Page 139

On your feet, soldier.
Gia needed him. He had to get his shit together.
He scrubbed a sleeve across his face, swallowing the roar rising in his throat—the one that threatened to echo through the canyon and split him apart.
Gia was gone.
He’d sworn he’d protect her.
And he’d failed.
Gia blinked back furious tears as she sat wedged in the back of the helicopter between Juan and the cartel soldier with the thick, drooping mustache—the one who’d found her in Lucero’s Lounge.
The roar of the rotors, the thrum of vibration through the cabin, the stink of sweat and cologne from the men boxing her in.
Her face throbbed from Juan’s backhand.
Caleb.
Juan had shot him. At least twice.
How badly was he hurt?
And Zach?
Danny. Roy. Ford. Jennie.
Had any of them survived that hail of gunfire?
Her gaze, veiled beneath her lashes, swept the cabin.
She wouldn’t cry.
Not in front of these monsters.
Wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.
Vincente lounged across from her, flanked by the sullen young soldier she’d once labeled Pink Cap. Juan had called him Emilio.
Vincente’s cold brown eyes burned into her.
“You’ve caused me a lot of trouble,querida.” His voice was low, dangerous. “This will not go unpunished.”
He ran a hand over her head, catching her ponytail in his fingers. With a painful yank, he ripped the elastic band free.
Her hair spilled across her shoulders.
“That’s better.”
He stretched the band until it snapped, then dropped it to the metal floor.
“Your nurse friend almost died because of you. If you’d come to me willingly, none of this would’ve happened.”
The dig struck home. Exactly as he’d intended.
She refused to look at him.
Guilt, fear, panic, and hate all brewed in a toxic stew that would show on her face. She couldn’t risk antagonizing Vincente any more than she already had.