Page 63 of Hostile King

I follow, hot on his heels. The rhythm of my pulse is all over the place and the dried blood on my skin looks like I’ve taken a break from shooting a horror movie.

Earthy air catches me off-guard. I hadn’t noticed the aroma when we’d moved from the truck to the indoors. I was too fixated on Tomás to take in our overgrown surroundings. It’s a familiar, homely scent, not much different from the jungle I used to visit all the time.

Thoughtful ravens watch us from bouncing branches and the distinct call of a hawk drags my gaze to the treetops where it circles. Delicate butterflies flit from the wildflowers scattered through long grass. It’s an idyllic location, given the city is on its doorstep.

The best of both worlds.

Shane sinks onto a log bench and props his elbows on his knees, hunched forward with exhaustion. The sky is cloudy now, no sign of azure blue.

“This is fucking surreal.” He runs a hand over his scalp and exhales slowly. A dog barks and a flock of birds take flight. “…Can’t believe he took my gun.”

Then I remember how I covertly covered Tomás’ gun in Shane’s blood-sodden T-shirt and put it to the side.

“Back in a second.” I ramble down the steps, jog to the rear of the truck, jump in, and grab the dark material, thankfully feeling the weight of steel beneath it, even if it’s not loaded. Backtracking, I stuff it behind a big boulder close to the front deck.

“Have you got any more bullets?” I say in a hushed voice, joining him again.

“Aye, a few. Not that they’ll do any good without anything to load them into…unless that was…”

I press my dirty finger to my lips and nod. “Load it up and leave it there. If he finds either of us with a weapon, he’ll likely kill us with it. At least we have something if he turns.”

It’s only now, in the stillness that I realize my skull is pounding from bashing it on the pavement earlier. My muscles are tense as my head and heart ache.

“Why did he have to murder Bianca? Surely there was another way to prevent a bloodbath.” I blink in the lush greenery and playful dogs rambling freely along a pebbled pathway snaking into the forest. “All this could have been avoided.”

“I need a fucking drink.” He shakes his head and sighs heavily.

“Makes two of us,” I mutter, pressing my hands to the carved pillar holding up the roof.

Shane leans back and kicks his ankle up to rest on the opposite knee. “The old Tommy would’ve married that girl and not given a fuck. He’d carry on with business as if nothing had ever happened. But something did happen. You twirled into his life like a tornado.”

I turn on the spot to face him, every bit of me shaking.

“I’ve never once heard him question himself until he had to sign the prenup agreement. That shitshow was like trying to castrate a lion without sedatives. Grumpy fuck kept staring at his phone, waiting for Dré to send him another photo of you. Don’t get me wrong, kid, he’s not gone soft. He’s still a ticking time bomb with a short fuse, but somehow, he’s managed to contain his psychotic tendencies since you came on the scene.”

He pauses, his eyes finding mine.

“The woman isn’t dead.”

I cross my arms over my midriff, my knees softening and my mind looping. “I saw her get into the car—we all saw the bomb go off.”

“Yeah, we saw a bomb go off alright. Her car took a sharp left a few seconds before the actual bomb was detonated. We paid the morgue good money for secrecy, a John and Jane Doe, and the rest was a perfectly executed smoke screen. Her family will mourn Bianca Morales’ death, because that’s what she wanted.”

My brows pinch together. “I don’t get it. She wanted to fake her own murder?”

Shane scrubs his face. “Tommy will fill in all the blanks when he’s patched up.” He stands. “Do you think Dr. Doolittle is a hippie weirdo who drinks his own piss for health benefits, or do you think he’d have a stash of hard liquor?”

My mind is reeling.

Bianca isn’t dead.

Tomás didn’t kill her. He gave her another choice.

“Either of you two this guy's family?” Enrique appears, his gloved hands crimson.

My heartbeat stutters. “Why?”

“He needs a blood transfusion.”

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