Shrugging like I’m unbothered, trying to breathe through the feeling of being sucker-punched, I busy myself cleaning Padre’s arm.
“You know you’re extremely gifted, loyal and kind.” Surprise has me looking up into the Padre’s somber blue-gray eyes.
“Thanks,” a warm smile spreads over my face at him. I’m more than a little shaken by the vehemence of his words. Was my hurt that obvious?
His eyes slide over to Snake, who is still standing at the entrance, taking a quiet perusal of the club, ready to drop someone at a moment’s notice. His gaze skips past us only to track back, landing on me. I feel caught out, like I’m sneaking in past curfew.
“If he can’t see that, then you need to move on, amiga.” Standing, he drops two stacks on the table.
“Whoa, that’s way too much for that tat, Padre.” His hand comes down, stopping my attempt to slide one back towards him.
“Know your worth.” Lightly tapping his forefinger on my hand. “The sooner you do, the sooner people take notice and act accordingly.”
I looked down at the money, still feeling the phantom taps on my hand.
I can imagine he would have been a great priest had things not gone bad for him at the monastery.
“Aye.” The hard lines of Snake’s mouth and the glacial sharpness in his deep brown topaz eyes greet me when I crane my head up towards him.
“Hm?” Grabbing the stacks, I push them into my bag.
His gaze flicks towards the movement, his jaw hardening. “I’m going out of town to help Angel with something. I won’t be back until late tomorrow. Don’t be around here while I’m gone.”
He waits until I nod. He needn’t have worried.
“I have a consultation in town tomorrow, anyway.” Answering with a careless shrug, busy sanitizing my area, thinking how cool it will be to have my own shop one day and how if I keep saving it won’t take as long as I thought.
I also don’t want anymore trouble. The daggers shot my way by the folks aligned with Rudy’s crew make being here without Snake and Angel’s guys watching over me uncomfortable.
“Gotcha.” I smile like him and Bianca being a thing now doesn’t bother me as I pull on my backpack.
His silent regard was heavy as I left. Little did I know it would be the last time I saw him. If I had known, I would have rushed him with a hug—anything other than a flippant, ‘gotcha’.
“It’s not your fault,”Easy whispers back to me. “You’re not responsible for the deeds of evil men.” The surety of her words assuages whatever guilt I’m feeling. She’s right. Nothing either of us did warrants Rudy’s crew kidnapping us. They saw an opportunity to cause trouble and took it. We are just collateral in furthering their aims.
“Ow,” we cry as the deep rut in the road jolts the cargo van we were thrown into.
Wherever they are taking us has to be super secret. A place they know no one will stop them or ever find us after they’ve done the worst things imaginable.
Another hit of a rut has us crashing into one another. The van swerves like it’s hit slick gravel, then comes to a screeching stop that pitches us forward. The momentum has us sprawling on the floor of the van.
Blood slicks from the too-tight zip ties breaking my skin.
It’s dusk when the doors open, but there is still enough glare to make my eyes water from the hot Alabama sun’s rays.
“Bring ‘em.” Rudy’s smarmy tone reaches us as burly hands snatch me, then Easy out of the rear of the van, throwing us on the ground.
The lack of rain has hardened the ground. Because I’m zip-tied, I can’t break my fall. My knee scrapes on the mixture of gravel and dirt.
Once he jerks me up, I notice how grimy the shorts and a poplin top I’m wearing are. I’d worn them when I met up with Bahir Carrington at the Kandie Shoppe to show him the designs I drew for his tattoo. I was leaving the meeting and heading for my bike parked around back when one of Rudy’s guys accosted me.
They march Easy and me into a warehouse that seems to hold a year’s worth of contraband to be shipped along with the more legitimate items of Cruz Logistics.
“I brought the spoils of war,” Rudy shouts over the hoots and hollers.
“Now that we’ve taken those putos’ little whores and shown they don’t have the conjones to keep them, there will be a new world order in el Diablo Cartel. From now on, bitches will know their place.” Grinning widely as we’re brought over to him, Rudy takes a bowie knife, cutting our clothes away. We flinch as our clothes are shorn away. Easy’s wide doe eyes meet mine. I bite back the cry threatening to spill from my lips.
The warehouse erupts with a cacophony of jeers and insulting remarks about our bodies and how they intend to abuse them.
