Page 55 of Vicious Heir

I heard the man groan, but I didn’t stop to see what I’d done. Instead, as soon as my feet touched the spongy ground, I started running as hard and as fast as I could. Everywhere around me was green, and when I veered off the path into the thick of trees, I stepped in water that came up to my knees.Fuck, did he bring me to the Everglades?

Trying to keep my eyes out for alligators or snakes, I kept pushing forward, sloshing water up to my knees and thighs, coating me in muck. The deeper it got, the slower I went; I didn’t want to slip beneath the surface of the water fully, but I couldn’t turn around either.

I heard a pop, and then a bullet whizzed over my head. I didn’t look back; it didn’t take a genius to know that the man had recovered enough to come after me. I pushed on, happy when the water level began to slack off, and I was able to go faster. If I could scale a tree, I could hide even better, but there was no way I was hauling myself more than thirty feet in the air. I would be trapped if he found me.

Instead, I dove into a bush, hissing as thorns tore at the skin on my arms and face. Once I was fairly sure that I couldn’t be seen, I stopped and got as low to the ground as I possibly could. I could hear heavy footsteps now, and I squeezed myself down even more. “I’m going to find you,” the man called out. “If you come out now, I’ll make it painless, but if you keep running, I’m going to take my time with you.”

I was shivering before I could get a hold of myself, and I squeezed my fists so that my nails sank into the flesh of my palms. He was getting closer, and as hidden as I was, there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t find me. I glanced down and saw a sizable stick that looked sharp next to my foot. I picked it up, gripping it so hard that my knuckles turned white.

It wouldn’t do much against his gun, but if I could take him by surprise, I would have a chance.

* * *

Angel

We found the car abandoned on a road marked “National Park Workers Only.” The trunk and the driver’s side door were open, but there wasn’t any blood that I could see. Omar frowned and leaned into the trunk. “What’s wrong?”

He pulled out the St. Christopher’s medal; its chain had been broken. “Is this what you’ve been tracking?” he asked.

Fuck. “Yes.” I held out my hand, and Omar put the medal into my palm. I squeezed it for a moment, and then slid it into my pocket. Once it was repaired, I would put it back on Emma’s neck where it belonged.If you aren’t too late, my mind hissed at me, kicking my ass into gear.

I left my gun with Lili, but Omar was prepared. He’d taken the Sig Sauer semi-automatic from the glove box and handed it to me; it was a little small for my liking, but it would do the job. He had his own Smith & Wesson. Both, I knew, were loaded with hollow-points. Whoever took Emma wouldn’t be leaving the Everglades today. Not a fucking a chance.

A gunshot rang out, and we both started running. “Emma!” I called out, pushing my legs to move. She wasalive. I had to get to her. “Emma!” I knew that her abductor would hear me, and I wanted him to. It would keep him distracted; he would need to come after us.

Another shot was fired, and this time, it was in our direction. Luckily, whoever it was sucked at long distance shots because it went over both of our heads. We pushed through the brush, and I saw a hulking figure in the distance. He was beating his arms into the bushes and brambles, searching; when he glanced over his shoulder and saw us, he aimed.

“Shoulder or head?” Omar asked.

“Shoulder,” I said. “I have questions.” Omar grunted in agreement, and then he squeezed down on the trigger. The man screamed, and his shoulder erupted in red. He struggled to raise his gun again, but Omar had destroyed his upper arm. The gleaming white bone shone in the sunshine. If it were possible for him to walk out of here, he’d never use the arm again.

Not that it mattered because there was no way we were letting him leave.

“Emma!” I called as Omar trained the gun on the man. “Em—!” A bush thirty feet up rustled, and then she climbed out into the open.

She was covered in mud from head to toe, and her clothes were soaked and torn, but she had never looked more beautiful than she did right then. “Angel?” Her voice was hoarse and still so full of fear.

I breathed out her name. I could see her shoulders trembling; I had to hold her. I climbed through the brush and over a fallen tree and swept her into my arms, groaning when I felt her body press against mine. “Mi esposa,” I murmured over and over. She clutched at me, we were both shaking now, and I realized belatedly that she was sobbing. I tipped her face up to mine, examining the scratches on her cheeks and across the bridge of her nose. For the first time in my entire life, I felt my eyes burn with tears, and I didn’t care if Omar or Emma saw. “I’m sorry,” I said, kissing the scratch on her nose. A tear fell. “I’m so sorry.” My lips touched her cheek. Another tear. “I’m sorry for locking you away, for putting you in danger.”

Emma shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she rasped, looping her arms around my neck and burying her face against my collarbone. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the baby. I should have come to you –-”

The baby. I hadn’t thought about it once; all I had worried about was getting Emma back. “Is it —” A tremor ran through me. “Are you okay?” My hand touched her still-flat belly. “Is the baby –?”

Emma touched my hand. “So far, we’re fine, okay?”

“We’ll make a doctor’s appointment with the best OB in the city,” I promised. “I want to make sure you both are healthy.”

“I hate to interrupt,” Omar said, “but if you want to interrogate this guy, you’d better do it soon. I think I nicked something important. He’s turning gray.”

Emma went still against me, and I hugged her tighter. “You don’t have to go over there,” I said. “You can stay here while I go ask my questions.”

She considered it, but then shook her head. “I don’t want to be alone,” she said.

I didn’t particularly want to let her go either, so I didn’t argue. Instead, with my arm around her waist, we tramped back over the greenery to where Omar had his gun trained on the man who’d brought Emma out here to kill her.

Omar was right: the man was turning an ashy gray from the blood loss. A substantial amount had puddled under him. He stared up at me, chest heaving in an effort to breathe. He seemed vaguely familiar, like I had seen him somewhere before. “Who do you work for?” I asked.

“Vete a la mierda,” he panted.

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