Page 57 of Hit Man
Tears coat my eyelashes but I blink them away. If I die, I’m going out stoic and proud, and crushed between an overstuffed purse and a boulder of a man.
His hand squeezes my arm. It’s not a gentle, comforting squeeze, but more of a firm, don’t-goddamn-lose-it-now one.
I can’t get my mind to slow, it’s racing so fast, so furiously. Trying to process that what’s happening is real and not some television show. I calm myself by focusing on the feel of him. His bare chest burning warmly against my back. The strength of his body. His groin, which is fully pressed up against my ass. He’s hung like a porno star. Fucks like a porno star.
I press my eyelids closed tight. Seriously? I might be killed and the last thing I die thinking about is his cock?
My lips lift. But an all-too-persistent fear keeps me from smiling.
The gunfire stops.
There’s more shouting.
Seconds give way to minutes, which brings us closer to a half hour passing by. With no sound except for Diego’s breath beneath me.
“Are you okay?” I whisper.
“Keep quiet for five more minutes,” he replies in a low, gruff voice.
I stiffen and his hold on me tightens.
I mentally begin counting off the minutes. When I reach two, someone begins shooting. A lone gunman. When it grows quiet again, Diego nudges me. “You can get off me now.”
I grind my teeth together but do as he says, rolling off to his side and onto my knees, pulling my purse up onto my lap.
Despite myself, I eat him up with my eyes, watching his fine eight-pack abs flex as he rolls up to sit.
“Open your purse,” he demands.
“Ask me nicely.”
“Chavita, you’ve got to be kidding me.” He sits up and stares at me in disbelief. With lightning-quick reflexes, he grabs me beneath the elbows and hauls me up against him. “Listen and listen carefully. I’m scratched, bruised, and bleeding. Wet and beyond pissed off. You started this shitfest. What I should do is leave you behind to split open your skull on these rocks. Or better yet get shot up like an amateur target practice. But when I saw you standing there, a few steps away from tripping over me and about to cause a racket that’d bring every one of Mendoza’s men raining down on us, the dumb-asspendejoinside of me decides to step in. You ruined everything.Mierda,every goddamn thing.”
God. He’s furious. Yet so am I.
“I started this shitfest? And what were you doing, half-naked and running around so late at night? And your shorts are wet? Did you go for another swim?”Did you steal Juan Carlos’s drugs? Is he after you as well as me?
“Chava, a word of advice. Keep your nose out of my business or you’ll be the next one to fall off a cliff. Now open the goddamn purse.”
I stiffen.
“Mierda.” He shoves me aside and comes up onto his knees, his fingers snagging hold of my purse handle. Prying it open, he begins sorting through the haphazardly snatched contents, littering the surrounding area with one of my black dresses, one black loafer, a handful of conservative white cotton briefs, and the one thong I own. A purple one with a little purple bow that sits a few inches below my belly button. According toCosmo, thongs are an acquired taste. I tried one on for size and felt so sexy in it, I’ve decided to replace all future conservative cotton briefs for thongs in every color on the rainbow. He pauses to hold it up.
“What are you doing?” I hiss, reaching for it. He jerks it out of reach then tucks it into his bathing-trunks pocket. “Shouldn’t we be going?”
He ignores me.
Jerk.
He pulls out my pink bathing suit cover-up, with a mesh weave, two deep pockets, and a hoodie. Like the sweater I’m wearing, it’s designed for fashion more than for necessity. And pink instead of black because, let’s face it, only an ultraconservative would wear sun-absorbing black to a pool. To my shock, he ties the arms around his neck so it hangs across his back.
“Don’t say a word,” he warns, sliding on a pair of matching colored flip-flops, two large pink daisies wedged between his big, sausage-like toes. He scowls down at them. With a cautious look around he stands and waves for me to do the same.
I scramble to my feet, quickly collecting the mess he’s left scattered around me.
“No time.”
I pause, my eyebrows furrowing. “What about the time you took for the impromptu fashion show you’re treating me to?” I want to ask him but don’t. Getting off this mountain as quickly as possible is my priority as well.
