I gather what little strength I have and drive my knee up and between his legs. He gasps—a sound of surprise that buys me half a second. The sandbags in my blood drag at my every step, but I run down the hall, the walls tilting, the floor slick beneath my feet. I barrel down the hall, fling open the first door, and shove inside. Dashing to the closet, I yank a white shirt from the hanger and drag it over my head.
The closet is a dark pocket. Angela’s clothes hang on one side, and on the other, I recognize Bud’s shirts from the tire shop where he works. There are boxes of junk filling the built-in shelves. My eyes travel up, and I see a gun at the very top.
“Alma,” Esteban sings my name, the sound getting thinner the closer he comes.
I grab the gun, fingers closing around cold metal as his footsteps draw near. My heart hammers so hard I can feel it under my ribs, but I don’t close my eyes.
“I know you’re in here,” he taunts. “I can smell your fear.
“Come out, Alma, I won’t hurt you.”
The sound of his footsteps stops outside the door. Fear floodsmy veins, but the weight of my emotions shifts, sharpening like a knife. Adrenaline cuts through the fog, waking my body. My fingers tighten on the gun. For the first time, I believe I might make it out alive. The closet door swings open, and he’s standing there—not the man I pretended to love, but the predator.
“What are you going to do with that?” He laughs when I raise the gun in my trembling hand. “Sweetheart, don’t make me get rough. I wasn’t planning on hurting you as badly as the others.”
The others?
I thumb the safety the way Missy taught me and force my eyes to track his hands. Esteban lifts his palms theatrically.
“If that’s how you want to play, Alma, I’ll give you a head start. Efren’s gone. My parents are gone. How far do you really think you’ll get before I overpower you?”
My hands shake. Doubt creeps in, telling me I’m half his size. My eyes roam over his broad shoulders and thick, muscular frame. Knocking sounds from the front door, and Esteban’s head jerks to the side. Taking advantage of the moment, I push past him.
My adrenaline spikes, burning through what’s left of the drugs in my system. The front door glows faintly ahead. My salvation, if I can reach it. But Esteban’s footsteps pound behind me, closing the distance. He hits me. The impact sends me sprawling, the gun skittering across the floor. My palms scrape against the tile. He’s on me before I can crawl away, pinning my arms behind my back.
“I can’t wait to fuck your dead corpse,” he whispers, his breath sour against my ear.
A cry breaks out of me, but the darkness swallows it. His hand fists in my hair, my head lifts, and he slams it against the floor. Pain detonates behind my eyes. He lifts me again, ready to do it once more, when the front door bursts open.
There in the darkness stands Efren. I can barely see the outline of him and his cold eyes looking down at where Esteban’s body crushes mine. Before I can move, Efren’s boot connects with Esteban’s face. The impact throws him backward. I scream, roll onto my stomach, and crawl toward the gun glinting near the door.
“What the fuck did you do to her?” Efren’s voice cuts through the ringing in my head.
They collide. Two shadows in a storm of fists and blood. Each hit lands with a dull crack, answered by another. Esteban’s blood spatters across the wall, but Efren doesn’t stop. Esteban fights back until he gets in his own hits. He slams Efren into the dresser. A picture frame crashes to the floor, glass shattering everywhere.
“Efren!” I scream, my voice cracking in the chaos.
The gun lies only a few feet away, gleaming by the doorway. Esteban turns toward me, eyes wild, teeth bared. He lunges. I grab the gun. The world narrows to the space between us. I lift my hand, and the shot rips through the air so loud it swallows my scream. Esteban jerks mid-stride. His hands go to his chest, and for a second, I think he’s going to keep coming. Then his body folds, hitting the floor with a heavy thud.
I drop the gun and rush to his limp body. There’s blood everywhere. Efren stands motionless, chest heaving, but untouched. His gaze flicks from me to Esteban’s body.
“I killed him!” I cry out. Over and over again, I can’t stop saying it. “I killed him.”
I cradle his body in my arms and cry. Efren picks up the gun, wipes the handle with his sleeve, and places it in his waistband. Crouching in front of me, his voice is steady, colder than I’ve ever heard it.
“You didn’t shoot him,” he says. “You woke up, you heard a noise, and then you found him like this. Do you understand me?”
I shake my head, the ringing in my ears drowning everything out.
“Alma.” He grips my chin, forcing my eyes on his. “Say it.”
“I…I heard a noise,” I whisper. “I ran, and I found him like this.”
“Good. Wait here. I’ll take care of everything.”
Chapter 27
Alma
