megan is nowhere to be found. Regina is about to suffer for turning against us,” his slick tone rang out. The prick liked the sound of his own voice. “So, where is Megan? Is she someplace here in Texas or back in Florida with those rednecks?”

“Isn’t Sorio dead? That sack of shit should be in Hell,” Laura called across the seat.

“Sorio is very much alive. I don’t know what you think you know, but he has plans for you two. It’s the only reason you’re not dead already. Sorio likes to play deadly games with his prey before he kills them. I’ll remind you once more. Save yourself the trouble and tell us where your friend is,” he stated as he glanced into the rearview mirror.

“She’s up your ass, motherfucker!” Laura taunted.

“You need a fucking muzzle!” He glared across the seat at Laura. “Don’t worry. You’ll be quiet soon enough,” he promised.

Laura leaned up to ensure he understood her words. “Until then, you can kiss the crack of my ass with your tongue out.”

He didn’t reply, but the driver didn’t hold in a laugh. “She’s a feisty one,” the driver pointed out. El Chapo, next to me, grunted. His bottom lip had doubled in size, and the top corner of his left eye had a large knot above it. Scratches and bruises colored his face and neck as he sat, steaming, ready to kill my best friend. Laura was crazy. I knew it and now so did they, but if he attempted to lay a hand on her, they’d have two crazy bitches on their hands.

At least an hour later, the dimness of night had swallowed up the sunshine. Instead of heading back to Houston, we’d taken a series of dirt roads that led us to wide open country. When a scattering of buildings started to come into focus, standing against the darkness, the sight had a chill racing up my spine.

The large white plastic numbers, 1236, were nailed to a dying oak tree outside the fence left open for us to enter. Halo Heights was the name painted on an arch that led into an old ranch. My forehead pinched tighter when the number and name on the archway came together in my head. D believed it was an address, but the numbers were some type of numerical representation for this place, and Halo Heights was what I assumed was the name of it.

Was this the farm where they’d kept Regina? Was it the one that she and Aaron had escaped? It was in the middle of nowhere. My neck swiveled back and forth taking in everything.

“You are now at the farm, ladies,” Luis announced. His words struck with the force of a heavy hand across my cheek. They planned to torture us and burn us alive. Our worst nightmares were about to be lived.

Would we escape in time? Where were the men? Were they bringing them here too? There were only two vehicles in our convoy, and I prayed the others that carried the men would arrive soon.

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