HE HELD MY HAND.
Not one word. Not one single word out of his mouth after all the words that had vomited out of mine.
He just… held my hand.
So I silently sat there while he drove to a motel and pulled into a small, fenced-in parking lot.
Smelling worse than a public restroom and hungrier than a bear, I tried to count my blessings. I listed all the things I would never take for granted again. Number one was a shower.
He was number two.
A giant, muscled, god-like, infuriatingly quiet man.
He should have been number one.
He deserved to be number one.
But I wouldn’t call it until after I had a shower. A long shower. The motherfucking mother lode of all showers. A five-day shower. Or a year. A whole year in the bathroom. People had no clue how underrated a tiled room with a drain and plumbing was.
Or stepbrothers.
They were underrated too, like mercenaries and soldiers.
His thumb rubbed across the back of my hand. Absently, on purpose, I had no idea. But I didn’t think this man did anything accidentally. Like the way he’d backed into a parking spot one-handed, constantly scanned the rearview mirrors, and moved the rifle to his lap.
The engine idled, the air that came through the vents was barely cooler than the oppressive heat outside and there wasn’t a soul walking the streets.
His deep voice, so deep it was quiet, broke the hum of the small car engine straining under the workload of the air conditioner. “Close your eyes if you are tired.”
“No.” I was never sleeping again. Bad shit happened when you slept, voluntarily or otherwise.
He nodded once like he understood. “You can call your family once we cross the border.”
“Oh, can I?” I didn’t ask it nicely at all. And I didn’t want to call my fucking family. Especially Phoebe. I hated her guts right now. I blamed her. For everything. Because it hurt too much to blame myself. I didn’t want to be the weak person who let my bully of a sister push me into drinking and clubbing instead of letting the selfless man next to me show me whatever the hell he’d wanted to show me.
“Your muscles tensed,” he observed.
Of course my muscles tensed. Now I would never know what he wanted to show me. I didn’t deserve to know. He needed a new stepsister, one who was a hundred times stronger than me… like Phoebe. An unladylike sound escaped my chapped lips, and I pulled my hand away. “I don’t want to talk to my family.” Or anyone. Especially not a blond-haired, blue-eyed hulk of a man who smelled like heaven and looked like salvation.
He nodded once. “Understood.”
“Do you?” He couldn’t possibly. “You understand being betrayed by a sister who is the one person who is supposed to have your back your entire life?” The second the words left my mouth, I knew how truly fucking selfish I was.
He didn’t say a thing.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered.
Silence.
I turned back toward the window.
Then, like a prophet, he spoke. “Life is not what happens to you. It is what you chose to make of it.”
His words punctuated the noise in my head and left a chasm. A big, fat gap in my pity party where I could choose self-indulgence or reason. But I was fresh out of reason. I was anger and hurt and rage and trauma and so much self-pity, I was disgusted with myself. I should’ve been grateful. I should’ve been thankful.
But I was sitting here being mad, for so many reasons, not the least of which was that I would never get to shoot that asshole Javier myself.
Callan tipped his chin toward the back seat. “There are clothes on the seat. Are there any shoes?”
My first thought was I wouldn’t be caught dead putting my feet in a pair of used shoes from a stolen car in Mexico. My second thought was I was fucking lucky I wasn’t dead. But I still wasn’t putting on used shoes. “I’ll go barefoot.” Or he could carry me. He’d already proved he could.
“We need to be prepared.”
I glanced at him and it hit me. We could be walking across the border, him, me and my bloodied, ripped dress and bare feet.
Shit.
This whole time I’d been thinking we would just drive across like in the movies. You wait in a long line, dogs sniff your car, then some gun-wielding crossing agent takes a bribe and lets you waltz right into the freest country in the whole damn world.
I looked down at my dress and blood-splattered skin. “I think we’ve got a bigger problem than shoes.”
He didn’t reply. He was watching a SUV come careening around the corner and lifting his rifle, aiming at the oncoming vehicle.
The SUV, sporting a line of bullet holes down the side, barreled into the parking lot and screeched to a halt parallel to the front of our stolen car. The passenger door flew open and the dark-haired man from the docks got out, holding his rifle.
Looking really pissed off, he jerked his head at us then opened the back passenger door while scanning the parking lot and the street. “Move, move, move, let’s go!”
Callan grabbed the handgun. “Wait. I will come get you.”
Fuck that. Despite the bullet holes, the SUV looked about a thousand times safer than the ancient red Honda Callan had stolen, and I didn’t want to take my chances anymore. The eerily empty streets and lack of people anywhere was like an omen for the apocalypse. Like everyone was hiding because they knew something bad was coming.
I didn’t want to be that something bad.
I got out of the car.
But the second my feet hit the gravel parking lot, I regretted everything.
“Stop,” Callan barked, striding around the vehicle. Looking angrier than ever, he scooped me up and climbed in the SUV.
The dark-haired man shut the door, and the blond-haired man got out of the driver seat and hopped in next to me while the dark-haired man got behind the wheel. Seconds later, we were driving through the streets twice as fast as Callan had driven.
