Page 85 of Dare to Love Again

“You’re supposed to be finalizing my accounts,” Carlos snapped. “By the time you’re done, I’ll have finished with your little paralegal, and we’ll go. If she pleases me...” Ruthlessly he gripped her chin, his hard fingertips pinching her skin as he angled her face his way. “Maybe I’ll take her with me. The plane ride to Argentina is long and can be tedious without something to pass the time.”

“You said nothing about harming my staff, Carlos, or kidnapping. You’re risking both our necks with this ridiculous vendetta. Let her go and let’s finish our business.”

His head shot up, and with a crazed look in his eyes, he shouted at the other man. “Don’t tell me what to do! You work for me, remember?”

While he was distracted, Esme turned her head enough to sink her teeth into his hand. Carlos yowled in pain and pulled back, cradling it to his chest. It was the chance she needed to scramble off the desk. As soon as her feet touched the floor, she ran for the door and Gerald, who stood in front of it.

“Don’t you fucking move another inch,” her attacker roared. The raw fury in his voice, and something else, bordering on hysteria, sent a chill down her spine. Esme dared a glance back.

The man had snapped, and to prove it, reached into his jacket, withdrew a gun, and took direct aim at her chest.

A cry of terror rose in her throat as her mind flashed back to five years before and another man with murderous intent. Before it burst free, Gerald grabbed her and pushed her behind him.

“You don’t need her, dammit. The Feds are closing in, Carlos. Once you’re safely on the plane to Buenos Aires, the money I’ve stashed in your accounts will buy all the tail you could possibly want. But you won’t be able to spend it on pussy or anything else from behind bars.”

“The million dollars I’ve paid you in legal fees means I get to do whatever the fuck I want, including doing the little ice princess here. Step out of my way.”

“Stay behind me, Esme,” her boss directed. Even though he was bravely protecting her, his body trembled against hers, and she heard the quiver in his voice.

“Stay behind me, Esme,” Carlos mimicked. “Aren’t you the big hero all of a sudden? What? You’ve got a hankering for her, too? Or maybe you’ve already had a taste and want to keep her for yourself.” He shifted the muzzle of the gun toward Gerald. “I thought I told you to finish the account transfers.”

“They’re done.”

“Excellent. That means your services are no longer required.”

A gunshot exploded in the room. Gerald’s body jerked violently and flew backward, right into her.

Too terrified to scream, Esme slid down the wall and onto the floor with her would-be protector on top of her.

“Good riddance,” Carlos said while staring dispassionately at the man he just shot as though it was nothing. Then he looked at her. “Now, cunt, if you don’t want to end up the same way, get your ass over here. I’m tired of your disobedience.”

Crushed beneath Gerald’s dead weight, she could hardly breathe, let alone move her ass anywhere. Her horror didn’t end at Carlos’ name-calling, or intentions of whippings and rape, or his death threats, or being trapped beneath her boss’ still-warm corpse. It continued as his blood, warm and sticky, soaked through her clothes.

The scene was too much like the nightmare from her past. This time, Esme was the one who snapped.

When Carlos rolled Gerald off her with his foot and reached down for her, she went berserk. Fortunately, she caught him off guard. He expected her to be cowed by the gun he still held or numb with shock after witnessing someone shot dead in front of her. And she should have been; such a reaction was perfectly normally. But Esme fought him tooth and nail—literally—kicking, punching, and biting. She did anything and everything to force him to release her, determined to escape the gunshots, and the blood—so much blood.

In their struggle, she head-butted him under the chin, which snapped his head back. Seeing her opportunity, she followed it with a two-fisted backhand punch which twisted him around. The gun went flying one way and she the other—out the door, down the hall, and through the rear entrance. She took the rickety steps two at a time and with strength and speed born of pure adrenaline, raced across the parking lot.

When she got to her car and jerked on the door handle, it slipped through her blood-slick fingers. She gagged, wiped her hands on her clothes, and tried again.

“Fuck!” she screamed with frustration when it wouldn’t open. Her keys and purse were in her office with Carlos and poor dead Gerald.

She sobbed hysterically. Was she living under a freaking bad luck cloud?

But in a flash of rationality, she remembered her spare key. She raced to her rear tire well and reached inside, searching around blindly.

“Please, God, let it be here.”

Her fingers brushed the magnetic key holder and pried the metal box loose. With trembling fingers, she slid open the lid, dumped the key in her palm, and unlocked her door.

When her ass met the seat, she barely had her feet inside before she slammed the door and hit the locks. With her lungs seizing and her heart pounding like a bass drum in her chest, she tried sucking in deep breaths to keep from hyperventilating. That’s all she needed right now.

She stabbed the key at the ignition, but her hands were shaking so hard, she missed. A second and third attempt had identical results, and she mentally cursed herself for buying used instead of paying the little bit extra for the newer model with a push-button start.

Finally, on the sixth or seventh try, while using one hand to steady the other, she got the key in the small slot. Her success came at the same time an enraged shout rang out behind her.

“You’re dead, bitch!”

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