Page 39 of Blood Revealed

Shit. Okay.

I can do this.

I roll down the glass, lean out the window, and pull the trigger. Nothing happens.Crap!I forgot about the safety. That takes an extra ten seconds to correct my mistake and then I lean out again, shooting first for the SUV’s tire. I’m not a great shot at high speed. Vlad must hear the shots because he spins around on his bike, almost wiping out. Unfortunately, my ten-second foible gave them time to arm themselves and the bullets start flying.

Caitlin swerves to avoid being hit—these guys are seriously better shots than me—but we hear the tire pop and she loses control. We’ve got no choice but to stop.

“Out of the truck,” Vlad orders. Getting behind the vehicle, he leans around popping off shots. Caitlin, Brin and I jump out and run to the back of the truck. I keep Brin pushed down to the ground blocked by a tire.

Frankie has done the same from her truck, with Brighton and Trish on her heels. But these guys are way better armed than we are and we’re so not a match for them. As he leans around the truck bed to take a shot, Vlad gets struck. Screaming, he goes down.

“Get to him!” I yell to Caitlin. “I’ll cover--.”

That’s the most I’m able to say before out of the blue, I get pinged by what looks like a rock that I don’t have time to dodge. My world goes black.

When I wake up it takes a few seconds to realize my surroundings. Then I seehim. After seven years he’s got me exactly where I fought so hard not to be. I’m in the cush back of the black SUV sitting next to Carlos Escalante. “You have been a very hard woman to locate,” he says, calmly with his hands folded deceivingly relaxed in his lap.

I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to choke him until the last breath leaves his lungs. Instead, I lift my chin and look him in the eye.

“That was purposeful,” I answer, trying not to give away any emotion.

He snickers as if what I’ve said is funny, but he launches at me with his fist. The first blow hits my stomach with so much force, it knocks the wind out of me. I sputter and cough but can’t suck in a breath. As I’m bent forward, he slaps me upside the face, hitting my cheekbone, and I swear he splits my cheek open with that slap, though there’s no blood, only pain, so I know he didn’t.

“Look what you’ve made me do,” he says as he clucks his teeth in kind of atut, tut, tutsound. I still can’t breathe, so I don’t answer. “What? Nothing to say now?” he asks. Even as the tears pour from my eyes, I glare murderous daggers at him.

I have no idea what’s happened to the women or to Vlad. Did he survive his gunshot? God, what if his helping me got him killed? I couldn’t live with myself. Escalante sips champagne from a crystal flute while violin music plays softly in the background.

Somehow, I have to get word out to Blood.

“Would you like a drink, dear?” he asks.

“No,” I answer.

“No,what?” He backhands me once again and this time I do feel blood from my nose.

“No,el maestro.”

The windows in the SUV have been blacked out so I can’t see where we’re traveling and with my head woozy from the small beating I received, I’m more than a bit disoriented and have no sense of time.

We keep going, no stops. By the time we actually do stop, the door is opened for us by one of his goons and I’m yanked from the backseat by Escalante. It’s dark out, but I hear ocean waves or possibly that of a very large lake, and stars twinkle in the sky. It’s warm, however, which means it has to be the ocean because any lake large enough to make waves that strong would have to be a great lake or the like.

Think, Hannah. Oceans. Okay. There are two. Atlantic and Pacific. We certainly weren’t in the car long enough to reach the east coast of, say, Florida or Georgia. It could be the Pacific, but even that seems a bit far. That leaves what? The Gulf, right?

He wrenches my arm hard enough that I know there’ll be a bruise in the form of fingers when he pulls his hand away. I stumble forward a couple steps before finding my feet. He doesn’t lead me to a big house, though. It’s one of those private bungalows that resorts have for rich people.

Take it all in, Hannah. I try, but I get another backhand across the face, as if he knows what I’m thinking. I cry out, shooting my hand up to soothe the burning skin. That one lapse of weakness is all he gets from me. I harden myself to the situation again and this time discreetly get a feel for the neighborhood. The closer to the bungalow we get, the closer to the shore we get. Water laps the wet sand and moonlight glistens off both. It would be quite a romantic scene if I weren’t here by force.

He pulls me to a stop waiting for one of the goons to unlock the door. The second goon follows behind us inside the lavish space. The bedding is pure opulence. Fabrics of silk and satin all in white, cream, and gold. The threads are actual spun gold. And the copious amount of mosquito netting draped and tied from the poles of the enormous bed gives it yet another romantic touch. There’s something so tropically colonial about the dark carved wood of the bed and all that white and cream. If not for the modern upgrades such as the kitchen and flat screens and whatnots, it would feel like I’ve stepped back in time to eighteenth-century Jamaica or some other island in the Caribbean.

“May I use the restroom,el maestro?” I dare ask. Nature doesn’t pick when she calls and I need to check out the place.

He nods his head and seems content with my compliance. Goon One leads me to the restroom, opens the door, and pulls it shut. I have a feeling he’s going to keep standing guard there until I’ve finished my business.

The bathroom has a jet tub, a shower big enough for a small town to shower together, double vanities, and a commode separated off from the rest of the room by a partition wall made of reeds. All in light, airy white, cream, and golds.

There’s a bright spot too. A window. It’s not big enough for say, one of the goons to climb through, but I think I might be able to fit. As I plot out my escape, I use the facilities and wash my hands. It’ll be a stretch. I’ll have to stand on the seat of the commode to reach the window and pull my body weight with my arms. Most people would have a problem with that, but with all the dancing I’ve done over the past seven years, I’m sure I can do it.

The reflection staring back at me in the mirror isn’t the girl he tried to buy seven years ago. Now I’m a woman with a loving family and I have Raif. I splash water on my face to rinse the dried blood away from my nose. I refuse to hide and be scared the rest of my life.

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