Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
“How long will it take to get a passport from the embassy?” I ask, hoping he has a better answer than the one I got from Slick.
“Too fucking long,” he says, anger lacing his tone. “And there’s no fucking telling if any of those pieces of shit are connected to Cortez.”
“Really?” I ask, unbelieving that there are so many bad people despite having witnessed it firsthand the last four months.
“The cartels pay more than any other agency possibly could. People are inherently greedy, and they always feel like they deserve more than they’re getting paid. It’s not very hard to turn someone. Plus, if the cash being waved in their faces isn’t enough, they make threats to the people they care for to get compliance.”
“I know,” I whisper.
He doesn’t question how I’m aware of how the cartels work. I don’t know if he’s just not interested or if I’m putting off the vibe that says I wouldn’t tell him even if he asked. He doesn’t seem like the type to waste time on shit like that.
“So we can’t go to the embassy. How do we get back to Texas?”
I watch as he chews on the inside of his lip, wishing I had access to his thoughts.
“Follow me,” he says, looking like he wants to reach down a hand to help me up but decides against it.
I stand, my feet no less sore for the break that was allowed.
He walks, taking a left at the end of the street rather than the same right we’ve taken numerous times. He doesn’t hesitate to tug open the door to a bar, and like, before, he walks inside first.
I stand as close to him as I can manage without touching him as he pulls out a twenty-dollar bill, handing it over to the bartender in exchange for using his phone.
I was mistaken in presuming he was like me, cashless and out of options. It may actually be possible that he can get me home.
I keep an eye on everyone in the bar, being sure not to make direct eye contact with anyone as he talks on the phone.
I know better than to think being back in Texas will make any difference in how I feel because I was snatched from a town that literally mimics fucking Mayberry. But being in a place where at least I speak the common language is better than being here.
Chapter 22
Nash
“Glaring at me isn’t going to change a fucking thing,” Angel growls, not even trying to hide his irritation with this situation and Ayla despite her standing only a few feet away. Common courtesy and this man would never be found close together on any level.
I can feel her eyes burning into the side of my head, her own anger a palpable thing between the three of us. No one is happy about this situation and that’s the only thing that’s making it fair.
“She needs to get home just as much as we do,” I say, questioning whether reaching out to him was the right call.
He must’ve anticipated I would ask him for help because he made it to the bar less than an hour after I hung up the phone.
“Listen,” I say as I step closer. “She’s got four-nineteen on the back of her fucking neck. She was taken just like we were.”
God, I wish I knew her story, wish I’d asked who Alani is before he got here. Angel is still firm in his opinion that she’s as bad as Pirro and Cortez. He just can’t accept that she was somehow manipulated into doing what she did.
“If I don’t hate her for what’s happened, then you don’t get the right either,” I say, switching gears. “There’s a difference of nearly a hundred between our numbers. She was taken four months ago. A hundred fucking people in four months, Angel.”
Angel narrows his eyes at me. “I’ve been working relentlessly for months, trying to take that piece of shit down.”
I resist the urge to pull my eyes away. “I’ll continue to help you if you help me with her.”
He locks eyes with me, understanding just how much of a sacrifice I’m making, especially so soon after my own experience. Angel has had years to recover and wrap his head around what happened to him.
“I was three hundred fifty-eight,” Angel says while looking at her. “With her being four-nineteen, they had a break in abductions. If I didn’t have such an issue with Cerberus, I’d reach out to them to find out what they know about Cortez, but I doubt they’d give me any information.”
“We can figure all that shit out once she’s safe,” I say, knowing neither of us believe any of us are ever really safe.
I’m not going to stand here and run through details when we could be on the move.