Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 109286 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109286 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
My laugh pisses her off, and she snaps back. “It’s not like I have actual concern for your well-being for any reason other than you’re my ticket out of here, so if you’re injured I’m screwed.”
I make a tsking sound. “If I thought that were true, I’d have to lie down from the wound in my heart. Thankfully for both of us, I know you’re joking.” She hmphs, which prompts a return wink. I can tell she’s developing a soft spot for me. It might not be a sexual one, but she likes me. The smirk on my face dies off when we get close to Pereya’s. Our bags are stacked outside, which means he’s had someone watch for us and is now telling us to get the hell out of here.
“What’s going on?” Regan asks as I grab both bags without stopping. The motion causes one of the bags to brush against my side, and the pain shoots outward, causing me to stumble and groan. “See, you are hurt.” She tugs on my arm as if she thinks we can go back to Pereya’s safe room.
Stopping, I cup her cheek and that intimate movement stills her actions. “We’re not welcome there right now.” She makes a distressed sound. “I’m not hurt. Really. I promise if I were, I’d tell you.”
“Would you?” Her big, forest green eyes look up at me with trust and . . . is that longing there?
I give myself a mental head slap to dislodge a dozen unsuitable thoughts—such as her actually having feelings for me that arise out of something other than gratitude and wanting to kiss again. Hell if she needs more practice, I’m her man.
I content myself with rubbing my thumb along her dirt-streaked cheek. “Nothing’s going to happen to you while I’m still breathing. Swear.”
We stare at each other for what seems like an eternity, or at least two cycles of the moon, before she drops her gaze. “Okay,” she says softly.
Her quiet acquiescence stirs a response in a place far above my belt line. If we weren’t running for our lives, if I didn’t have my sister to save, if everything were different, I’d sweep Regan into my arms and carry her off to the nearest horizontal surface to show her how sincere my words are. Not for the first time, I wish that I had met Regan when I was still in the army, full of cockiness and the belief nothing could ever harm those I truly loved. Those feelings are long gone, and the oppressive weight of guilt and fear that replaced them has become the new normal. My response to Regan staggers me, so to regain my equilibrium, I grab my junk and make a smart-ass comment.
“There’s a part of me that is in real pain, baby doll, if you’re feeling like you need to do something.”
“Really, Daniel? Did you have to ruin it?”
Yeah, baby, I do, because neither of us has time for this strange pull between us. Giving her a strained smile, I head off down the hill. Like a good soldier, she follows. For all the shit I’ve thrown her way, Regan has done what I’ve told her without question. No one stops us on our way down Monkey Hill. Maybe word has spread of our shootout, or maybe we look dangerous. Dusty, dirty, and bloody, we look like two people who’ve walked out of a battle and aren’t afraid to mow down anyone who tries to stop us. At least that’s how I hope we look, because the truth is that Regan and I are weak as kittens right now. We need food, a shower, and sleep. In that order. At the base of the favela, I look around for some transportation because we need to put some distance between us and Monkey Hill. Ipanema, Luiz, and papers are about an hour away to the southeast. In between are more favelas, hills, and forests.
Glancing to my left I see an older-model Fiat and the flanelinha is nowhere to be seen. I tug on Regan’s arm. “Let’s go.”
“You’re not stealing this, are you?”
“No, I’m borrowing it.” I take my gun and smash the driver’s side window. Climbing in, I reach over and flick open the lock. “Get in.”
Shaking her head, she climbs inside. “Someone really needs this car, I bet.”
“Then they should’ve paid a flanelinha to watch it.”
“A what?”
“Car attendant. Pay someone to watch your car so that some shitty criminal doesn’t come along and steal it.”
“Nice.”
“Same thing happens in the certain parts of our great northern America. Some neighborhoods are entirely transactional.” I fiddle with a few wires, and the car coughs to life. “Plus, are you up for walking forty kilometers or would you rather eat in an hour?”
“Drive, then.”
Flashing her a big grin, I floor it. Throwing her my phone, I say, “Find the shittiest-rated hotel in Ipanema.”