Page 8 of Mex

He wasn’t lying about the temperature either, because it was below freezing, and I have barely slept because of it. I haven’t been able to shower, my food has run out, and I’m becoming desperate. This is exactly what he wanted. He knows what he’s doing. He is going to do everything he can to break me so that he gets what he wants. The problem is, I’m not going to give it to him.

Staring into the small, faded, pathetic attempt at a stick-on plastic mirror in the bathroom, I take myself in. My long, thick blond hair is unbrushed and matted. My normally emerald-green eyes are bloodshot, and my pale skin is even worse now it’s cold. I look terrible, I feel terrible, and even my body is beginning to feel the lack of showers and warmth. My body, which is normally curvy and plump in all the right places is slowly fading away with every passing day that I’m not eating.

If this fucker makes me lose my booty, I’m going to make him suffer.

The sounds of footsteps outside the container have me whipping my head around. Someone is out there. Mexico has returned. I didn’t have a plan in place, hell, I wasn’t prepared for him to show up today. I’m not letting this one slide, though. I’m going to get out of here today. Shoving out of the bathroom, I push past my bed and mattress and rush to the door. There is a small area just beside it that I can tuck my body into. I don’t really have a plan; I just want him to step into the container so I can run out.

I haven’t had much time to think up a good plan.

This is the best I’ve got.

The big door swings open and, for a moment, that’s where it stays.

He’s standing out there, no doubt waiting for me to lunge.

After a minute, the container creaks as he steps inside.

He doesn’t look to the left, where I’m tucked as far in as I can get. Instead, his eyes are on the mattress fort. He glances around the room quickly, then, obviously assuming I’m in there, he steps forward. He has a gun in his hand, outstretched and ready. The moment he steps past me, I make my move. I slip out from the small nook and leap out of the container. I hit the snow and my feet sink in. It’s deep and thick, but that doesn’t stop me. I scramble up and begin running, doing my best to move as fast as I can.

It’s basically impossible.

I know it, but that doesn’t stop me from attempting to get away all the same.

Ahead I can see a worn-in track and a black truck parked up. So, there is a track that comes in here, and I already know that if I can make it to that track, I’ll be able to run faster because it won’t be so deep. At least, I hope that’s the case. A loud, angry voice behind me barks at me to stop, but I don’t. He won’t shoot me; he wants what I have too much. Ignoring him, I keep pushing forward, panting as I get closer and closer to the truck.

A shot rings out, hitting the snow just beside me.

His warning shot isn’t enough to slow me down.

I throw my middle finger up over my shoulder and keep moving, even as I hear him getting closer. He’s probably prepared for this kind of snow. I am not. My determination and willpower, however, is far stronger than anything he has probably experienced before. Gritting my teeth and grunting, I give it my all. I push with everything I have, so close to the truck I can practically feel the keys in my fingertips as I relish the joy of driving away, watching him standing in shock.

Another shot rings out, and a burning sensation tingles through my calf. For a minute, I’m stunned, and then I realize that he just grazed me with a damn bullet. I’ve been shot before, and there is no way he hit me entirely, but he sure as hell got close. A quick glance down shows me blood trickling through my jeans.

“You shot me,” I screech, pausing only for a second.

That’s all it takes.

Suddenly, my face is in the snow.

It happens so fast – but that one small moment I paused was enough for him to catch me and before I know it, a hard, muscular body is crashing into mine, taking me down until my entire body squashes into the white cold beneath me.

A low screech leaves my throat as I begin to thrash, shoving and twisting, pushing and clawing at whatever piece of flesh I can get my hands into. I don’t care if I rip his damned eyeballs out, I’m not going back in that container. I put up the fight of my life, but he is far bigger than me, and a whole lot stronger. He manages to flip me onto my back, pinning me down with his legs, his hands slamming mine above my head, fingers digging into my wrists.

Looking down at me, panting, he shakes his head. “You’re a fuckin’ tough one, I’ll give you that.”

“Get off me,” I bellow, squirming, but we both know he isn’t moving.

“You nearly made it, I’m impressed,” he grunts, keeping the pressure on so I can’t move.

“If you had the balls to shoot me, I wouldn’t have gotten so far,” I throw at him.

He grins. “Trust me, sweetheart, if you had made it to the truck, I would have shot you without hesitation.”

“My leg will get infected if you leave me out here.”

The grin gets bigger, even more wicked. “I grazed you, honey, you’ll be fine.”

“Don’t call me honey. Get off me, you fucking giant beast.”

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