Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 45785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 229(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 229(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
My leg was killing me too.
Pressure built up within me—frustration, anger, impatience. Those thirty hours were a minimum in terms of how long Blake was going to be held against her will. Unless River and Reese miraculously stumbled upon a Carillo safehouse where he was keeping Blake, Marisa, and Shay, I had to accept that this operation was going to take time. We couldn’t even be sure that Vincente was going to help us.
The road stretched long into the desert, disappearing on the horizon in liquid heat.
I couldn’t fucking take it. I pulled over to the side of the road and climbed out of the truck, almost stumbling when my leg threatened to give out. “You drive.”
Anger got the best of me, and I slammed a fist down on the hood of the truck. God-fucking-dammit. Thirty hours! She was just a little child! How many times had I heard about children being abducted? Many of them didn’t come home again. Some were held hostage for so long that they grew up in a new environment they learned to love, to side with, to fight for.
Shay was a problem too. It was easy to be proud of a fighter who struggled to the very end, but that end could sneak up a lot fucking faster if the cartel got sick of him and put a bullet in his head. Marisa and Blake made up enough leverage. And Marisa…? I could only imagine the thoughts running through Ortega’s head. They could torture her for answers, rape her to humiliate Ortega, and—
“We’ll find them.” Joel met me in front of the truck and squeezed my shoulder briefly. “Get in.”
Don’t touch me.
I already felt weak.
And this fucking heat could suck my cock too.
I wiped my forehead and moved to the passenger’s side, my leg cramping and trembling the whole time. Maybe it was more than a flesh wound after all. Who knew what nerves the bullet had torn through.
“We’ll stop at the next town and pick up better painkillers,” Joel said.
I drew a steadying breath and closed the door. We were off again, and now I just had to figure out how to stretch my—
“Stop being an idiot,” he said irritably. “Rest your foot on my leg—don’t fucking start. For once in your life, do as I say. You’re useless to Blake if you can’t even walk.”
I glared at him but couldn’t say shit. Blake was my priority; I had to get better as fast as humanly possible.
My skin prickled with discomfort and reluctance as I kicked off my shoes and turned in my seat. For six years now, I’d done everything in my power to keep my distance from Joel. Now, here I was, lifting my leg to rest it across his lap, and I was probably gonna spend more than a few days with him.
I groaned internally, pain and relief exploding in little bursts up and down my thigh. It felt so damn good to elevate it and stretch it out, at the same time as every movement hurt.
The back of my head hit the window, and I closed my eyes and breathed through the pain.
Jesus Christ, I was burning up. I blinked groggily, my vision unfocused. Joel wasn’t here—we weren’t driving. His window was rolled down. I squinted out the windshield and realized we’d reached the town limits of some place. We were parked outside a strip-mall-type joint, with a gas station, two pharmacies, a restaurant, and a convenience store.
Just a beat later, Joel was walking out of one of the pharmacies. He had the upper half of a popsicle stuck in his mouth while he rummaged through one of the bags he was carrying, all while juggling two cups of what I assumed was coffee.
I winced and rubbed the side of my head. Great, a headache too. Why not.
He opened the door as I pulled up my leg. Fuck me, that hurt.
“Mornin’, sunshine.” He returned his popsicle to his mouth, slid into his seat, and placed the to-go mugs in the cupholders. Then he handed me the plastic bags before he turned on the engine and let the AC blast.
“How long was I out?” I muttered.
Fuck yeah, Tramadol. God bless Mexico. He’d bought some other painkillers as well, but this was the good shit without a prescription. I spotted everything I needed to redress my wound too.
“Couple hours.” He backed out of the parking spot and grabbed my foot, planting it across his lap again. “Take your pills and go back to sleep. You’re so easy to be around when you’re dead to the world.”
I didn’t respond. We weren’t gonna enter banter territory. Those bridges were blown up.
I chased down the pain relief with a sip of perfect coffee, then dropped the pharmacy bag on the floor. Another bag revealed sodas and snacks, and the last had water and… I raised my brows. He’d bought cigarettes?