The blond-haired man smiled wide and held his hand out. “Talon Talerco. Figure we better officially meet, darlin’. Unless you want me callin’ you Sister Wife?” He grinned.
Wedged between two walls of muscle, I glared.
Talon chuckled. “Right, right, saw the stink eye when I called your boyfriend Cult Boy. Figured you weren’t big on nicknames.” He reached behind him. “Although, if you ask me, they’re underrated. Nothin’ wrong with a little fun every now and again.” He pulled a large black backpack with a red cross stitched on it over the seat and set it between his legs. “So, here’s what’s happenin’, sweetheart.” His expression turned grave. “You’re gonna tell me everythin’ that happened. I’m gonna fix those cuts and bruises, and whatever else needs tendin’ to, then I’m gonna hand you back to the big guy over there, glaring at me like he wants to rip my arms off.” He winked. “We got a deal?”
“I’m fine,” I ground out.
Talon smiled wide. “Oh, darlin’, I’m sure you are, but how about you put one of those pretty legs on my lap and we’ll take a look at those feet.”
I transcended a new level of embarrassment.
And the fact that I was thinking this, over everything else that had happened since I’d walked into that club, that said something.
I hated attention. I hated it so much, I’d spent my entire life avoiding it. I was content to let Phoebe be the spotlight of the family. I never wanted that pressure. The second you’re on anyone’s radar, shit’s expected of you.
The bottom of my feet stung, my knees were a hundred times worse, every breath I felt my spine and ribs and my mouth tasted like dead things. Lifting my leg and exposing I don’t know how many days old underwear wasn’t going to happen.
“I’m good.” Besides, I had to pee, bad.
Callan’s deep voice drifted over my shoulder. “Let him help.”
I wanted to growl in frustration. Instead, I looked at Talon. “Listen, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but it’s not gonna happen. I have the blood of two dead men splattered all over me. I smell like a sewer. I was locked in sweltering cargo container for who knows how long, and frankly, I don’t give a shit about my damn feet, or any other body part right now. I have to pee, I need a shower and I would literally commit murder for an ice-cold Coke.”
Talon grinned, then looked over my shoulder at Callan. “I like her.” He focused back on me. “You let me see the bottom of your feet, and I’ll tell Patrol to pull over.”
“Patrol?”
“Talerco nicknames everyone.” The dark-haired man driving held his hand out between the two front seats. “André Luna. Only Talerco calls me Patrol.”
I shook his hand. “Why?”
“I was a sniper in the Marines.” Using the rearview mirror, André gave Talon a look. “He thought it was fitting.” His gaze cut to me. “I can pull over if you need, ma’am, but unfortunately, we can’t stop to look for a restroom. We’re trying to get ahead of this thing, and frankly, this part of Mexico isn’t anything close to safe.”
Jesus. I weighed my discomfort against my need. “How far away from Texas are we?”
“Four hours. And once we get on the highway, there won’t be any stopping.”
I couldn’t wait that long. “I would appreciate it if you pulled over then.” But I didn’t know how the hell I was going to pee on the side of road without three grown men seeing me. Even asking André to pull over made my cheeks flame.
“Copy that.” André instantly slowed the vehicle and pulled into a deserted lot. Before he threw the SUV in park, he swung it around to face the road then nodded at Talon. “Check it out.”
Talon reached for his door handle, but Callan already had his door open. “I will take her.”
His rifle in both hands, Callan stepped out and scanned the lot. When he was satisfied no one was around, he nodded at me.
Oh God.
Two soldiers and a hunter, watching me pee.
Talon chuckled and reached in his bag. “You gotta tell Cult Boy to get with the program.” Misreading my hesitation, he handed me a small package of tissues. Nudging my shoulder, he dropped his voice conspiratorially. “He doesn’t have as much experience with the ladies as me. Might wanna tell him y’all don’t shake the monkey.”
I snatched the tissues out of his hand and gracelessly slid across the leather seat.
Right as I was about the get out of the SUV, Callan looped an arm around my waist. “Step on my boots.”
“I can stand on my own.” I uselessly tried to swat his arm away, even though all I wanted to do was fall into him. But I smelled so fucking horrible, I wouldn’t dare.
His arm firmly around my waist, my feet on top of his boots, he carefully took a step and spun so I wasn’t directly in view of the open door. Staring down at me, his rifle in one hand, he set me on the ground.
“Thanks,” I muttered, my cheeks heating.
He nodded, but he didn’t step away.
“Um.” I glanced at the open door. “Can you close that?”
He didn’t hesitate. “No.”
“No?”
“It is a layer of protection between us and a bullet.”
“Hurry up, Sister Wife, we ain’t got all day,” Talon yelled.
Callan’s nostrils flared, but he discreetly turned his back.
Gingerly stepping over rocks and broken glass and who the hell knew what else, I squatted and did my business. I’d barely pulled my dress back down when Callan turned and plucked me up by the waist. Setting me in the car on my ass like a child, he waited until I swung my legs in, then got in next to me.
