Page 42 of Second Goal

He grabs my arm and jerks me toward him. “You think you can give me orders?”

“You want the money, don’t you? I just want two minutes with her. That’s all.”

His lips twitch, and he hesitates before stepping away and banging on the door he came through. A man I don’t know answers, and they speak in low tones before the guy disappears inside.

Cruz pulls out a cigarette and lights it, glaring at me as he takes a long draw. He doesn’t try to make idle conversation, and I’m glad for it. I hate him as much as I hated his brother.

Finally, the door opens again, and a woman I barely recognize steps out. Her hair, which used to be the same color as mine, is now a dull, dirty blonde that hangs around her thin face in greasy tangles. Her skin is pale, almost translucent, except for the dark bruise on her jaw. Blue eyes, that were once so similar to mine, seem muted, empty.

Broken. That’s what he’s done to her.

No.What I did to her.

“Amy.” I hesitate before going to her and wrapping my arms around her fragile frame. She’s so thin. Too thin. It’s been two years since I’ve seen her, but she looks like she’s aged ten.

Fear tightens her expression when she pulls back and glances at Cruz.

“Come with me,” I whisper. “Right now, Amy. I won’t let him hurt you. I promise we can—”

“Enough.” Cruz pulls us apart, shoving me away and wrapping a large arm around her so that her back is against his chest, and one hand cups her face roughly. “You’ve seen her. Now give me the money.”

“Let her go,” I say.

“Why?” The corner of his lips pull up in a vicious smile. “You really think she’ll go with you? Is that your plan?” He chuckles, taking a pull of his cigarette, then flicking it away. His fingers tighten around her face and she winces in pain. “You want that, darlin’?” he asks, twisting her face so that she’s looking at him. “You want to leave me and go with that bitch?”

Amy doesn’t look at me when she whispers, “No. I love you.”

He kisses her hard, then pushes her away from him.

“Amy, please,” I beg.

“Just give us the money,” she says, words slurred, broken. “Don’t make him have to hurt you.”

Cruz smiles at me viciously, and I know he’d like nothing more than to do just that. New fear builds inside me. He bangs on the door, and when it opens, Cruz pushes Amy toward the man who stands there.

“Amy, wait—”

She looks at me then, but there’s no emotion in her eyes, just emptiness.

Broken.

“I’m sorry,” I say, but the door closes before I get the words out fully. Tears burn my eyes, my throat tightening, my belly aching. I failed. Again. I’m lost in my own self-pity, which is why I don’t sense Cruz approaching until his hands are wrapped around my throat.

“Give me the money.” He’s so close, his forehead touches mine.

“Can’t... breathe,” I choke out.

His fingers loosen, but only slightly. “The money, bitch. Or I go to the police. Tell them everything.”

“Do it.”

He slams me back against a metal garbage dump and my head bangs off it, making my eyes water.

“I’m not playing a fucking game.” When he slams me back a second time, my vision starts to go dark.

His hands are on me, patting me down until he finds the cash and the gun.

Shit.

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