She gives Thomas a tiny nod, saying nothing.
He looks at me and says something else into his wrist.
‘Are you okay, ma’am?’ he asks.
All I can do is shake my head, keeping the gun where it is.
‘Sauvage will be here in a moment.’
But what does it matter? They’re gone. Should have tried to get the gun earlier, fought Andy before the cartel even got here, and escaped.
But I didn’t. I failed them.
Sauvage walks into the hangar a few seconds later with a few more of his men. When he sees me, and notices the gun I’m holding on myself, his eyes harden.
He comes to me without hesitation and takes it gently from my hand. ‘Ma petite fleur, give me this. You do not need it.’
I fight him at first, grip onto it and won’t let him have it, but he gets it away from me and hands it to one of his guys.
Only then does he turn to the cartel queen.
‘What have you done?’ he bites out with a snarl thatmakes several of the guys around us visibly shiver, and for the first time, I see the Sauvage that everyone is afraid of.
Even Reyes draws herself up as tall as she can and takes a tiny step back.
I just stand where I am, numb and not sure what to do.
What is there to do?
***
Mav
They take us out the back door into the early morning light, lining us up against the outside of the metal hangar.
The cartel guys speak to each other in Spanish, chuckling at us as they aim their rifles.
Shit.
One of them lowers his toward our feet and whoops loudly, yelling something at us in Spanish and shooting the ground in front of us. They all laugh when we jump around to dodge the rounds that hit the dirt.
I glance at my friends. Sauvage is coming, but we need to do something to stall. What though? We have no weapons. No nothing.
Shade looks up at the sky.
‘I prefer the French,’ he remarks loudly.
One of the cartel guys sneers. ‘Francés?’
‘Yeah,’ Shade says. ‘The French guys I’ve met. Like Pierre Sauvage and his guys. They’re just tougher, you know? I mean, sure, you dudes are scary, I guess, but,’ he shrugs, ‘they’re just on a different level.’
‘Yeah,’ I jump in, ‘tougher. I agree. No offence guys, but they’re just… French, you know?’
‘Their food is better, too,’ Blake adds.
One’s lip curls in disgust at our words.
Another one spits on the ground, and they begin arguing with us, mostly in Spanish.