Embarrassed, I refused to look at Callan. But since I was wedged between two giant men, that left me nowhere to look except straight ahead or at my lap. I stared out the front windshield as André pulled back on the road.
“Better?” Talon held out an open package of wet wipes.
“Oh my God, you had these all along?” I grabbed a bunch and started wiping the dried blood spatter from my face and arms.
“I’m full of surprises, darlin’.”
“She has a name,” Callan ground out.
“Yes, she does.” Without missing a beat, Talon grabbed my ankle and brought my foot to his knee. “But Sister Wife’s got a nice ring to it.”
Forced to either straighten my leg and give André a wide-open view of my underwear, or bend my knee and twist, I chose the latter. My back and ribs smarted and the half twist to keep my legs closed forced me to turn toward Callan, but I didn’t care. I was furiously wiping the cool, damp cloths over my skin like an addict getting a fix.
“In fact,” Talon continued, inspecting the bottom of my cut-up foot, “Sister Wife might be my most inspired nickname yet.” He opened a bottle of water he got from who knew where and poured it over the bottom of my foot.
I was so thirsty, I wanted to weep from the waste of water. “You’re getting the car floor wet.”
“Nothin’ doin’, darlin’, nothin’ doin’,” he murmured absently as he looked at the bottom of my foot. “What caused all the scrapes? Looks like you had a run-in with a grater and lost.”
I didn’t want to tell him in front of Callan that the first asshole had dragged me halfway across the ship before almost raping me, then that Javier asshole dragged me some more. I was done talking about it. “Part of the decks on the ship were like metal grates.”
“You need a tetanus shot.” Talon pulled a can of something out of his bag, shook it, then sprayed it over the bottom of my foot.
I winced at the sting, but then a second later, a tingling almost numb feeling eased the pain. “I had a tetanus shot a few months ago.” When I’d stupidly cut my thumb slicing up apples for Ethan. The thought of Ethan made my already haywire emotions take a nosedive.
“Fair enough.” Talon wrapped some gauze over the ball of my foot where it hurt the most, then gently set my leg down. “Give me the other foot.”
I crossed my right leg over my left and gave him access to my other foot. “What is that spray?” I used a third wipe on my face. No washcloth had ever felt this good.
“Antibacterial and pain relievin’.” He glanced up and gave me a half smile. “Works like a charm.” Focusing back on my newly offered foot, he repeated the same process he’d used on the first foot.
By the time he was done, I had a pile of nasty wipes at my feet and I felt marginally better, but I was eyeing the last two inches in the water bottle like a starved dog.
Talon handed it over without a word.
When I guzzled it, he took another one out of his bag and gave it to me. “Make it last, darlin’. We’re hours from getting more.”
Feeling bad for taking the last water between us, I forced myself not to chug the whole thing. “Are all the other girls okay?” I was embarrassed I hadn’t followed up and asked before this. “Did the three sisters get back to their parents?”
“They’re en route, chica,” André answered. “They’re all fine, and the parents are waiting for the plane to land.”
Thank God. “Thank you, for everything.”
André nodded once. “De nada.” He paused a moment. “Not that it’s much consolation at this point, but no one would’ve ever found them if you hadn’t been taken and if Anders hadn’t acted quickly.”
I glanced at Callan. “Acted quickly?”
His jaw clenched, but his voice came out even. “When your sister realized you were missing, she called me.”
“Then he called me,” André added. “And we were able to hack the security feeds at the club, see the vehicle you were put in, trace the plates, and follow the lead.”
Wow. “Thank you,” I breathed, realizing how close I had come to never being seen or heard from again.
“All in a day’s work,” Talon smiled.
“Anders, Talerco, heads up,” André warned as the SUV slowed.
Talon picked up his rifle and turned to face the rear of the vehicle. “Got your six covered.”
“Passenger side,” Callan called out, aiming out his side.
“What’s going on?” I glanced up as André pulled over. A dozen Mexican Federales pickup trucks with thick roll bars in the back beds were lined up in the street. Heavily armed men stood guard in pairs in each pickup truck. A makeshift building that looked like half tent, half concrete block had more of the heavily armed men with helmets and body armor going in and out.
“We’re getting an escort,” André answered.
“What for?” I’d heard the stories of the corruption in Mexico and the news pieces about the cartels that had a hand in everything, but seeing the Policia Federal plastered across the sides of the trucks in big white letters did nothing to ease my concern.
“The devil’s road.” André nodded at one of the armed policia coming out of the building.
“The what?”
“Highway of Death, darlin’. The only road that’ll get us back to the good ole US of A, but we can’t go it alone.” Talon scanned the street surrounding the makeshift police station. “You wanna make it outta this place alive, you buy yourself an escort.”
“Weapons down,” André ordered as the armed policia approached the vehicle with his rifle drawn. “I need everyone’s passports.”
Callan pulled two passports out of a cargo pocket while Talon pulled one from his shirt pocket. They both handed them to André as he lowered his window.
André tipped his chin at the policia. “Buenos dias.”