Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 153571 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 768(@200wpm)___ 614(@250wpm)___ 512(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153571 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 768(@200wpm)___ 614(@250wpm)___ 512(@300wpm)
Brady grunts his agreement and then shakes his head. "This is fucked."
Yeah, it is, but for better or worse, we're committed now.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Mila
"Are you okay?" I ask Tahani, leaning close so my voice doesn't carry to the men in the front seat of the SUV.
Tahani jerks her head in the semblance of a nod, but I'm really worried about her. She's been completely silent since we climbed into Jose Guerrero's SUV over four hours ago, only speaking when Guerrero gave her the phone to talk to Roman. In four years, this is the quietest she's ever been. Her gaze has been locked on Jose Guerrero and his driver for most of the afternoon. To be honest, mine has too.
He's everything I expected and nothing even remotely close. He's tall and muscular, with close-cropped dark hair and a sharp jawline. If he weren't so fucking scary with tattoos all over his neck and hands and evil in his eyes, he'd be handsome. He's older than I expected, in his late twenties or early thirties. Dressed in a suit and tie, he looks as if he's trying to pass as respectable, but only an idiot would look at him and see him as anything other than the criminal he is.
That same wildness I see in Roman marks Jose Guerrero. Only this man doesn't leash it. He doesn't control it like Roman does. Roman is every bit as dangerous, but he keeps that side of himself tightly contained with that iron will and restraint of his. Authority hangs in the air around him, marking him as someone you don't mess with. With the exception of when he's fucking me, he's in control of himself. It's the complete opposite for Jose Guerrero, I think. He doesn't rule that wildness…it rules him. No suit and tie or falsely pleasant tone will ever make him more than the dangerous criminal he is.
Julio, the man in the driver's seat, fits the bill of a cartel member to a T. He's probably my age or a little younger, wearing a white T-shirt and baggy jeans. His front tooth is silver, and he's got tattoos all over his face. His eyes are hard, and his face is etched from stone. He's not nearly as scary as the man beside him.
"This will all be over soon, señoras tan hermosas," Guerrero says pleasantly, turning in the seat to look at us. He doesn't even acknowledge Officer Carter, who's folded into the seat next to Tahani, glaring daggers at him.
When Guerrero's gaze sweeps over Tahani, she flinches away from him, refusing to meet his eyes. That amuses him, turning his lips up at the corners. It amuses him even more when I don't cower away from him.
"Chica valiente," he murmurs with a soft chuckle. He's smiling at me, but it doesn't reflect in his eyes. Those are hard and unyielding, anger and something even darker glinting in the cold black depths. I don't understand enough Spanish to make sense of anything he's said to his driver today, but I have a feeling that anger is directed at Roman. Guerrero doesn't like that Roman has his girlfriend. If not for that, I think he would have killed us already.
Instead, he's been…decent. He's barely paid attention to us, keeping his eyes on his phone. The only time he really even spoke to us was when he asked if we needed anything. When we drove into Santa Cruz, he asked where we should meet Roman. I didn't want him to step foot inside the condo, so I suggested the restaurant where Roman and I had dinner what feels like a century ago. It was the only other place I could think of at the time.
We're going to the beach instead. I don't know what Roman is planning, but I hope like hell he's come up with some plan by now. I'm not sure how much longer I can keep it together. Every time I start to think too deeply about the fact that Tahani and I are essentially hostages, I want to curl up in a little ball.
Guerrero turns back around in his seat as we pull into a parking lot near the beach. With heavy rain clouds hanging overhead and fat drops falling randomly, the parking lot is mostly empty. Guerrero's driver pulls into a spot and parks. The SUV that blocked us near Tahani's didn't follow behind us to Santa Cruz. Once we got out of Sacramento, it disappeared.
I fight the urge to shiver when Guerrero reaches into the glove compartment and pulls out a gun.
Tahani flinches beside me, a soft whimper escaping her lips.
Julio hops out of the vehicle, pulls out his gun, and then opens my door. "Let's go," he says, motioning me out with the gun in his hands.
I reluctantly unbuckle my seatbelt and climb out. Once my feet are on the ground, I fight the urge to stretch my cramped muscles, looking around instead. If Roman has people stationed here, they've hidden themselves well. Aside from a red Jeep with surfboards lashed to the top and two small passenger cars, the lot is empty. The beach down the hill looks equally as abandoned. I don't see Roman anywhere.