Rodrigo turned his head, meeting Lupo's earnest gaze. "Surrender?" The word tasted alien, dangerous. Surrender was defeat. Surrender got you killed.
"Trust," Lupo clarified, his eyes holding Rodrigo's. "Radical, terrifying trust. Trust that she is strong enough to stand beside you, not behind you. That she can navigate the darkness of your worldwithyou. Trust that her real freedom to stay or to go, to love you or to leave, is the only foundation upon which anything real can be built. You must show her, Rodrigo, not just tell her. Show her she is your partner, your equal. Not your captive queen in a gilded tower."
He squeezed Rodrigo's arm again, then let him go. "The cage must have no lock, my son. Only then can love breathe."
The words resonated deep within Rodrigo, striking chords he hadn't known existed.Show her she is free.The image of Giana standing willingly by his side felt right.
He opened his mouth, the beginnings of agreement, of understanding, forming on his lips. "I think…"
The world exploded. A deafening, shrieking roar of tearing metal filled the air as something slammed into the driver's side of the Audi with the violence of a bomb blast. The reinforced frame of the luxury sedan buckled like tin. The airbags detonated with concussive force, white powder filling the cabin like toxic snow.
The world tilted violently as they went over, spinning in a rain of shattered glass and crumpled metal. Rodrigo's head snapped sideways, cracking against the window. Stars burst behind his eyes. A wave of nauseating pain crashed over him, and all went dark.
32
"Rodrigo!" His name was a blur of panic. "Rodrigo!"
Rodrigo opened his eyes, and the world swam back into focus in fractured pieces: the acrid stench of deployed airbags, the bitter tang of blood in his mouth, the high-pitched ringing in his ears.
He was hanging upside down. Seatbelt straps bit into his shoulder and chest, the only thing preventing his full weight from crushing his neck against the collapsed roof lining. His head throbbed viciously, a drumbeat synced to his racing heart. Nausea churned in his gut, threatening to erupt.
Through the shattered side window, he saw the massive grille of a heavy-duty work truck, its front end mangled from the collision, embedded in the Audi's driver-side door. Steam hissed from ruptured radiators. No movement from the truck's cab.
He made out three men, maybe four. Guns held low and ready. They watched the wreck with the cautious lethality of hunters confirming a kill.
Rodrigo had minutes before they would give up waiting and come look for bodies. "Lupo?"
"Thank god, you're alive." Blood trickled in a dark line from a gash on Lupo's temple, stark against the white powder coating his silver hair. His glasses were askew, one lens cracked. His eyes were sharp, despite the disorientation and pain, as the old soldier came out.
"I'm okay," Lupo rasped. He fumbled with his seatbelt buckle, hanging awkwardly. "You?"
"Breathing," Rodrigo gritted out, already working on his buckle. It released with a click, and he braced his hands against the collapsed roof, carefully lowering his weight until his boots touched the ceiling-turned-floor. The shift in blood pressure made the world tilt violently.
Lupo managed the same maneuver beside him, landing with a grunt, one hand pressed to his bleeding temple.
The approaching footsteps crunched on gravel, getting closer. "Need to check the cab. Make sure."
Rodrigo's hand went instinctively to his hip holster. Empty. The impact must have dislodged it.Fuck.
His eyes scanned the cabin. His gun lay half-buried under crumpled airbag fabric near the shattered rear windshield. Useless from here. His gaze snapped to Lupo. "My ankle holster. Left leg. Take my gun."
Lupo bent, wincing, his fingers probing Rodrigo's trouser leg near the boot. He found the small, secure holster and pulled out the compact Glock 43 Rodrigo kept as a backup.
The old priest checked the chamber with familiar ease, his expression grimly focused. No tremor in his hands. The military training was bone deep.
"Loaded. Safety off." Lupo's voice was a low murmur, all business now. He offered the Glock back to Rodrigo.
Rodrigo shook his head, pushing the weapon back toward Lupo. "You're a better shot under pressure than I am right now. My head's ringing like a fucking dinner bell." He saw the protestforming on Lupo's lips. "No argument. Cover me. We're getting out through the back."
The rear windshield was already a mosaic of cracks. It was their best exit point. The doors were buckled shut or pinned by the truck.
Rodrigo braced his boot against the weakened glass. He took a breath, ignoring the pounding in his skull, the nausea, the sharp pain in his ribs where the seatbelt had bitten deep.
One man is a coincidence. Two men are a pattern. Three men are a plan. Gabriella's cold mantra echoed in his head, but it was Giana's voice he heard. He wouldn't die here, leaving her vulnerable.
Rodrigo drove his boot heel into the center of the cracked rear windshield with every ounce of strength he could muster. The safety glass didn't shatter. It sagged outward in a single, heavy sheet, held together by the laminate. Not perfect, but enough. A jagged opening yawned.
"Go! Now!" Rodrigo hissed, shoving Lupo toward the opening. "Into the ditch! Go!"
