Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 107661 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107661 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
What if the old man had given her his only weapon? She couldn’t just stand here with his gun and let him die.
Three running steps brought her into the hall. The shooter swung his gaze over his shoulder and met her eyes. His mouth opened, but she was already squeezing the trigger.
The explosive bang kicked her arms back and jarred her insides. But the bullet aimed true, hitting her target in the back, dead center.
He dropped to the floor.
The gun blast echoed in her head, her hearing momentarily lost as she stared at the unmoving body.
She’d taken another life.
Guilt tried to work its way in, but her relief was too big. All around her, the sounds of gunfire had fallen silent. She was still alive.
So was the old man.
He stood in the doorway of his cell, his expression etched in surprise and gratitude.
Would he want his pistol back? She tightened her grip on it, unwilling to surrender the only thing in this place that made her feel safe.
“It’s yours.” He thrust his chin at the gun and gave her the first warm smile she’d seen in days.
“Thank you.”
With a nod, he retreated into the darkness of his cell.
“It’s safe now,” someone shouted from down the hall. “You can come out!”
Bodies were pulled away. Furniture was straightened, and stashes of alcohol emerged out of nowhere.
While she was the only female inmate in Area Three, there was no shortage of women. Prostitutes came and went at all hours. Especially tonight. They filed in by the dozens, and with them came the sharp scent of weed.
Music blared. Cocaine covered the tables, and the aroma of grilled food permeated the air.
An hour after the riot ended, an enormous party swung into full force.
She stood in a quiet, shadowed alcove off the main common area, taking it all in with disbelief.
These men narrowly survived a bloodbath with a rival cartel. They lost fellow inmates. People fucking died. Yet here they were, laughing, banging hookers, and getting high.
A familiar presence moved into her space, darkening her corner. She ground her teeth.
“You survived your first riot. Well done.” Garra leaned a shoulder against the wall beside her. “The boss wants to see you.”
Boss? She scanned the crowd of drunk criminals. A leader lived among these assholes? Who?
“How long is this silent treatment going to last?” Garra tapped his fingers on the wall above her head. “It was just sex. Nothing personal.”
Her hand moved to the pistol in her waistband, her fingers itching to blow a hole in his stupid face. But if she killed him, every man in this room would fire a bullet in her direction.
He shook his head, scrutinizing her. “You have no idea who runs this operation, do you?”
Evidently, she was about to meet him, and the prospect chilled her to the bone.
She’d listened to enough conversations over the past few days to know what made people nervous around here.
They didn’t trust newcomers. Convicts often paid their way into different areas of Jaulaso to gather information and keep tabs on enemies.
What if the boss thought she was a spy from another gang? Would he confiscate her gun? What if he didn’t want her here and kicked her out?
“Come on.” Garra strode in the direction of her cellblock.
She followed on shaky legs as he led her away from the party and crowds. He entered the corridor where she slept, and her steps slowed with shock.
“Here we are.” He stopped at the old man’s cell.
Confusion pulled her mouth into a gaping frown.
The door had already been replaced with a new handle and lock. Well, not new. It looked as though the parts had been taken from someone else’s cell.
He inclined his head. “This is the private quarters of Hector La Rocha.”
Her breath caught in her chest. She couldn’t have heard him correctly.
“I see you know his name.” He narrowed his eyes. “Do you know he has absolute control of the prison and the city?”
That nice old man? The one who had given her the gun? He was Hector La Rocha? How was that possible?
His name alone struck fear in the hearts of every man, woman, and child in Mexico. With an army that outmatched the Mexican military, he was responsible for thousands of deaths every year.
How did he maintain such an atrocious reputation from prison? And why didn’t she know he’d been incarcerated?
Oh, God. Even if he didn’t expel her from Area Three, how would she sleep at night knowing his cell was only thirty feet from hers?
“Don’t be afraid.” Garra tsked. “You are here because he allows it. He wants to get to know you.”
Why? She wanted to ask, but her lips were frozen in terror.
Garra knocked, and a muscular man with a mean scowl opened the door. Intimation deepened the shadows on his face and oozed enough menace to make her heart rate explode.