Page 6 of Hostile Devil
“Gio,” I fist his shirt, fear coiling in my gut. “I choose you… where you go… I go… I won’t leave you behind.”
“Christ.” He shakes his head and I sway into him, my knees weak. “You’re so fucking stubborn.” Warm lips descend, their softness clinging to mine with such tenderness. Such a contrast to the wild look in his eyes and the sternness of his voice. Deepening the kiss, he controls my body and bends me back a little. “Do as you’re told for once…Niñita!” he mutters into my mouth. “Please.”
I’m panting when our tender moment is disrupted by a distant bang, making me jump. Instantly, he steels his spine and clenches his jaw. The transformation happens right before my eyes. Years of conditioning lock into place, so he’s completely shut off—blank. When his head cocks to the side as he listens, the green circling his pupils turns dark and intimidating.
He unfastens his wristwatch, yanks my arm closer, and straps it onto me. “You’ll need this later.”
“Why would I need your watch?”
Ignoring the question, Giovanni hunkers before me and works at the straps twisting my shins like vines and quickly slips the sandals off, one at a time.
“There’s a breeze hitting the other side of the plastic curtains, which means there's a way out close by. Do whatever it takes to reach the exit. Got it?”
“Got it,” I insist.
The first step I take is like wading through water in a pair of concrete boots. However, I won’t tell him that. And I certainly won’t complain about how the muscles in my neck burn, stiff from whiplash, or how my poisoned veins are making me feel sick. Rather, I do my best to compete with his long strides and pretend the hand cuffing my wrist isn’t the only thing keeping me upright.
The toughened polythene curtain brushes my bare shoulder when he swipes it out of our way to pass under it.
Together we move from the makeshift room into a cavernous warehouse where aisles of shrink-wrapped boxes sit on pallets ready for shipment and hefty wooden crates are dotted about on shelves. Large steel cages and an unused forklift sit to the right. Moving past them, a stomach-churning smell of ammonia hits me.
To our left, a mound of dead cows is swamped in a pit of syrupy blood, their flesh hacked and torn open between their four legs.
A while ago, I heard a story about drug traffickers using a sea vessel that was set for the Middle East and stopped near the Canary Islands. The cargo had consisted of emaciated livestock, and a few tons of cocaine disguised in their feed.
This cruelty towards defenseless animals had sparked a hatred within me. I made André promise to never mistreat cattle in that way for the benefit of business––ever. Luckily, he’s an animal lover too.
So, this––this is heinous.
“Hey!” a male voice booms over my shoulder. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”
Giovanni immediately rotates, spinning us around and putting himself between me and the gun pointed in our direction. I sway into him, dizzy from the quick movement.
“Where’s Blanco?” he barks. “I want to talk to him about his proposal.” The gunman narrows his eyes at him. “He wants something from me, and I want to discuss expectations.”
All the hairs on my scalp lift at the same time and a shiver rushes the length of my spine, the sensation of it hitting me tenfold as my nerve ends spike.
We’re here because of David Castillo. The Blanco cartel had found me after all, and now Giovanni was in danger, all because I fucked up.
“Follow me.”
The gunman backs up and pivots away. Big mistake. Giovanni lunges forward and drives his blade into the guy's neck. Blood spatters across Giovanni’s handsome face, but he doesn't stop stabbing him until his lifeless body collapses.
Without hesitating, he grabs the assault rifle next to the corpse and glances over at me. “Come here,” he orders, the tone of his deep voice notably switching to savage narco-terrorist.
My stomach quivers when he yanks me into his hip. So close I can make out the shape of a heart in the bloody mess on his cheek like an inkblot test given by a psychologist. What the hell does that say about me?
More armed men appear, their military-style clothing making it hard to see them move in the shadows.
“Hands up!” One of them yells in a warning. “Stay where you are.”
Giovanni doesn’t waste any time and starts shooting, shoving me behind a stack of crates as bodies begin to drop. At intervals, he peers around the edge of the box and discharges precisely fired bullets.
For each soldier he takes out, more arrive. Even though the odds are against us, he keeps calm and systematically fires when he locks onto a target.
I wedge my shoulders into the tower protecting us and stare at my shaky hands. It’s obvious the sedative is still pumping through my veins. My head throbs and it feels like I’m underwater.
Giovanni turns into me, his eyes feral. His inky hair is tousled now, in the way it always looks countless times after he’s lost himself inside of me.
