Page 103 of Lash

“Good," he whispers. "You should."

"It was so easy with that rifle," I whisper. "Too easy."

"I know," he mutters.

“If Mercado is still out there, then it isn't over," I whisper.

"No, it's not totally over. But this part is. We have to get Inez medical treatment. We have no way of knowing where he went, but we'll find him. Inez isn't going to let him get away with what he did to her."

"She is in bad shape?" I ask.

He nods. "She was badly tortured. We arrived just in time to save her life, though. He was about to kill her. We arrived, and he was forced to flee instead."

I do not know how to reply to that, so I say nothing. After a few moments of Nico holding me in silence, He lets out a sigh and kisses my temple. "We must go, my love."

I nod and clamber to my feet, retrieve the rifle where I left it, sling it over my shoulder, and then follow Nico back to the road and the van. Nico climbs behind the wheel and we drive down the road, across the short bridge, and into the courtyard. He bleeps the horn a couple of times.

The big double front doors slam open and Chance emerges in the headlights, his expression grave and furious. In his gargantuan arms, he carries a limp figure wrapped in a blanket. I scramble out of the front passenger seat and open the sliding door so Chance can slide onto the first bench, resting against the far side with Inez in his arms.

She moans softly. "Ren? Where's Ren?"

"Keeping Little Lorenzo safe,” Chance answers. “He and his…” he trails off, unsure how to finish.

"Mom," Inez finishes. "She's his mom. I was his mother, but she is his mom." She has a faint accent.

"Ren figured you'd want him to protect Little Lorenzo and trust us to get you. He wanted to be here, though."

Another quiet groan of pain. "He…fuck." A hiss as she tries to sit up.

"Inez," Chance growls. "Relax. I fuckin'gotyou, Boss."

"Not…weak," she says, her voice a whisper—but a snarled predator's growl.

Chance actually laughs. "Boss Lady, you're as far from weak as a human being can get. You were tortured half to fuckin' death. You're allowed to hurt."

"But I have to—"

He cuts her off. "You have to rest and recover so you can fuckin' murder Rafael or whatever the fuck his bitch-ass name is. Not one of us will have any less respect for you because you letustake care ofyoufor once.”

I hear her breathing hard. "I couldn't escape. He is no fool. He fears me. He—he made sure there was no way."

"He should be afraid of you," Chance says.

"It hurts, Chance. Everything hurts."

"I know, Boss. Just try to breathe. We'll get you a medic asap."

"I was afraid. He was about to kill me."

"Been there. We all been there. Bein' afraid when you’re face-to-face with death is fuckin' normal. You're still the baddest boss bitch in all the land."

She sniffs a sort-of-laugh. "Don't—ow. Don't make me laugh. Ribs hurt."

"Sorry."

While they talk, the rest of the team loads into the van. I'm on the edge of the first bench nearest the door, and when the last of the team has found a seat, I drag the sliding door closed. The figure in Chance's arms is hidden from me, swaddled in a thick indigenous tribal-style blanket so all I can see is a hint of black hair and a smooth brown forehead, blood-smeared.

Small, rust-crusted hands tug the blanket down from her face and wide, deep, dark black eyes regard me with open curiosity. "You are with Lash." It is not a question.