Page 41 of Shadow Man

“He’s not cartel,” she tells me as he moves away again, sliding onto her side with a soft groan. “He’s a nobody. Probably a drunk... He’s calling the cops right now.”

We don't have much time.

“Grab the gun,” I tell her, attempting to roll onto my front, but there’s no room to move and everything is covered in broken glass.

She passes it to me without a word. “You going kill him too,parcera?”

I catch the gleam in her eye and it scares me a little. Tonight, we’re standing on the wrong side of a line that good girls don’t cross, but I’m guessing neither of us has been one of them for a while. It’s how far we venture into the dark, dark wood beyond that’s the defining question.

“Not this time,” I whisper, taking it loosely in my right hand and ignoring the blinding pain in my arm. “But our ride got busted up, and we have a Colombian cartel on our tail, so I’m figuring we might just need his car.”

17

Joseph

The motel gleams white in the darkness; a cruise ship lost at sea with nothing on its horizon. It’s miles from anywhere, set between the cities of Cali and Neiva, and it’s the only building I’ve come across in the last twenty minutes of driving. The half-dozen or so cars parked out front are like life raft vessels already deployed for the eager to escape. Judging by the state of the place, you’d have to be pretty fucking desperate to stay.

I pull into a spot near reception and sit there, engine idling, scoping the scene out with practiced eyes. The car that they stole isn’t hard to spot. It’s parked at the end of the row, angled away from the road to shield the plates. I know the tricks… I’ve been in this game a hell of a lot longer than they have.

She’s here. I can feel it in my veins. My dick is a fucking barometer to her presence, and I’m hard as stone. First, I want answers, and not just about the three dead bodies that Dante Santiago’s going ape-shit over a thousand miles away.

As I watch, their motel door swings open, and a woman with long dark hair emerges. She’s young, attractive…beaten.Even from twenty yards away, I can make out her swollen eye socket. She glances up and down the parking lot, and then she’s heading toward the vending machine.

Exiting the vehicle, I prowl toward her, keeping in the shadows where I belong. I’m only a meter out when she turns, her senses kicking into action. Moving swiftly, I clamp my hand across her mouth and push her into a dark corner away from the view of reception and the rest of the motel.

Her eyes are wide with shock, her breathing rapid like a frightened animal’s against my skin. For a moment, I swear we’ve met before, but I push that supposition from my mind. It’s not my job to care three shits about who or what she is. My job is to keep her alive.

“Don't scream,” I murmur. “I know you speak English, so don’t give me any of thatno comprendo, no entiendocrap. It’s been a long night and my temper is close to the fucking edge. Nod if you understand.”

She does as she’s told, her movements jerky despite the two dark fireballs being directed at me. This woman is a hellcat. How the fuck did she and my broken doll fall so far into trouble together? I see her glance at the tattoo on my left bicep, and the fireballs grow even wider.

Interesting.

“You were born in Colombia, Miss Martinez, so you know that tattoo. I’m guessing by the state of you, you’ve already figured out who I am, am I right?”

She nods again, and I can feel her chest rising and falling against my forearm in a frantic motion. And so it fucking should. My time spent serving the devil in his country has been scored in bloody welts across my back. Everyone knows my name.

“Is she in the room?”

This produces the first faint whimper from her.

I press my hand further into her mouth. “I’m taking that as a yes. Is she hurt?”

Her dark brows furrow. I’ve caught her off guard with my concern.

“Is she hurt?” I grit out, repeating my words with more than a hint of impatience.

This time she shakes her head, and I feel like Hercules on a timeout as the weight slips from my shoulders. I reach into my left jacket pocket, my hand closing around the needle I’ve already prepped.

“Don’t take this personally, sweetheart,” I say, pressing the sharp point against the soft crease of her neck, subduing her struggles easily as I slide the needle home. “But me and Anna have some serious shit to sort out, and you’re cramping my style.”

* * *

I carryViviana Martinez to the car and lay her down gently across the back seat. I’ve given her enough desflurane to knock her out for a couple of hours, so I find a rug in the trunk and cover her bare legs in case the temperature drops. I grit my teeth as that annoying sense of familiarity creeps up on me again.Who the hell is this woman, Dante?

I slam the door and make my way toward their motel room, pausing outside to listen to the sound of running water. She’s in the shower. Hot. Wet. Naked. That thought alone does even wilder shit to my dick.

Her friend left the door unlocked. I flick the lights off as soon as I slip inside, using the torch on my cell to locate the first of the two double beds. I make myself comfortable, the worn springs objecting as they take my weight, dipping low and uneven like all cheap mattresses do.

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